DELHI BY HEART

by Raza Rumi

  I am grilled with equal suspicion and subdued ferocity at the Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. The visa, alas, had been issued in a different country. So I was a Pakistani, sporting an Indian visa issued in a third country; all of this was quite confusing for the linear red-tape-obsessed officialdom. I register at a separate desk, of course, and then answer some odd questions on the number of days, the credentials of my host and more. The address and the relatively unknown name of the JNU guest house is also checked by a superior who, thank heavens, is far more good humoured than his underlings.

  By the time I came out of the arrival section of the airport, I was exhausted. This was arguably the most trying journey to Delhi. The winter sun was soothing and cheered me up instantly. At the airport, a graduate student of JNU, Chetan Singai, received me. Chetan was born and brought up in Bangalore, once the ‘Garden City’, as he informs me. However, it was now the Silicon Valley of India. Extremely polite and deferential, I stopped him from calling me ‘Sir’ and insisted that he was free to address me by my first name.

  Crawling in the frustrating traffic, we talked a lot. Chetan had come to Delhi in 2004 to pursue a Masters degree in Political Science. His first visit at the age of twenty-two was in connection with a SAARC ‘Budding Economists’ Competition where he represented the South Indian region. With a twinkle in his eye, he described his first visit to the sprawling JNU campus and how he just ‘fell in love with the place’. A distinguished student, he made it to the Masters programme. In the process, he landed at the Centre for Law and Governance to do an M. Phil. He praised JNU’s flexible academic policy which allows for such freedoms for students to chart their own course of study.

  ‘From the City of Gardens to spacious JNU, I felt at home,’ remarked Chetan. ‘I don’t feel like moving outside the campus for any reason,’ he said with a broad smile. Before he moved here, he was always in awe of the historical significance of this city, ‘In Delhi, I have revisited many of the historical monuments. They are stunning, of course! I was not overawed by them, but everything here has a unique aesthetic that is quite different from what I grew up with,’ he said. At JNU, Chetan discovered only in his second year, that the Qutub Minar was literally in his backyard!

  Chetan, like a responsible host, provides a running commentary as we enter the broad arched gate of JNU. This was a different Delhi—calm and scenic, the noise level inside the campus, incredibly low. JNU’s 1,000 acres have been carved out of the wild Aravalli Hills. We crossed forest areas that would have been a delight for birdwatchers and tree lovers.

  The Imperial Gazetteer of India, 1881, had noted that the rocky and undulating hill spurs close to Mehrauli were dotted with keekar and beri bushes, while the soil glowed with mica. The Imperial Gazetteer informs us that the hills of Delhi used to provide a pleasing scene when looked at from the other side of the Jumna river. Apparently in clear weather even the Himalayas could be spotted. No such luck now. But the hill spurs are vaguely visible even in the December smog much like an impressionistic painting.

  I am a guest at the Chintan Guest House managed by the Indian Council of Social Science Research established in 1969 by the state to promote research in social sciences. This is a typical government guest house with a large retinue of staff and austere rooms. The waiter, who salaams me as he deposits my luggage, is, as I find out, a Muslim. I am tempted to talk with him but I need a rest after a long haul with ferocious bureaucracies.

  The emergence of JNU in the early 1970s was a milestone in the educational landscape of India as it launched cutting-edge disciplines and introduced fresh perspectives within the Indian university culture. JNU has always been considered as one of India’s most politically aware and active educational institutions with Marxist student politics ruling the campus for years.

  The academics at JNU proudly claim that the university and its campus life is a microcosm of India, drawing students from all parts of the country and from almost every strata of Indian society. JNU’s annual admission tests are conducted at three dozen or so centres across the country simultaneously. There is affirmative action for under-represented ethnic groups including the ‘unmentionable’ castes; almost a quarter of seats are reserved for them. Students from overseas are also encouraged and each year, nearly 10 per cent of the students are from abroad.

