Friday, October 31, 2008

Women writers for peace




Pictures of Zaheda Hina and Attyia

Write to peace


Nirupama Dutt meets three women writing in three different languages to build bridges of peace in the subcontinent

"Being a woman, writing stories and having dissenting opinions are three afflictions in our society and I am the sum total of the three." This is how Zaheda Hina, a celebrated Karachi-based fiction writer and columnist, places herself in life and literature. A remarkable writer who has a significant fan following in India too as her writings are being widely transcribed into the Devanagri script. Having penned many memorable short stories, her novella on the Partition, Na Junoon Raha Na Pari Rahi, was acclaimed by critics and published in Hindi by a Delhi publisher.
A peace activist over long years and winner of the SAARC literary award, Zaheda Hina’s writings prove that she has always dared to write in what she believes. She was among those who boldly opposed the martial law regime of Zia-ul-Haq in Pakistan. Hers is an ornate style of writing but never at the cost of the content. She migrated with her family from Bihar at the time of the Partition to Karachi. "I know well what it is to be an outsider. I struggled to make my identity in the new land as circumstances had greatly changed for our family with the migration. An announcer for BBC in London for long years, Zaheda was one of the first to espouse the cause of peace between India and Pakistan.
Recently, she chose to link the entire South Asia be using literary tradition as the means. Her sequel to Rabindranath Tagore’s famous short story Kabuliwala is counted a masterpiece in fiction emerging from the sub-continent. Talking of the story called Kumkum Theek-thak Hai, Zaheda says: "In this story, time has moved forward and Minni of Kabuliwala fame is a granny. Her granddaughter Kumkum, a doctor, volunteers to go to Afghanistan after the US attack on the country. There she forms a fond bond with an injured Afghan militant." Written in the form of a letter to her granny in Kolkata, it is one of those rare short stories that has made waves. It indeed belongs to the tradition of Chandradhar Guleri’s Usne Kaha Thha and in a way, Krishna Sobti’s Ai Ladki. For it is not every day that a piece of long-short fiction can rise to epical scales.
Attiya Dawood, a Sindhi writer, opposes anti-women laws
Attiya Dawood, a Sindhi poet and prose writer, made her place in Karachi also with great struggle. The daughter of a middle-class family, she struggled hard but grew from strength to strength as she transformed her experiences into rich poetry and prose. Content rather than style is her forte. Pakistani critic Sikandar Sarwar says of her: "She is more than a poet, an aesthetic and sensitive voice, a woman responsive to the cries of anguish and anxiety of women abused around the world."
Attiya has often dared to raise her voice against establishment including the laws forbidding women to love. In her famous poem, To my Daughter, written especially in English, Attiya the poet says: Even if they brand you a Kari/ And condemn you to death/ Choose death but live to love. Addressing conflict and at times encouraging it is often the route to peace and Attiya has never been afraid to take it. Living in and writing in violent Karachi, Attiya says: "I was once caught in an area where a bomb burst and that experience found way in a poem that questioned the validity of bequeathing gunpowder to our children. I have often written against violence in South Asia. Peace is a must if our children are to survive." Attiya’s autobiography, Aine ke Saamne, was recently published in Hindi.
Naseem Shafai, a Kashmiri poet, voices the fear in the Valley
Naseem Shafai comes from the land that gave us women poets like Hebba Khatoon, Lal Ded and Arnimal. Yes Kashmir, of course. Lal Ded was the Sufi poet of the 14th century, Hebba belonged to the 16th and Arnimal to the 18th. For nearly two centuries after that there was no poet of prominence in the Kashmiri language. It was late 20th century that saw Naseem breaking the male citadel. Naseem, who has just stepped into her 50s, was for many years the lone woman at mushairas. "It now makes me happy to see that there are a number of girls writing in Kashmiri."
How has she reacted to the violence over long decades in the Kashmir Valley? To this question Naseem’s reply is: "As a poet and as a Kashmiri we have seen much sorrow. My journalist husband too was shot at by militants and was bed-ridden for a long time. We have witnessed death and sorrow as Kashmir became a pawn in the power game between India and Pakistan. In spite of it all, I can say with pride that my son completed his school living with our Kashmiri Pandit friends in Delhi." This poet of the lost paradise wants to see pain and fear wiped off the faces of young Kashmiris. She puts it thus in poetry: My prayer goes to them/ I’ll sing them psalms/ May the new moon/ Ever shine in their sky.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

