I WAS single-mindedly focused on work, yoga and helping sis settle into life in Dilli, when this self-indulgent reverie was nipped in the bud by the sounds of a woman in distress. She was being thrashed by her husband, a night watchman by profession, and was being called foul things like “badmash aurat” and “gundi aurat” because he suspected her of sleeping with his brother.
Their three kids stood in the vicinity. The eldest, a teary-eye girl of eight or so, seemed to sense the mother’s pain. Her brother, a boy of 6 or seven was grinning. The youngest, a girl of about four who for some strange reasons likes to dress up like a boy, was also grinning. “Woh jhooth bol raha hai,” the boy told me in my ear.
The husband turned to me and said she was a bad woman. “Even if she was, no one should EVER hit a woman,” I said. This tenet did not go down well with the man, who was punch drunk. He asked his wife to leave the house along with the kids. In the next 20 minutes the lady and her children scrapped together some things, including a stick of radish, sweaters and a bedsheets, and bundled them into the trunk of my car. On her way down the stairs, the wife crossed paths with her husband, who dropped all the items in his hands, so he could slap her once again. The lady began wailing again, and we hurried to the vehicle.
Her sister lived in a very tiny room, which could barely accommodate two people, let alone six. A friend who accompanied us, told me, “The husband will be back soon because he has needs (food and sex)”.
And she was right. The following morning, he was there with an apology and the promise to never slap her around again. But the wife wanted to stay put. She, the eldest daughter and I headed to an NGO for abused women that came highly recommended on Twitter and otherwise. A counselor met us and explained the protocol. The lady would need to chronicle in writing the husband’s misdemeanor and that she wanted the NGOs help, post which they would speak to the husband and informs him that if he continues down this path an FIR will be filed and they would fight the court case, which followed. The counselor said she would speak to the husband that very day, if she wished to file one.
But this was not to be. I called up the next only to be told that case worker was on leave and no one seemed to have any record of this meeting. One week and two days later we have not heard from them.
In such a scenario, time is of the essence. The husband was coaxing the wife with a vengeance, to come home. Her sister was coaxing her to follow suit. We dialed another helpline that came well-recommended but the No. was constantly busy. Several people who directly or indirectly work in the area of abuse offered help mostly in the form of suggestions of which NGO to call. I also received laundry lists of organisations and their nos, which effectively, one can pull off the Internet. I am grateful for their efforts, however lists are more intimidating than helpful. And frankly who had the time to cold call so many places?
One organisation said they only do advocacy and invited me for some gala event to campaign against the abuse of women. The head asked me to speak to a specific person at the very same NGO I had visited. But what was most disturbing is that, she gave me the helpline no, the one that is consistently busy. Don’t people understand that all nos and addresses can be pulled off the net with a few clicks?
After two nights and no intervention, the lady returned home with her kids. She looked dejected. Even if the flesh was willing, the spirit was dead. Her hubby seemed happy, and brought ice-cream for the kids. But my friend Sana who works in the area of abused women, warned me that the violence will strike again. And she was right. The man came home punch drunk and started pulling her hair and slapping her. But apparently the kids began yelling and formed a sort of human shield around the mother, so the father stopped.
Luckily, a colleague’s relative heads a human rights commission. He sent across a policeman who cut authoritarian figure and carried a bamboo stick, to speak with the husband. While the kids were at school and the lady at work, the cop gave the husband a warning, and said that the next time round he would be at the police station. When the wife returned home, the husband feigned being “slapped around” by a cop. But he said he won’t touch her again, and they can live in the same house but “go about life their separate ways”. I noticed that post this visit, the lady seemed to have found her voice and one can only hope that there is no more violence.
Wife beaters inspire two kinds of reactions in me – vile anger that heightened when at their violent worst and pity, when the voice of authority makes them beg to be spared.
However, the immense, immense disappointment I feel in the NGO, which in a sense let the lady down by not following up, is immeasurable.
To be honest, the counselor did not inspire much confidence even during our meeting. I had hoped that she would offer some more specific, perhaps practical advice to the lady, and her disposition lacked a sense of urgency. We could have been discussing the lunch menu.
I ranted on about it to a friend, and he said it could be a class thing. But I seriously doubt it. As a culture, our attitude towards things like efficiency, punctuality, prompt communication, urgency of purpose is rather lackadaisical, perhaps non-existent. For instance, I was surprised that we did not even have any sort of reference No. One would expect that besides the legal spiel, a streamlined process and commonsensical solutions might also be suggested.
On a different note, we explained to the lady’s son that grinning when mummy is being thrashed is not cool, and that he needs to look after her always. He nodded and said he would, but having been exposed to a precedent set by the father, he could go either way. Fingers crossed.
written with alot of passion