Skip to main content

A little place called Malabad...

There's a little school near Athani, Belgaum district (North Karnataka) which epitomises the best and the worst of the 'rest of India' -- an India we city-dwellers would not care to know for it's an India ignored by even the politicians and the cable television mafia.

The best of that India lives in the Malabad Vimochana Residential School for the children of Devadasis and 'normal' children. This school is set in a couple of acres and is 20 kms from Athani town. Athani is a filthy, pig-infested place, where it is best to always insist on boiling water (rather than boiled water). But the Malabad school gives you the impression of an untouched place, for these children have literally no contact with the polluting influences of our city life.

The school, which has 400-odd students, is one of the very few in India which caters to the Devadasi community and it runs solely on donations. There are a couple of computers here -- just so that the children learn how to identify the keyboard from the monitor, otherwise, their only means of recreation is to sing (Raj Kumar songs are a great favourite), play catch or hide-and-seek or try and pick sugar cane from the many tractors that dot the approach roads to Malabad. Belgaum is sugar cane country, working in the sugar factories is one of the few opportunities of employment for people here. But that's another story.

At the school, every visitor is a cause for immense excitement -- the Devadasi girls and boys here are so poor that few have the money to travel to Belgaum city (140 kms away), let alone Bangalore (600 kms away). And since the childrens' lives revolve around their classes, every female visitor is naturally 'Teacher Madam' and every male is addressed as 'Sir'. In fact, the first question Mahananda and Savithri, two class-10 students, asked me was: "Are you here for your MSW?" (Many
Masters in Social Work students visit the school every year to research the Devadasi cult).

Just like those MSW students, I too went there with an agenda -- to see how and why the Devadasi cult has survived in this day and age. But the childrens' simple joy, shamed me. Their innocence glows in their faces and yes, they are immensely brave. They come from housewholds dominated by women. Their mothers are farm labourers by day and many of these women are also 'dasis' to upper caste Patils and Lingayats (the dominent castes in North Karnataka), by night.

Yet, these children are symbols of change -- they are in Malabad because their mothers have courageously broken with tradition to get them educated. But will they be able to truly break free? If I go back next year, will Mahananda and Savithri still be there or will they have been married off? I really don't know and I'm scared to find out.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

This is why acid attacks continue to destroy lives

  Last week, I went to my local kirana store and bought a bottle of ‘acid’. You know the kind of store I mean -- one those neighbourhood shops that stocks everything from groceries to greens, to cheap Made-in-China toys, to household germ killers. I wanted acid to clean my bathroom. So the friendly shopkeeper called out to his assistant: “Hey, get that bottle of ‘acid’, will you.” “Do I need to wear gloves or any protective clothing,” I asked. “No, you can either use it as is, or dilute it,” he replied. The shopkeeper did not ask me for either age-proof or id. The other patrons around me saw nothing amiss, either. They went about their purchases. So for just Rs 60, I gingerly carried a bottle of ‘acid’ home. Life went on as usual. But should it? Shouldn't we all be more concerned that acid can be bought so easily? Did you know that the Supreme Court has laid down a number of guidelines against such sale or purchase of acid, in order to prevent acid attacks? For in...