khirkee Voice (Issue 11) English by Khoj International Artists' Association

KHIRKEE VOICE

WINTER EDITION 2020

ISSUE #11

Artists on an Epic trip reach Zimbabwe

Time traveling through lost times

S E A S O N A L REPORT J A N U A RY - A P R I L 2 0 2 0

ABIDJAN, IVORY COAST

12 PAGES

IMAGINING NEW FUTURES

What will Khirkee be like in 2033?

Supported by

Interview with B-Boy Shif

CITIZENS COME TOGETHER

A diverse crowd of local residents recently organised a rally in Gandhi Park to raise awareness around issues concerning CAA, NRC, and NPR. MAHAVIR SINGH BISHT spoke with some of those in attendance about their questions, concerns, and opinions regarding the legislations.

Hypolimnas Monteironis

WARM AND PARTIALLY SUNNY WITH OCCASIONAL SHOWERS

Va n e s s a C a r d u i

COLD AND DRY IN JANUARY, GETS WARM AFTER MARCH

KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

Pa r n a s s i u s Au t o c r a t o r ( e n d a n g e r e d )

FREEZING WITH SNOW AND RAIN GETS WARMER AFTER MARCH

LAGOS, NIGERIA

H e l i c o n i i n a e Ac r a e a

WARM & PARTIALLY SUNNY OCCASIONAL SHOWERS

MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

Pr e c i s L i m n o r i a

WARM, PARTIALLY SUNNY, GETS HOTTER AFTER MARCH

PATNA, INDIA

butterflies research: kunal singh

Junonia Almana

WARM, PARTIALLY SUNNY, GETS WAMER AFTER MARCH

YAOUNDE, CAMEROON

O troeda Cafra

WARM AND PARTIALLY SUNNY THROUGHOUT

photographs: malini kochupillai

DELHI, INDIA

he BJP led government under the leadership of PM Narendra Modi, has recently passed the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA). After releasing a Gazette notification, the Act has come into force from 10th January 2020. Since the passing of this Bill, there have been peaceful protests and rallies across the country. Some protests turned violent, leaving many people injured. The toll of people who died in protests and related incidents has risen to 31. According to the news portal The Print, ”the remarkable presence of Muslims in anti-CAA protests throughout India is a powerful, symbolic, and strategic assertion that counters aggressive Hindutva. It also signals the birth of a new ‘inclusive nationalism’ in India.” In simple words, this is the first time muslims of the country are asserting their identities along with fellow Hindus, Sikhs, Dalits and other communities to protest against this controversial Act. While Jamia and Shaheen bagh were protesting daily against this Act, Hauz Rani has had 4 or 5 small rallies. On the 6th of January there was a call for a public meeting at Jamunwala Park in Khirkee Extension to raise awareness on issues surrounding CAA and NRC (National Register of Citizens). We were curious and a had lot of questions on our minds- What is the reason for these protests? How are these laws connected to muslims? How will it affect the inclusive characteristics of this neighborhood?

When we reached Jamunwala Park, we got to know that they were not granted permission for the public meeting here and had to shift to the smaller Gandhi Park in Hauz Rani, which runs parallel to Press Enclave Road. As we entered the site, we could see a gathering of close to 700-800, a large group of women were sitting on the ground & on chairs directly around the stage, while the larger community stood listening to all the speakers. The raw, optimistic energy in people was palpable. We started enquiring about the purpose of the meeting. Aas Mohammad, 25, a resident of Hauz Rani told us,” We are protesting against CAA and NRC. We held a couple of small rallies earlier. But this is the first time we are conducting a public meeting of this scale. The purpose of this meeting is to create awareness around these laws.” The curiosity and passion of the youth was overwhelming. You see them waving the tricolor with love and joy, while holding up placards with hand painted couplets about inclusivity and images of revolutionary leaders like Ambedkar, Abdul Kalam Azaad and Bhagat Singh. We asked Shaurya, a law student about the implication of CAA and NRC on the muslim community. She said,”the first thing you notice in the constitution is the Preamble, which talks about secularism. But, if you have introduced CAA and NRC, why does it exclude muslims? Indian muslims chose to be Indian at the time of partition. We love our coun-

try and do not want to leave here. The most affected by the law will be the underprivileged and marginalised communities. Middle class people like us along with the upper class will get away easily, we have access to our documents. Do you really think that the poor and marginalised have all the paperwork in order for this complicated process? This is a distraction from real issues our country is facing right now. If I speak legally, these laws are a direct violation of article 21 of the Constitution, which gives freedom to live peacefully.” We wanted to understand the role of youth in these protests. Md Atif Khan, 24, from Khirkee told us,”Youth plays the most important role in creating awareness on this issue. We cannot sit idle at home watching TV and mobile phones. If this Act is flawed people must be informed.” We asked the same question to another youth Wasif, he responded,”Youth reject this. There are a lot of people who can’t show documents. We will peacefully protest against CAA and NRC.” He told us that his friends from others faith stand in support with them. The chants and slogans were lyrically merging with the waving of the tricolor flag in the park. We met Dr. Salma who was in the front row. We asked her about the role and participation of women in this public meeting. She said,”This law is against the constitution. This is against our unity. This is not the fight of a particular religion, but the fight of be-

ing an Indian. We were born here, belong here and will die here. The minute women of the community got to know about the meeting, we immediately gathered here. We will protest till they withdraw the law.” After saying this, she went back to hearing the speakers intently.