A writer called Bama



Breaking caste bonds


Nirupama Dutt


"Our village is very beautiful." This was the opening line of 'Kurukku', the childhood memoirs written in Tamil by Dalit writer Bama. 'Kurukku', (which in Tamil means the sharp-edged stem of the palmera tree) voiced the joys and sorrows of her people, oppressed by higher castes in India. "We were very poor. I was witness to many instances of violence against Dalits. I also saw the humiliation my grandmother and mother faced in the fields and homes of the landlords. Despite the misery, we had a carefree childhood."In 2001, Lakshmi Holmstorm's English translation of 'Kurukku' won the Crossword Award in India and established Bama as a distinct voice in Indian literature. (Dalits are members of India's most marginalized and oppressed castes.)Bama didn't really plan to be a writer. Born in 1958 as Faustina Mary Fatima Rani (her grandfather had converted to Christianity) in a village called Puthupatti in Tamil Nadu (southern India), her landless ancestors and parents worked as laborers for the landlords. She and her four siblings spent a lot of time playing in the fields. "Sometimes we were cops and robbers, sometimes husband and wife. But my favorite game was kabaddi (a team wrestling game played in many Indian villages). I liked the whole business of challenging, crossing over and vanquishing the opponent," says Bama, recently in New Delhi to attend a writer's meet.Perhaps it was this game which trained Bama to face many challenges in life and come out victorious. Bama's father, who was in the Indian army, was very particular about the children's education. "If he had not joined the army, we would never have had the regular income for education. Education also gave us freedom to get away from the clutches of the landlords and lead our own lives," says Bama.Her brother Raj Gautaman, also a writer, introduced her to the world of books. "I read Tamil writers like Jayakantan, Akhilan, Mani and Parthasarthy. In college I read my favorites - Kahlil Gibran and Rabindranath Tagore. I didn't have many books to read so I read the same ones again and again," she recalls. In college she also wrote poetry. But after college Bama became a schoolteacher and chose to educate very poor girls.Her life took a big turn when at the age of 26 she took the vows to become a nun. This was an attempt to break away from caste bonds and further pursue her goals to help poor Dalit girls. "I felt that at the seminary I would be able to carry forward my work with the poor," she says. But seven years later, in 1992, Bama walked out of the seminary. Her family insisted she get married and settle down. "I had lost everything. I was a stranger to society. I kept lamenting about life and harked back to my happy childhood days in the village," narrates Bama.Struggling to find herself again, Bama followed a friend's advice and started to write her childhood memoirs. She also created her pen name - Bama - a blend of different sounds from her Christian name. She completed the book in six months. This slim volume, a semi-fictional account of the growing awareness of a Dalit, created a stir in literary circles for its uninhibited language and bold vocabulary. "Some critics cried out that a woman should not have used such coarse words. But I wrote the way people speak. I didn't force a literary language on myself," says Bama. Today, at 45, Bama teaches in a primary school in Uthiramerur, near Chennai, capital of Tamil Nadu. Her works, which include two collections of short stories, 'Kissubukkaran' and 'Sangathi', have also been translated into French. Though Bama began by writing about the condition of Dalits in rural India, she now plans to focus on communal clashes.After school, Bama spends most of her time talking to young Dalit women about religion, oppression and social change. She shares her experiences as a student, nun and a writer to encourage them to build something anew.Why did she choose to remain single? "The existing family system would not give me the space I needed to do my kind of work. So I chose to stay single," she explains. "My ambition is to communicate the dreams and aspirations of my people, who have remained on the fringes for centuries in Indian history."


March 16, 2003, Women's Feature Service

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Single women of the Hills march on

