Hijab

by Guruprasad Kaginele

  16. Saanvi—New York, NY

  Sometimes, when we are unsure of doing something, we end up acting on a random impulse. When I reflect years later, I’m not so sure whether it was a good idea to call Saanvi who was in New York. I had not yet shaken off the hangover from the Rick Jackson meeting. After the meeting, I was certain that Rick would convince Zeba, and Radhika herself might end up doing Zeba’s Cesarean section. But Radhika was mad at me. She was even more convinced that I was siding with the hospital administration. She had neither looked me in the eye nor spoken with me. It was not clear whether she had agreed to perform the operation.

  I felt that this plan of Rick Jackson was laughable to say the least. Was it fair, or even sensible for Radhika to operate on a Pakistani woman to demonstrate to Sanghaali women that Cesarean sections are safe? This whole affair of using a proxy Muslim woman was patently naïve. I couldn’t help but question whether Rick Jackson and this media consultant Molly, had seen the world outside of Minnesota. But they were asserting that the directions to do so had come from Washington. The more I thought about it, the murkier it got.

  Apparently, Srikantha had convinced Radhika to be a part of this documentary by promising her that Saanvi would produce and direct it. The moment Radhika agreed, Srikantha had swung into action. He had spoken to Saanvi twice in the past week and had cautioned her that I would be calling her to share the details of this Amoka Project. He had insisted that I call Saanvi right away before Radhika changed her mind. To be honest, I was also apprehensive that if there was any delay, Rick Jackson may end up giving this project to some other company. I decided to co-opt Saanvi first and then talk to Rick about her.

  I called Saanvi. The moment she picked up the phone, she started. ‘Guru, it has been a long time since you called. Srikantha had called a couple of times. And there is no news from Radhika! I had planned on calling you, but I got busy. Anyway, after Srikantha told me all about it, I looked at your hospital’s Facebook page. I navigated through all the links and got at least some sense of what the heck was going on over there. How did you guys let the situation come to this? Boy, such a mess. No thanks to you, boss. Those women are losing their lives. What’s with all of you guys? Why are you guys forcing procedures on them that they are totally against? And despite all these, why this hush hush in the national media? Why are they not talking about them?’ It was the same old Saanvi with her trademark staccato, non-stop talk, totally oblivious to the other person.

  Saanvi is a friend of Kristina who did her residency with us at New York. Kristina is a physician like all of us and Saanvi had done a cinematography course at NYU. She had produced a few documentaries. Some of her movies had been screened at local film festivals. The short film that she had done on honor killings was on PBS’s Frontline. This had given her high visibility and her name had started coming up frequently on the national networks. She was originally from Mangaluru. Cinema was her life. Prior to coming to New York, she had briefly worked with filmmaker Dibakar Banerjee in Bollywood. She had met Kristina at a movie premiere in New York and was immediately attracted to her. They now live together.

  It was not clear if Saanvi was able to make a living from making documentaries, but Kristina was well-off. She had helped her girlfriend set up a Whole Foods store that they named, ‘Maya Good Food Store’. Everything sold in this store was organic—be it vegetables, dairy, wine or poultry. Kristina was a yoga pants-socks and sandals-Go Green enthusiast. Diminutive Saanvi was an extremely active liberal who made documentary films on subjects like war, LGBTQ in India, Mumbai Metro, Kamatipura, and more. It was natural that they were attracted to each other. It was tough to say how much Kristina liked being a doctor. After she started living with Saanvi, she took up a part-time job at a women’s clinic in Queens and started spending most of her time at Saanvi’s store. Saanvi’s store was a non-profit co-op, and offered free access to everyone regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. They had also formed a small NGO called Maya Co-Op and published a newsletter titled Color Purple.

  Though Kristina was a doctor like the rest of us, we had grown closer to Saanvi, perhaps because she was an Indian and even more so because she was from Karnataka. While we, the qualified medical professionals, lived in towns like Amoka for the sake of our green cards and to find a bearing in this country, Saanvi had comfortably settled down with Kristina in New York extending her visa every year. Her laissez-faire approach to life on issues that we stressed about surprised us, like her response when we asked her what she would do if she gets called out by immigration: ‘You guys are all here as witnesses. I will marry Kristina in a jiffy!’