  During my stay at Chintan, the television coverage of student elections was most interesting. Some local channels commented, patronizingly, how JNU was time-warped. The Left had died in the world but the JNU faculty and students were keeping it alive almost artificially. I could not help notice the extraordinary politicking in the campus. All four key posts—president, vice president, general secretary and joint secretary—were won by the AISA (All India Students Association). AISA, at least then, was closely affiliated with the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist). Even more intriguing was the fact that the CPI (ML) had won only five seats in the State Legislative Assembly in Bihar and one in Jharkhand and, quite clearly, was not a widespread movement in populous India. The media also played up CPI(ML)’s support to the Naxalite movements in areas around Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand and the Andhra Pradesh-Karnataka border.

  True to its reputation, JNU was a mini-India space. The political contest within the campus was a close reflection of national politics. Eight parties within the campus were contesting. My head swirled as I tried to keep up with this heightened pluralism. As a foreigner, despite my desire to learn more about student politics, I was whacked up by the confusion caused by so many acronyms.

  Chetan was a little sceptical about the AISA’s victory in 2006, saying it was contradictory, ‘While anti-globalization was one of the major planks of the AISA election manifesto, JNU students are not shy of crawling the glitzy shopping malls of Delhi wearing brands like Reebok, Nike, Levi’s, and so on. Some even work part-time in the call centres of Gurgaon.’ He said that this schizophrenia was probably an offshoot of aggressive corporate dreams sold via the media. Another student told me at the conference, that the faculty was confused. The same neo-liberal international institutions which are vehemently criticized during academic sessions end up supporting the seminars and knowledge events at JNU. Wither their politics? But at JNU, it is difficult to remain unaffected by the sheer enthusiasm and life on campus. Elections or no elections, most of the students are so politically aware that even plays and other entertainment activities centre round issues and political positions.

  The conference and related discussions were lively, and thankfully devoid of the strangulating formality typical of public sector events. I made my two-bit contribution and chaired a few sessions. Amita Singh ran around the place, arranging and re-arranging sessions, negotiating with the egos of the VIPs who came to lecture at certain sessions. Amidst the mayhem, Amita would not forget to introduce me to the participants and JNU staff. She would give long, embarrassingly laudatory introductions and end with the phrase ‘and he represents the younger generation that will change India-Pakistan relations.’ Sometimes I would squirm or smile, cough or even laugh loudly. When I was introduced thus to Dr Karan Singh, eminent statesman and the then chancellor of JNU, he was quite realistic, saying, ‘Woh kabhee na kabhee to hoga, but you tell me, which Pakistani city are you from?’ We began chatting and Dr Karan Singh, as I found out, was a Doon School alumnus and his immediate interest was in my school, the Aitchison College, that was the Pakistani version (albeit less exclusive) of the post-Independence Doon School.

  Dr Karan Singh is a wry politician, published author and also the titular Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir. He is the son of the last ruler of the ill-fated princely state, Maharaja Hari Singh. Steeped in letters, he holds a doctorate from Delhi University. Singh has had a long consistent political career. He also served as governor of the state of Jammu and Kashmir from 1965–1967. Thereafter, he was a minister, an ambassador, a Lok Sabha MP, and a Rajya Sabha member since 1996.

  Knowing his background, I refrained from any political dis
cussion. Dressed in an achkan and pyjama, he was quite a charming figure typical of black and white faded photos of a past era. During our brief interaction, he spoke of peace and missed opportunities.

  Involved students and researchers took care of the guests besides managing little stalls commonly known as ‘information kiosks’. There were a few publishing houses as well on the veranda with books and countless titles related to the myriad disciplines exhausted during the conference.

  JNU is stimulating, often breaking notions of conventional wisdom on poverty and development. In fact, it tackles the ‘captive mind’ syndrome head on. The tendency of third-world scholars and academia to be influenced by western theories and concepts gets a thorough thrashing here. Corporate India loves to mock JNU calling it passé or at best naïve but the reality is that in spite of the watering down of its past ideological exuberance, JNU and such other hubs of thought and activity provide the necessary impetus for equitable change and respect the diversity of entitlements. It provides that essential, if only a little, digression from the linear view of progress that India has espoused since its liberalization which is now bolstered by high growth rates masking inequality and poverty.