A picture of the padyatra by Priya Das


An Uphill Task


Nirupama Dutt


Nirmal Chandel, widowed at 23, was one of the 3,000 rural women from eight districts of Himachal who walked to Shimla to hand over a charter of demands of single women to the CM. She is now the state-level coordinator of Ekal Nari Shakti Sangathan. Today over 6,000 single women of the state are part of the organisation, writes Nirupama Dutt
I would labour all day in the fields and often sleep there, hoping for a snake bite that would put an end to my life," recalls Nirmal Chandel (44). Married at 18, this comely Rajput girl of Sarkaghat in Mandi district of Himachal Pradesh was widowed at 23 and condemned to a life of unpaid labour and a colourless existence. Wearing white or grey widow's weeds, she took care to stay away from any auspicious ceremony, for she was branded as 'unlucky'.
Today, despite all odds, Chandel is the state-level coordinator of the single women's collective, Ekal Nari Shakti Sangathan (ENSS), having grown from strength to strength over the past two decades when she left her marital home to seek work and fight her own battle. It was a proud moment for her when she recently handed over a charter of the demands of single women to Chief Minister Prem Kumar Dhumal outside the state Assembly in Shimla. She was one of the 3,000 rural women from eight districts who walked for over three days, through rain and hail, covering a distance of 30 km from Dhami to the state capital.

The people of Shimla had seen nothing like it and many urban women joined their rural sisters, raising slogans and singing songs of change. Even cynics were moved by the genuineness of the oppressed women, who showed the spirit that could move mountains.
The single women in the hill state moved out of the shadows of marginal existence to assert their identity when the Society for Uplift Through Rural Action (SUTRA), with support from the Ekal Nari Sangathan, Rajasthan, initiated the formation of the ENSS in HP. Today, over 6,000 single women—divorced, deserted, unmarried or those whose husbands have gone missing—are a part of the sangathan, which has presence across eight districts. Chandel recalls: "The first few meetings saw only tears. Sharing of experiences came later and then the strength to move forward."
Socially stigmatised, they are condemned to live a life of dependency, bereft of any dignity. Subhash Medhnapurkar, director, SUTRA, says: "Women are neither given any share in the husband's property nor maintenance by the husbands in case of divorce or desertion." More often than not they also do not get a share in the parental property. The law that gives women an equal right in the property is rarely implemented.
Take the case of Champa Devi (59) of Upper Barho village in Solan district. Married at nine, she bore seven children (four died in infancy) until she was 20—when her husband died. She was left with the care of three young daughters and no source of income. "They refused me land and broke the roof of my house, hoping that I would return to my parents' home. I got two fields after a long fight and they made me repay the money that had been spent on my husband's last rites." The brave Champa let out the fields because they were far from the village and rented a plot close by. By growing tomatoes, she could marry her three daughters.

But her troubles were not over. One of her daughter's husband proved to be a wife-beater, and he even started beating Champa to get her to transfer her plot to him. When Champa resisted, he deserted his wife, Shankuntala Devi. Today, the mother and daughter live together and grow tomatoes and rear a couple of cows for their subsistence. Champa now enjoys respect in the village and she says: "I am no longer scared of anyone. I want every woman to fight like me." She has even managed to get pension of Rs 200 per month. However, not all single women have been able to get their due because most of them do not even know what is rightfully theirs.
Chandel says: "When no political party raised our issue in the winter and Budget sessions of the Assembly, we were disappointed and we decided to march in protest." While the Chief Minister accepted the demand for a ration card to single women, which would help them become eligible for several schemes to support their children's education, he also announced free medical care and early disposal of the pending pension cases. But the major demand of a grant of two acres of land each to every landless single woman from the government's surplus pool was met with silence.
Kishwar Shirali, a psychologist and activist who came with 300 women from Kangra, says; "We have gained a little and we will continue our struggle for more. The daughters of the hills will strive till they get their share of the good earth."
The good earth, however, continues to evade them. For Shi Chi Angmo (29), who came all the way from Lahaul on the Indo-Tibet border to participate in the padyatra , the real issue is land rights for the tribal women across the country, which would require a constitutional amendment. "As tribal women, we enjoy a lot of freedom in most areas of life but we have no land rights. The worst sufferers are widows with female children." Angmo is single by choice and some years ago when she opened a
dhaba, she had to face the ire of the boys of the village, who felt this was not a woman's job. A leading activist and Buddhist, Angmo is the
Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) president, Mahila Morcha, Lahaul & Spiti. "I have had to fight every step from higher education to activism and I am determined to fight for our land rights, too," she says.
Nirmal Chandel, Champa Devi and Shi Chi Angmo are among those who have come a long way from their past. They are leading the way for millions of single women living in the margins of society.
The march to Shimla broke many stereotypes. The TV channels inquiring about celebrities leading the march were surprised to see Raj Kumari (85) and her deserted and blind daughter, Rita Kumari, from Kangra in the forefront. The participants had different political leanings, some owed allegiance to the Congress, others to the BJP. But on this issue, they were united — not as activists but as women. — WFS

