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    Dated : Wednesday, July 18, 2012
 

The Northeast beckons Roshmi Goswami

I  don’t know what changed my life or the precise moment at which that happened, but the mobilisation for the UN Women’s Conference in Beijing that started in 1993 was certainly one that brought about a permanent change and clear direction in my life. Monisha Behal (Ben) roped me into the Tezpur District Mahila Samiti’s (TDMS) efforts to document issues and carry the voices of women from Northeast India into national and international forums. The Beijing process was an unprecedented phenomenon, fraught with complexities and difficult dynamics, but one that held much excitement, hope and passion. To be honest, my initial engagement was driven largely by my loyalty to a Northeast identity and the need to pay attention to the issues and politics of the peripheries rather that of women, per se. I was already quite embroiled in the Northeast identity question, having supported the Assam agitation with great enthusiasm. The fact that its tough young leader, Bhrigu Phukan, was my husband’s cousin also brought many of these discussions and realities into our home. I aligned myself with the Naga students’ Union during my days at the North Eastern Hill University (NEHU) in Shillong. Two of the top Naga student leaders, who were highly respected, became my friends and I learnt a lot from them, much of which helped shape my work and understanding, years later.

 To everybody’s great disappointment one of them turned into a corrupt but powerful politician, but the other remained committed to his ideology and pursued it through his legal profession. In those days NEHU was a hotbed of politics. Faculty members, specifically in the social sciences, were mostly at loggerheads with one another, and used regional identity politics for personal advancement as and when it suited them. One may argue that this is common in any academic setting, but in a central university situated in a region embroiled in armed conflict and ethnic divisions, this has surely been particularly negative.

It was very disturbing to see tribal students being used as trump cards to secure advancement, with no effort made or genuine commitment to pre-empting ethnic conflict. Towards the end of my doctorate, willy-nilly, I took up a job as a lecturer in philosophy. I was a fairly good teacher, but my heart was not in it. I realized I couldn’t continue in this half-hearted manner, and quit my job when I got a research fellowship at the Indian Institute of Advanced Study in Shimla. This was an interesting and decisive period in my life – I concluded that academia was not for me.  I wanted to make change happen rather than be involved in pontificating about it. I headed home and, together with some friends, started an organisation called CACTUS; we began working with artisans specifically with loin-loom or backstrap women weavers, and gradually got drawn into their lives and the multiple identities that they negotiated as they eked out their livelihoods.

At some point during the Beijing mobilisation, Ben distanced herself from the chaotic Beijing madness, concentrating on practical grassroots action; TDMS was weighted down by internal contradictions, and I was left to keep the Northeast regional flag flying high! But there were so many other comrades in that journey – Suneeta Dhar and Sumita Ghose from the co-ordination unit set up for Beijing, and Pramada Menon were constant allies, as were members of the National NGO Advisory Committee (of which I was also a member), the most dynamic being Vasanth Kannabiran and Ruth Manorama. Many other powerful and impressive women came into my life at this time and have remained in it, with their politics, vision, expertise and personal companionship – Shanthi Dairiam, Sunila Abeysekera and Kamla Bhasin.

I travelled extensively across the North-east, drawing women from the most marginalized sections into the process, but also trying to capture then strength and dynamism in a region of political strife and protracted conflict. I aligned closely with the Meira Paibis, the torch-bearers of Manipur, who were just beginning to move from community policing on alcoholism to raising issues of human rights violations. A trip to Imphal always meant a meal with these amazing powerful women at their home in the Palace Gate Compound. Chaobi Devi, Thokchom Ramani and Kunjalata Devi were an inseparable trio who drew strength from each other and attended every meeting together, regardless of who was invited. But in Beijing the vivacious Chaobi withered into a disempowered old woman in an unfamiliar setting, without the strength of her buddies and her support base.

It was very sad to see her like that and it taught me some important lessons about what not to do when working with community women. There are so many happier and me inspiring memories about Beijing – but they would require a Beijing memoir by themselves! One that remains etched in my mind, however, is of Kamala Bhasin, who had reached China before us and was waiting to receive the two-hundred-and-fifty-odd women from India at the immigration line with her famous Tod tod ke bandhano song-and-dance number. All of us, travel weary and dishevelled, greeted her with equal gusto and the deadpan, humourless Chinese authorities were overpowered by infectious feminist exuberance! (Women’s Feature Service)

 
 

Chasing stardust, switching worlds

Surekha Kadapa-Bose

It’s not for nothing that Mumbai has been idolised as the quintessential city of dreams and dream-makers. Besides being India’s financial capital, it is also the hometown of showbiz that attracts a lot of talent from small towns every year. Though the latest provisional Census data reveals that the overall migration has reduced – the city has added only about half a million to its population between 2001 and 2011 – what these figures don’t tell is that the influx into the glamorous world of Bollywood, television, fashion and advertising industries hasn’t ebbed.

Every day, hundreds of newbie actors, writers, technicians come to tinsel town in the hope of becoming the next Deepika Padukone or Zoya Akhtar. But as the popular 1950s Hindi film song goes, Ai dil hai mushkil jeena yahan, zara hatke, zara bachke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan (Oh my heart, it is tough living here, be careful, this, after all, is Bombay).