  As a Pakistani, this is even more inspiring. Our public sector campuses have been held hostage by the right wing and the best of academics are abroad or in private sector universities. Pakistan’s marriage to neo-liberalism has been accepted at large–by politicians, parties and unelected institutions of governance. A few individuals and some NGOs have challenged the ascendancy of the market and blind faith in its workability. But there are few institutions and spaces that can provide sustained resistance or, at least, present alternatives. Even the best of private universities in Lahore cannot say what JNU can. This is the difference, an essential one, which I felt in Delhi.

  I met a wide range of earnest, eccentric and highly gifted researchers at the conference. A lady from Heidelberg talked about farmer suicides in India with passion; an Australian academic made startling revelations about slums and issues of justice, and so on. I was delighted to meet Kuldeep Mathur, former head of the Centre of the Study of Law and Governance. Professor Mathur has written extensively on the environmental campaigns of Delhi. I happened to read his paper on the politics of the environmental clean-up in the wake of civil society’s movement against air pollution. Delhi has been a success story in some ways, but achieving this has not been a smooth process. It has deep implications on the tendency of the executive to take refuge in court edicts.

  Sometime, in those few memorable days spent at JNU, my dynamic hosts, led by Chetan, introduced me to the Ganga Dhaba (tea stall) close to the Ganga Hostel. This dhaba is not just another tea stall but a popular joint famous for its late-night student congregations. Tea is but an excuse for political discussions and laughter. However, the dhaba is in effect, a small, dusty place. What makes it unique is the energy of the students. We too sip masala chai and talk about the campus and how it has evolved over the decades.

  Pawas, a South Indian student, tells me how the social atmosphere of the campus has transformed since the 1990s. Echoing him, a younger academic explains how the teaching community has also changed. It is not necessary that members of various faculties are card-carrying Leftists. Government has subtly tried to align JNU with changing times, read neo-liberalism. Competition is rife. The cultural life of JNU, which once held mushairas and kavi sammelans, has also changed. Even social integration has been thwarted with the increased use of the internet and now special campaigns are required for cosmopolitanism. Ironically, as I find out more and more JNU students are not looking for causes. Instead, they are busy preparing for competitive exams for entry into the civil services.

  One of the students in the organizational team was Nazia Khan, a Delhi girl. Demure yet articulate, Nazia is a dynamic young woman who intends to enter the civil service. Her decision is backed by her family and as she tells me, her parents have strongly encouraged her to pursue graduate studies. Nazia’s family is from Old Delhi and she spent her early years near Ballimaran. Her immediate family moved out of the area as it was getting congested and the better schools were situated in the farther corners of ‘New’ Delhi.

  Nazia was exceptionally beautiful. The infiniteness of her eyes made her even more charming. But above all it was her art of story-telling, undoing the ordinariness of simple events, the tales and places of Old Delhi that one had heard already. During our splintered conversations, at tea-breaks, lunch hours and the several mindless official dinners, we squeezed a few moments to discuss the obligations expected out of her as a Muslim woman. Nazia is very much a product of her age. She is not defiant about conventions but believes in tailoring them to the present.

  Two women lawyer-activists from Lahore are also objects of much curiosity. For mainstream Indians, Pakistani women are burqa-clad Taliban creations or at best, Muslim typecasts from Indian cinema. Western perceptions are material for a long and sordid story. Irum Ahsan and Saima Khawaja have been at the forefront of environmental movements in Pakistan and have been pursuing public interest litigations.

  Irum laid out the pros and cons of alternative dispute resolution, particularly the jirgas in the tribal and rural areas while Saima traced the trajectory of public interest litigation and the corresponding judicial activism for environmental protection in Pakistan. They are the new faces of Pakistani womanhood—confident, conventional yet modern and extremely articulate. Saima covers her head and her dupatta moves in a Benazir-esque fashion while she talks or makes speeches. While we were at JNU, a horrible incident took place. A Muslim woman who was raped by her father-in-law faced further discrimination by the mullahs in India who declared that her marriage ought to be annulled due to this sexual act. Therefore she had to seek a formal divorce and marry her father-in-law. Saima Khawaja held a press conference and spoke vehemently against this bigoted understanding and application of Islamic jurisprudence. In a few days, she made a mark at JNU.