  I replied to her on the phone, ‘Saanvi, we are not forcing anyone. They most certainly need these Cesarean sections. Talk to Kristina if she is there. She can explain everything to you.’

  ‘I don’t agree. Srikantha talked to me in detail. I agree with your boss, Rick Jackson to a large extent. You guys are not doing a good job at explaining to the Sanghaalis on why they need Cesarean sections or someone else is doing a better job at influencing and misleading them on why they should not get a Cesarean section done. Men in the Sanghaali community are typically very controlling. Has any one of you spoken to them? In fact, Kristina and I are planning on coming there with some other folks from our “Maya”.’

  The hits kept on coming! As if we were looking for more trouble. I was not sure what Srikantha had discussed with her. The prospect of a New York’s women’s rights organization coming here and protesting for the rights of Sanghaali women would complete the last missing piece of this messy puzzle. Frankly, the thought scared me.

  I told her, ‘Saanvi, we have already had a great deal of trouble. Please do not come here and start your hartals and picketing. I called you to discuss the documentary. Srikantha may have already briefed you about it.’

  ‘He has given me some information. He said that you would explain in detail. Go ahead, I am listening.’

  ‘Look, we need a short documentary to explain to the people here what these Cesarean sections are and why and when do we do them. It should be fine even if this documentary comes across as an ad film for the Amoka General Hospital. I do not have much money budgeted for this. The main objective of this exercise is to make the town’s Sanghaalis understand that the Cesarean sections done at our hospital are safe. This needs an effective local touch. The documentary must be shot right here in our hospital. And the patient should be one of our own. I think we should be able to broadcast the documentary on our local channels. We can also post it on YouTube. The commentary should be in Sanghaali with subtitles in English.’ I told her, as if by rote, whatever Molly had said in the meeting. I decided to bring up Zeba’s name now. Srikantha had told me that he had already hinted to Saanvi about Zeba’s possible role in this C-section.

  ‘And another thing,’ I said rather casually, ‘Srikantha might have already told you. Zeba is now pregnant. She is five and a half months into her pregnancy. Her first delivery was by Cesarean section. Radhika has examined her thoroughly and confirmed that this delivery—her second—will also be a Cesarean section.’

  ‘Even if it isn’t, you guys will ensure that it shall be so.’

  I did not react to her words but continued, ‘If we can somehow convince her and shoot the whole surgical procedure and broadcast it in all its details, Sanghaalis may get convinced that this is a safe surgery. And, Zeba is from this town. They would be comforted by the fact that our own doctors are operating on our people. Apparently, this would convince them that the Cesarean sections are quite safe. This is how our leadership thinks.’

  ‘Are Zeba and Razak going to agree to this plan?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s our management’s task to convince them. They will pull out every trick in their book. I hate to get Razak and Zeba involved in this. But, if you can come and make the movie, it might be easier on them too. For you, this is a simple job. For Zeba and Razak, it depends on how you play the pitch. Dads take videos of their
baby’s birth with their camera phones anyway. Razak will do the same. Let him shoot the same video in high definition under your direction. You can edit it to fit your needs. If we interview Razak and Zeba before and after the surgery, and show their close-ups, it will lend authenticity to the whole process.’

  ‘Guru, you talk like a true businessman, dude. You don’t seem to have given a thought to whether Zeba will agree to this plan.’

  Saanvi’s words did not surprise me at all. I had not asked either Zeba or Razak. I had believed that Rick Jackson will convince them and reached out to Saanvi. In my mind, I was only looking at this as a job to be done; a task that needed to be accomplished. As I was starting to introspect the right and the wrong, Saanvi interrupted, ‘That’s ok Guru. If you guys do not seem to be bothered, why should I? But is it enough if we make this documentary and release it only on your local cable? I’ve been thinking about this ever since Srikantha spoke to me. Instead of broadcasting a recorded Cesarean section, it would be cool to broadcast it live as that gets more publicity and a larger viewership. And more sponsorships too! We could even shoot for a national network. I’ve contacts at NBC. You are aware of the Katie Couric case. Aren’t you?’

