Dilli Ki Sardi

I got a call at 10.30 a.m yesterday. Cursing the person who wanted to disturb my sleep, I reached out to the irritating phone which would not stop ringing. Sleepily I managed to say “Hello”. The rest of the conversation woke me up.

Brrr...this is the coldest winter I have ever seen in Delhi. Teeth chattering, layers of woolies, sitting in the sun curled in my easy chair, reading a book, eating aloo paranthas with dollops of butter. That’s how I thought I’d spend the weekend. Being the eccentric oddball that I am, I didn't.

I was at a Kashmiri refugee camp of people dislocated after the earthquake. I met people of different ethnic and religious groups. There were widows, orphans, young boys and families. Their living conditions were appalling. Small tents of about 3X4 feet, along a dirty nullah is the land given by the Government. Interestingly, the metro (a sign of development) ran above the camp as did a Sonia Vihar pipeline (Sonia Gandhi project to bring water to people).

I met a young man who is in his early twenties, around 21. He spoke about the conditions back home, where it was snowing and the tents provided by the Government were not enough to sustain. The compensation amount was also meagre, not enough to rebuild lives.

So they had been given this land in Delhi. They had reluctantly come to Delhi and were living in conditions where they didn’t have enough food or clothes. Sometimes they went to bed, hungry.

The young man, a Bachelor of Arts student, spoke in decent English. On asking what he did, he told me that twice a week, he went around asking people to give them food, clothes and blankets. Rest of the time, he worked in a subzi mandi in Delhi, packing crates or selling vegetables. Unwillingly, his education had been halted.

He told me, “Work is worship and in times of adversity we have to do things which we otherwise wouldn’t”. Leaving behind a carpet business, destroyed by the earthquake was the hardest thing he did.

The people at the camp hoped that the Government would send them back as soon as the harsh winter was over. As children ran about playing with each other, I was told that about 100 of them were orphans and there were around 40 widows. With pleading eyes and folded hands, an elderly lady asked me to help them in any possible way. I could see that the plea for help was genuine.

I know there is so much hatred and distrust for Kashmiris. We all have our biases based on what we hear, what the media reports say, what we are taught. Do we ever try and meet people with open minds and hearts. Shouldn't we overcome those biases?

Later that evening, in the comfort of my home, I was sitting in front of a heater, eating garam gajar ka halwa, wrapped in my blanket with a thousand thoughts running in my head. What if I was in such a situation? Would somebody leave aside his biases to help me?

Originally posted on Monday, January 09, 2006 1:36 PM