  JNU provided this space and encouraged Saima to speak up. ‘We feel like celebrities here,’ remarked Saima when we chatted at the farewell dinner. Irum was sorry about how such an environment of relatively free expression has yet to take root in Pakistan. I remind them that this is JNU, a little island of enlightenment, and may not be taken as the norm in contemporary India.

  Saima has another mission too. She would have been a Delhiite had Partition not taken place. Her mother lived at Akbar Road, in a bungalow where the Congress Party Office exists now. Her father left Shajahanabad in 1947 never to return. Such is their sense of loss that they do not want to look back or even converse about Delhi. Muted memories came back from Saima’s childhood as she related the migration tale. Her grandfather rose to the position of the governor of West Pakistan in the late 1950s. Pakistan augmented the family’s privilege and status like other sections of the Muslim elite that migrated to Pakistan. For instance, Saima’s family speaks proper Urdu, biryani and other culinary delights are cooked with a touch of authenticity, innate pride and perhaps nostalgia, a wistfulness that needs to be fostered, lest it empties the memory.

  The venomous Naipaul, had for a change, made some relevant remarks on the cities of India. By extension, these words are equally applicable to most cities which evolved during British India:

  All the four main cities in India were developed by the British, but none has so British a stamp as Calcutta. Lutyens’s New Delhi is a disaster, a mock-imperial joke, neither British nor Indian, a city built for parades rather than people, and today given a correctly grotesque scale by the noisy little scooter-rickshaws that scurry about its long avenues and endless roundabouts… Calcutta alone appears to have been created in the image of England, the British here falling, unusually, into the imperialist practice of the French and the Portuguese. And what has resulted in Calcutta is a grandeur more rooted than that of New Delhi…1

  Driving out of JNU, the taxi-driver, evidently a novice, missed a turning and drove aimlessly. He was not th
at perturbed despite my protests. I wanted to reach the Hazrat Nizamuddin dargah before it was late. Having lost our way, we passed a conglomerate of shanty towns where the Delhi underclass, shunted out to cleanse the metropolis, lived. The sight intrigued me, so the next day I returned to the huge slum that provides shelter to a small fraction of the millions who live in squatter settlements across India.

  In Delhi alone, there are over 800 slum clusters. Each is said to have between 100 and 1,000 huts with a total population of about four million. I learn at JNU that around 800,000 housing units were required to accommodate slum dwellers so that they have access to basic health, education and other facilities. According to an old estimate of the Ministry of Housing and Urban Poverty Alleviation, India-wide, there was a shortfall of over 169 million dwelling units. Perhaps it is growing at the same pace.

  This is not different from Pakistan. A simple formula is to divide each figure by eight and one can safely apply it to Pakistan.

  A copy of the Forbes magazine that I picked up rates Delhi as the twenty-fourth dirtiest city in the world with the filthy waters of the Jamuna and other health hazards. Expectedly, the city authorities deny the charge. Such rankings take into account levels of air pollution, waste management, water potability, hospital supplies, medical services and the presence of infectious diseases. While the municipal authorities have taken several measures such as landfills and sanitation improvement, the situation is far from satisfactory and even a casual visitor cannot help but notice that. Like several other South Asian metropolitan areas, this state of affairs can be traced to the ‘multiplicity of authority’ or overlapping jurisdictions—drainage maintenance is the responsibility of the Municipal Council of Delhi (MCD), sewage-control that of the Delhi Jal Board (DJB) and so on.3

  Delhi’s urban sprawl is mixed seamlessly with its rural hinterland. The two hundred and seventy-five ‘revenue villages’ of Delhi are no longer peripheral but are a part of the capital though not always officially acknowledged. Once, as I walked by the posh Kailash Colony to Zamrudpur, ugly concrete urbanity effortlessly merged with lazy old men smoking hookah on a khaat. If one visits the trendy Hauz Khas village, there are hardly any signs of urban-rural divide; everyone looks wealthy amidst the swanky art galleries and charming curio shops. Rangpuri village that borders Radisson Hotel, has Haryana’s Jat kids driving flashy cars and dancing in National Highway 8 clubs, thanks to the urban real-estate demand as more and more of Haryana villages are being sucked into Delhi’s urbanity.