  There it goes again. Katie Couric had her colonoscopy live on TV several years ago and now everyone still talks about it!

  Ever since she heard about our plans, Saanvi had emphasized her interest in broadcasting the C-section over the national channels. It was not clear if this was the eagerness of a TV journalist for eye-popping headlines or the natural excitement of a women’s rights activist trying to help Sanghaali women.

  I said, ‘Saanvi, I’m not looking to increase the ratings of the news channels. My interest is to communicate to the Sanghaali community that there are other people in Amoka who are getting C-sections done. And that our own doctors like Radhika are doing these operations which are safe.’

  Saanvi retorted, ‘Appropriate packaging of news is also an art.’

  ‘Saanvi, there’s something you should understand here. Both Fadhuma and Rukhiya who delivered at our hospital were new immigrants to America. I’ve gone over other cases of suicides also. They were all new immigrants too. Please understand my situation. The hospital’s board is exerting pressure on us to address the situation. Somebody in Washington has decided on how to educate the Sanghaali community. I don’t believe anyone is all that interested in turning this into headline news.’

  ‘Ok, Guru, everything is very fuzzy here. Six Sanghaali women have died but, that has made news only on social media. There is hardly any coverage of it on the national network. And, not just that. Folks like Rick Jackson and Molly are asserting that they will fix everything if we can make a video that is more like a commercial and broadcast it on Amoka’s local channels. But apparently, they have got instructions to do so from Washington? And, who is this Mohammad Mohammad? His Facebook page is flooded with posts about your hospital and these suicides. Why so? Don’t you think he is giving as much publicity as possible to this news? But no one seems to be interested in taking things to the next logical level. The many links of these cases are not clicking into place.’

  The moment she raised Mohammad Mohammad’s name, I knew that she had done her research well.

  ‘Hello ma’am, I’ve thought about this a lot and rubbed most people the wrong way. Now they have given me this task. I’m guessing there’s one thing you are aware of. This is the age of social media. People don’t get their headlines from the newspapers. They can make their own headlines. I believe our management is trying very hard to create our own headline news to avert this from turning into someone else’s narrative. Folks like Rick and Powell may come across as vile people, but the fact of the matter is that they are just doing their jobs. Therefore, I’m seeking your assistance. Please let me know if you can help or not.’ I ignored the Mohammad Mohammad part of the conversation on purpose.

  ‘If we are doing it anyway, which would reach more people? Making a forty-minute documentary of the procedure or the news that a Muslim woman will undergo her Cesarean section live on TV?’

  Everybody comes with their own agenda. This made my mind go mad with frustration. I asked her, ‘Saanvi, by doing so aren’t we giving it more visibility? The idea is to keep it local.’

  ‘I hope you are not so naïve to believe that just because some news does not make the national headlines on CNN, it has remained local. You mentioned just a little while ago that this is the age of people making their own headlines.’

  I remembered that Mohammad Mohammad’s Facebook posts were shared even in Indonesia. I thought for a moment, ‘Let’s say we go by your plan, but then this is a Cesarean section. Can that be planned at all? Even if it can be, do you think Rick will consent to that? Will his superiors consent to that?’

  ‘It is precisely because it is a Cesarean section, it can be planned. Today when people plan their baby’s births for all kinds of reasons, for names, birth stars and what not, isn’t it possible to plan a baby’s birth for a good cause? Brief Rick on this plan. He is the hospital board president. He will always have the “bottom line” on his mind. He would never let go of this free publicity.’ She did not soften her stand on Rick.

  I did not know what to say. In fact, I had completely lost my thoughts on what I was planning on asking her to do.

  Saanvi said, ‘Zeba being a Muslim lends this whole exercise an authenticity, isn’t it? And having her dressed traditionally and putting a hijab on her would enable the Sanghaalis to identify themselves with her.’