Honour Killings





Sonia with her daughter (left) found an ally in her sister-in-law Sheela Malik who fought her case

Murdered for Love



Nirupama Dutt
Seema Banawal, 23, of village Karora in Kaithal district of Haryana, has one aim in life - to avenge the murder of her brother Manoj and his wife, Bubbly. It was less than a year ago that the bread-winner of the house and his bride were brutally murdered by Bubbly's relatives. Their fault: they had fallen in love, eloped and married. Heartbroken, Chandrapati, 49, the widowed mother of Seema, picks up a picture of the young couple, "See how beautiful the two were... and how brutally they were killed."As both were from the Jat community, from the same sub-caste and from the same village, their marriage was taboo. As per Hindu tradition, inter-caste marriages are prohibited, an alliance between a boy and girl of the same caste and 'gotra' (origin of a caste from the lineage of the seven sages in the Vedas) is not valid, and even a union between two from the same village is forbidden. Seema recalls the harrowing summer of 2007, "Manoj and Bubbly eloped and we had no idea about it. Yet, we were harassed by Bubbly's relatives and the 'khap panchayat'. A case of kidnapping was registered and we were socially boycotted." When the couple came back to Kaithal, Bubbly gave a statement to the magistrate saying that she had chosen to go with Manoj and that the two were now married. The magistrate instructed the police to escort the couple back to Jaipur, where they had eloped. Instead, the police put them on to a bus at Pipli, near Karnal. At Karnal, Bubbly's relatives tracked them down. On June 21, 2007, the couple was found dead. Even as Seema wages a battle for justice - she has filed a case against her sister-in-law's family, another 'honour killing' is making headlines. In Balah village on May 9, 2008, Sunita Devi, 22, and Jasbir Singh, 27, both Jats, were killed by Sunita's father and other relatives. Their bodies were displayed like hunting trophies outside Sunita's house. Childhood sweethearts, Sunita and Jasbir had eloped and were living with Jasbir's sister, Neelam Devi, in Machhraoli village near Panipat when they were attacked. As the village celebrated the killings, the 'sarpanch' (village council head), Ranbir Singh Mann, announced with pride that the entire village supported the family in its 'noble act'. Gruesome murders like these committed in the name of family honour and lauded by the local community indicate that material progress in these regions has not led to a tolerant outlook. Unfortunately, 'khap panchayats', or caste panchayats, that have been around since medieval times, still hold a powerful sway over people. Though they are not recognised by the government, they have a right to intervene in case there is any lapse in the caste and 'gotra' arrangement in a rural society. However, today there is change in the air. This brutal tradition is now meeting with resistance from some rural women, with the support of women's groups like the CPM's All India Democratic Women's Association (AIDWA). Admits Seema, "I would never have had the courage to fight the case, which has resulted in six arrests, but for the support of Jagmati Sangwan and Brinda Karat."Jagmati Sangwan, the Haryana president of Akhil Bhartiye Janwadi Samiti, (AIDWA in Hindi) reveals, "We have been protesting and resisting these barbaric acts for over a decade."As a result of greater mobility and with more women gaining access to education, the number of marriages of choice, as against those arranged by elders, is on the rise. In Hisar, where there are three universities, the number of inter-caste marriages has increased. Since students of different backgrounds study together, they often fall in love and want to marry but are too scared to return to their villages for they know that it will either lead to separation or death.Shakuntala Jakharh, state secretary of Janwadi Samiti, says, "The first case of inter-caste elopement came to us in 1987. In the last five years, we have come across many more and we have lobbied with the administration to ensure that these couples are given security. The administration doesn't act until pushed."The administration is not keen to meddle with the local social hierarchy and do little even when public lynchings of couples take place. The violence ranges from murder, murder made to appear as suicide, public beatings to forced incarceration and social boycott. "At times, the panchayat forces the couple into tying a rakhi to signify that they are brother and sister. What kind of twisted morality is this?" questions Sangwan.Take the case of Sonia Devi and Rampal Dahiya of Asandha village in Jhajjar district. Married for over a year, with Sonia three-months pregnant, the Rathi caste panchayat of Asandha declared that the husband and wife could only be brother and sister. The judgement was based on the contention that Rampal's caste - the Rathis - inhabit the same village as Sonia's parents, who come from the Hooda caste. Sonia was thus from a third caste, but since there were Rathi settlements in her native village the marriage was considered wrong. At the panchayat assembly Rampal was told that he would be physically attacked if he refused to have a rakhi tied on him by his wife, who was then dragged towards him. However, his mother and sister stood their ground. Just as the group was dragging Sonia to do this, Rampal's sister, Sheela Malik, 40, intervened. "I reached just in time. I even beat up a 'panch' (village council member). I was not afraid and I spoke out because someone has to speak out against such injustice." Malik filed a case with the help of AIDWA. A timely petition filed by the People's Union for Civil Liberties in the High Court of Punjab and Haryana elicited a prompt response. The court directed the state government to rehabilitate the couple in their village and provide them with security. Though it was reluctant, the government had no choice but to carry out the court order. Today, after six years of marriage and two children, Rampal and Sonia still live in fear. Shanti devi, 60, Rampal's mother says, "While all is well on the outside, we are afraid that they may harm us. There have been two assaults on my son while he was working in the fields." Sangwan says, "It is sad that the government has not condemned the killings of Sunita and Jasbir. The right to marry a person of one's choice should be protected. We have been working with rural women in Asandha and Jaundhi for years and have now been able to make a difference. In fact, there have been some concessions from the caste panchayats in these villages too." For instance, the Asandha khap panchayat has said that they will not interfere if a marriage is over a year or more old. Such gruesome killings continue to make it to the front page of newspapers but end up being forgotten, with the administration taking little or no action. Even a higher social status is no protection. Santosh Yadav of Rewat village, who scaled Mount Everest twice and was awarded the Padma Shri in 2000, faced a tough time when she decided to marry outside her caste. She had no choice but to leave her state and settle elsewhere.Meanwhile, Seema who is studying law, has been selected to the post of constable in the Haryana police. After Manoj's death, the family's financial situation deteriorated. Empowered by her struggle, Seema applied for and secured a job with the Haryana police. She goes for training in July. "The panchayat has now been pressurising us to reach an out-of-court settlement in exchange for cash. No money can compensate for such a heinous crime. I will fight to the very end." wfs
May 26, 2008