No one can vouch for the truth of these unforgettable lyrics better than Hindi TV serial actor Garima Shrivastav, who came to Mumbai from Allahabad in Uttar Pradesh about seven years ago with her script writer husband, Yogesh Vikrant. She recalls, “The first hurdle was getting used to living in a one-room tenement and sharing it with five others! Coming from a city like Allahabad, where in most regular homes each member of the family gets a room to themselves, this was a real shocker. It also required a lot of adjustment, sacrifice and understanding the needs of those with whom we shared a roof.”

Shrivastav has been a part of the cast of popular prime time soaps like Rahe Tera Aashirwaad (Colours) and Parivaar - Kartavya Ki Pariksha (Zee TV), and is currently working in Choti Bahu and Phir Subah Hogi, both on Zee TV. As a newcomer in the city, though all the adjustments were for her to make, she had the advantage of age and experience on her side – she was in her mid-20s when she came here. Moreover, Shrivastav says that having her husband and elder brother-in-law, Shantibhushan Singh, a TV serial writer, there to guide her through the transition and shield her from cons and other unwanted elements that inhabit the glam world was helpful.

That wasn’t the case with Ahmedabad-resident Bhumika Brahmbhatt. Barely 20 and with no real friends except for the few she had made while hosting a cookery show in her hometown, this young struggler was taken aback with the fast-paced Mumbai life when she landed about a year-and-a-half back. She says, “Friends whom one meets few times back home, change when you come to live with them. This is especially true if they are in the same profession. The insecurities of the industry get to everyone.”

Such was her situation that besides looking for quality work, within two months she was out on the streets searching for a place to live, too. “Adding to all the tensions was the culture of this city where people are warm but in an impersonal way. That is when homesickness really hits you hard and you are tempted to go back,” explains Brahmbhatt, who has worked in a reality show, essayed a small role in a daily soap, Hamari Saas Leela (Colours), and done some modelling work. She is still waiting for a real break.

Feelings of loneliness and depression are common for those living alone in a big city, but it can lead to dangerous circumstances for those trying to find a foothold in the entertainment industry. In their desperation for work and a better life, many get trapped by fake agents and talent hunters. Elaborates Brahmbhatt, “Networking is necessary but it has its own hazards. Cons on some social networking sites woo girls with promises of job offers. But after one or two unsavoury incidents one starts recognizing who is a fake.”

For most strugglers, there is no regular job but the one thing that’s constant is the financial crunch. Not to say that they are completely on their own as they try to make ends meet. Back home, parents and elder siblings do understand the struggle and even though many may have distaste for the profession they ensure that at least the basic necessities are met. Yet, every rupee needs to be spent judiciously – for instance, instead of taking an autorickshaw or bus from the local train station a two- to three-kilometre daily walk back home is common.

Of course, old-timers, who have made the city their own, like writer Anuradha Tiwari know a thing or two about getting over tough times. “When I came to Mumbai from Delhi way back in 1996, I knew it was good to know the city one is migrating to, so in a sense I was actually well prepared for this city,” says the writer who has penned the screenplay of popular films like Fashion and Jail.

Here’s what she did: While studying in Delhi, Tiwari made some good contacts in Mumbai and only landed up in the metropolis with a group of friends. Staying as a paying guest with two male friends did raise a lot of eyebrows at that time but in a new place one learns to ignore several things. Tiwari, who is presently working on debut directorial venture, adds, “As long as one is grounded, focused and knows how to go about getting what s/he wants, migrating to any place needn’t be a problem. And Mumbai is still the safest city and so single girls do feel secure travelling home after late night shifts.”

For single women, the process of becoming familiar with a new set of realities is hard. But for women who come with families, and have children here, no amount of preparation is good enough. Take young mother and TV scriptwriter Aparajita Saha, who has written for shows like Uttaran, Rab ne mila di Jodi and Dulhan. It’s been a year-and-a-half since she gave birth to twins but till today she has not been able to find any permanent help to look after the children. Says a worried Saha, “If it was Delhi where my parents and relatives live, bringing up the kids wouldn’t have been a problem. In Mumbai, I have had to take a sabbatical for the last two years to bring up my babies. Now, as I get ready to go back to work not only would I have to start looking for projects afresh – people in this industry have a very short memory – but all the while I am away there will be the fear of leaving my kids in the wrong hands.”

And Saha feels that it is not likely to get any easier once they grow older. “I don’t want my children to be cooped up at home but there is simply no outdoor space in this city. The lifestyle in Mumbai is so different. Here one can’t drop in at friends’ place without notice and vice versa. No doubt we love this city but we also feel like going away so that our children can get a better childhood,” she says.

For work, security, professionalism, success and money there is no better place than Mumbai. But there’s a price to be paid – learning to live in small spaces, travelling crazy distances for work or trying to fit into its cosmopolitan culture. After all, Yeh hai Bombay meri jaan…  (Women’s Feature Service)

 
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