  I told Saanvi that I would get back to her. I called Rick Jackson to give him a heads-up about my conversation with Saanvi. And to ask him to talk to Zeba and Razak as well. For all I knew, he may have already talked to them by now.

  17. Hassan’s Sister Amina

  I was in the office going through my emails. I had received an email from Saanvi. She had mentioned that she was clearing her schedule to make time for Zeba’s delivery. She had also offered to talk to Razak if I was hesitant to do so. I asked her to stay put and not do anything for now. I assured her that I would talk to Razak at the right time.

  Kuki was discharged from the Minneapolis Heart Institute the very next day. The Minneapolis Police had arrested him since there was an arrest warrant against him in Minneapolis’ Hennepin County. He was charged for possession. Surprisingly nobody had bailed him out. Each time I came across Amoka’s police chief, I asked him if Kuki had been taken to Minneapolis’ federal building. The chief would invariably give an evasive answer. In my mind, the fact that the FBI might be involved in the investigation made it a huge deal. I believed that so long as the investigation was done by the local police, everything would remain purely ‘domestic’. It could never be so once the FBI gets involved.

  It was almost as if we were witnessing a game in progress with a naiveté that made us believe the sport is being played for us to watch, cheer and gamble. But I had felt several times that the whole game was rigged. The players and the patrons were all, in fact, controlled by someone else. Zeba’s live Cesarean section was the new addition to this puppeteering. What could be accomplished by this, if at all?

  Trust?

  Doctors and the Sanghaali mothers should develop a mutual trust. The mothers should trust that the Cesarean sections done by our doctors will cause them no harm and similarly doctors like Radhika and Razak should trust that the mothers will not end up committing suicides.

  For a moment, I was shaken by my own thoughts. Things had come to such a pass in Amoka that if one Sanghaali kills herself, we would start guessing who might be the next. And under what circumstances? We almost believed that every time a Sanghaali delivers a baby, she could kill herself. Death literally followed birth in Amoka.

  And to all this, as the chief of staff of the hospital, what was the solution I discovered for this problem? Zeba’s live Cesarean! Would it be any better if this was done on a Sanghaali woman instead? Better optics? But who can I persuade at this time? I
had raised this dilemma with Saanvi and she was very clear. ‘Dude, in movies, we try to cast a specific actor for the lead role and look for a specific location to shoot. If that does not work out, what do we do? We look for the next best thing. A hijab, a name like Zeba and a little makeover will do the job for us. We can do it. Trust me, we can take advantage of her being a Muslim.’

  She too was talking about ‘the next best thing’. Am I a doctor? Am I rehearsing for an act or a show? Am I the lead actor in this absurd play? Or am I the casting director? I had morphed into someone else. The curtains on the ongoing play will come down with a movie shoot. The omissions of this burlesque should probably not even be introspected.

  I got a call from the nurse at the labour ward, ‘A twenty-year-old Sanghaali girl by the name Amina just checked in, complaining of abdominal pain. She is still four weeks shy of her due date. She is Dr Radhika’s patient. We looked for Dr Radhika. She is nowhere to be found. She is on call. Did she go home by any chance? Also, I think it is important to bring something to your attention. Do you remember Fadhuma? The woman who had her baby in our hospital and committed suicide right after? Remember her husband Hassan? Amina is his sister. Just to let you know.’

  I remembered Amina. At the time when Radhika and I delivered Fadhuma’s baby, Hassan had taken her name before going home and had, in fact, shouted that he would never get Amina’s delivery done by Radhika. None of us knew who Amina’s husband was. There used to be bubbler talk going around in the emergency department that she was pregnant outside of wedlock. God knows how such gossip starts but the moment Amina came to the emergency department the ambience turned fretfully pure and sanitized.

  Now she had come to the hospital complaining of belly pain. It was not yet clear whether it was labour pain or something else. And Radhika could not be traced even after searching all over the hospital. I was surprised and called her on her mobile. She answered the call and without even waiting for my question and said, ‘Guru, I have a severe headache. I’ve asked Razak to take my calls. If there is anything, contact him,’ and hung up.