Daughters of the Soil



Never Ever Say Die!


Nirupama Dutt
Incidents of suicides committed by the farmers of Punjab, a region referred to as the bread basket of India, because of severe agricultural crises and heavy indebtedness, are all too familiar. But what about those - invariably women - left behind who have to pick up the reins of the family and steer it out of the crisis?These women, who get no support from the government or any voluntary agency, have no choice but to keep the kitchen fires burning. Scores of widows and, in some cases, mothers, most of whom are unlettered or semi-literate, are repaying loans, running households and taking care of children, even as they deal with tragedy. Kuldip Kaur's home, built by the edge of a field in Kot Shameer in Bathinda block, is a typical rural abode. While the buffaloes are tied to a post at one end of the courtyard, Kuldip, 43, sitting in the far corner, is busy on the loom, weaving a bedspread in magenta and white checks. "It takes me two days to make a sheet and I get Rs 50 (US$1=Rs 43) for it. The yarn is given to me by the customer," she reveals. Did she always know weaving? She answers, "One has to learn many things to survive."Nine years ago, her husband Sukhminder Singh, who was 36 and owned four acres of land, committed suicide by drinking pesticide spray as he could not pay back the mounting debts. Kuldip never thought that she would be able to make ends meet or provide her daughter Mandeep, 9, and son Amandeep, 6, with an education. Some quick decisions had to be made. She sold off the tractor and two acres of land to pay off a chunk of the loan. The remaining two acres were rented out. Kuldip then bought a spinning wheel, yarn and learnt to weave. She also began rearing cattle. Today, Mandeep has completed Class XII, while Amandeep has passed Class X. Her daughter wants to study further, but Kuldip says she will not be able to educate her further because the loan her husband took from the 'arhtiyas' (traders who function as middle men) is still to be paid. Her husband had taken Rs 250,000 from the bank for a tractor and a similar amount from the 'arhtiyas' for other farm inputs. Crop failure led to non-payment of the loan and piling up of penal interest. Kuldip makes about Rs 6,000 per month and is paying Rs 2,000 to the 'arhtiyas'. Kuldip is one of the many women in the state who have had to not only take hard decisions, but have had to work extremely hard - as weavers, cattle rearers and daily wagers - to provide for the family. The largest number of suicides has been reported from the Malwa region, or the cotton belt of Punjab, with the districts of Bathinda, Barnala, Mansa and Sangrur being the worst hit. The reasons for this have ranged from lack of sufficient water to pest attacks - great damage has been done by the American Bollworm and the Mealy Bug. Suicide figures in Punjab are misleading. While the government's status report listed 2,114 farmer suicides during 1988-2004, the Punjab Farmers' Commission 2006 claims that some 2,000 farmers end their lives every year. The Movement Against State Repression (MASR), a non-profit organisation, estimated the figures to be over 40,000. MASR convener Inderjit Singh Jaijee says, "Punjab has been projected as an agricultural success story. If the government admits that farmers in Punjab are distressed, it would mean agriculture in India is on the verge of collapse." Ironically, the Punjab Police Report 2007 listed only seven suicides in as many years, while the Punjab Revenue Report for 2007 conceded that 132 suicides took place in the last five years.Misery sits at the doorstep of a poor Jat household in Chathewaal village, in the Talwandi block of Bathinda district. The last few years have been very difficult for Balvinder Kaur, 60, and her daughter-in-law, Ranjit Kaur, 27. Balvinder has had to reckon with the deaths of her husband, Kirpal Singh (he died due to natural causes), an older son, and a younger one, Daljit Singh. Daljit committed suicide by consuming pesticide spray five years ago. He has left behind a heartbroken mother, a wife, Ranjit, and two sons. The family has no means of survival. While they are receiving auction notices - the traders to whom they owe money are threatening to auction their land holding - there is no work for them this season, not even as farm labourers. Balvinder says, "I earn a little from spinning yarn and then I go to the pond to fetch clay from which my daughter-in-law makes stoves that sell for Rs 25 each." Ranjit says, "My older son is 10 and the younger, eight. I have no money for their fees and notebooks. The school will throw them out." The two women have yet to even get the statuary widows' pension, as there is no one to plead their case. The government has sanctioned Rs 200 per month as widows pension but very few can avail of it as there is a lot of red tapism. But they are not alone in their misery. In the last few years Chathewaal has witnessed 13 suicides - of eight farmers and five farm labourers.Punjab lacks any organisation of single women like those in Rajasthan and Himachal Pradesh. The women's movement had bypassed Punjab. However, in Sangrur district, where 25 suicides have been reported over the last few years, there have been certain initiatives by MASR and by some concerned citizens. For instance, Kanwaljit Dhindsa, who runs the SEABA Public School, a private institution in Lehragaga block of Sangrur district, has sponsored the education of 14 students from affected families in the district. Chotian village in Sangrur was home to Dullah and Bhatti, two brothers named after local heroes who supposedly fought the tyranny of the Mughals in West Punjab during the reign of Akbar. However, the namesakes were not as courageous. Elder brother, Dullah, committed suicide in 2000, and his fiancée, Jaspal Kaur, was married to the younger Bhatti. But domestic bliss was not for the young woman, as even Bhatti ended his life in 2006. Mounting loans, the burden of the marriage of four sisters and the sale of the tractor caused the double tragedy. Money has been hard to come by for the family left behind, but Bhatti and Jaspal Kaur's children - Jaspreet Kaur, 16, and Mahinder Singh, 13 - have managed to continue their education. While Jaspreet, who studies in Class X at SEABA School, gets support from the school, Mahinder goes to a private school near the village in exchange of half an acre of land to the school. Their grandmother, Kartar Kaur is now anxious that they complete their education soon, as much of family land is barren.Education of her children is also the worry of Gurmel Kaur, the widow of Jagraj Singh, in Burj Hari village of Mansa district. Debt and the pending marriage of a daughter led Jagraj to take this drastic step. While the daughter has been married with help from relatives, Gurmel and her two sons, who have studied till Class X and VIII, live like paupers. "I did not have money to pay for their examination fees. My younger boy says, 'Let's die, too, as we cannot even afford 'chappals' (slippers). But I tell him, we will live no matter what happens," reveals Gurmel. And so she continues with her multi-tasking - rearing cattle for dairies at a small price and waiting for September when she can go out and pick cotton for a daily wage. These are women who never ever say die.
July 6, 2008