Dr. Salma, “This Law is against our unity.”

We asked Darvesh, 45, who was standing and listening to the speakers on why he is protesting, he said,”I saw in the news about what is happening in the country. A friend told me about this meeting. I believe this law is wrong. When a politician comes asking for votes, then he doesn’t ask for our documents. 3

KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020 We entered Zimbabwe with enthusiasm and anxiety. I was curious to see the “real” Africa.

AFRICA Zimbabwe

STORY AND ART BY SHIKHANT SABLANIA This is part 2 of a 10 part series on the Great African Caravan, which is a collaborative art and travel project. A group of 12 artists from 7 different countires travelled from Cape Town to Cairo across 10 African countries, covering 16000kms over a duration of 8 months.

Harare Zimbabwe Botswana

Mozambique South Africa

As soon as we crossed border the landscape changed drastically, from a semi arid region in South Africa, to lush green vegetation and giant boulders surrounding us.

Then suddenlywe saw our very first “Baobab” tree - It was huge, and as strange as illustrated in my biology textbook.

The baobab is important for the ecology of this landscape, also used by tribal Shamans.

The roads in Zimbabwe were quite different from the South African highway's, these don't have thousands of lines to confuse the driver and were infact similar to roads back home in India, with all the uncertain bumps.

I later found out that one kind of Baobab is also local to India, especially in the Gond region.

African Baobab Indian Baobab Our host and partner in Zimbabwe was Mr. Fisher Chiyanike, who worked for Zimbabwe United Nations Association(ZUNA) for promotion of Sustainable Development Goals (SDG's). We had been in touch with the organization for many months before our visit to plan and design our collaborations in Zimbabwe.

The next morning we reached Harare. The streets of Harare were busy with people pacing towards their offices.

Many of these buildings however looked old and in need of renovation.

There is a cholera outbreak in the country, which means we cannot have large events. And you should keep yourselves sanitized.

The next day we went to the national museum of Harare to meet some local artists. The museum had some impressive art works and a beautiful sculpture park that later became our meeting spot.

Suddenly we see people running in front of us.

But the most beautiful part of the city was the Jacaranda trees, in full bloom, strategically planted at street corners

Mrs. Fisher cooked maize meal called Sadza and rape leaves for us - we were famished and it came as a blessing.

Mr. Fisher Chiyanike

Maize meal is the staple and the most cost effective food for many Africans, it's basically maize flour boiled and served. People usually have it with some boiled green leafy vegetables or meat and/or soup depending on your budget.

This was my first of many encounters with maize meals.

The artists from the city were quite candid about the situation. This country is in a bad situation, the economic growth is almost zero, the people also don't complain! The pastors, oh the pastors, they have corrupted the minds of the people!

Nyasha was talking about the religious figures that according to him distract the people from participating in national growth.

Zimbabwean Road

Mr. Fisher and his family were kind enough to invite us to stay at their home, even though their house was not designed to accommodate all 11 of us. Although, I did not like the taste as much, as I felt it lacked any flavour or spice. However my Zimbabwean friends would savor it to the fullest Sadza in the breakfast, Sadza for lunch and dinner, and If you feel hungry at night you open the fridge and eat some more. Haha.

Robert Mugabe

That sound's familiar

The police is throwing tear gas at the people who are protesting the removal of take-away carts on the road. They are being removed because of cholera. But the families whose livelihoods depend on them are protesting.

Brother, what's happening?

South African Road

Zimbabwe had just come out of a 30 year rule of a “Democratically” elected presidentRobert Mugabe in a peaceful (?) coup-de-etat, that left the country in temporary chaos.

Let's go see then. Brother, this is not India, neither are you from BBC. Haha. Police will catch you and they beat you.

You should run too!

Damn, these currency exchanges. I was the so called “money keeper” of the group, I hated this task.

Guys, I don't think any of our artistic collaborations are going to work here.

Maybe as a team we can take our time off here while we absorb what's happening and plan for Zambia. Later that night.

Yes, we also have to raise funds for our travels to Zambia. By the way, what's up with these bond notes? Shikhant, could you get them exchanged? The situation here is disheartening. I wonder how would my country survive if we were in such a soup.

Honestly, there are places in India too which are similar to Zimbabwe. I drank more than I should have.

Hmm, that's true, but as a nation, I'm glad we have a good democratic system, and better founding fathers, I cannot imagine how the situation had been If we had a dictatorial leader like Mugabe ruling for 30 long years.

Hmm, well we do have some observations to take away from here.

Next Morning, I had diarrhea. The travel to Harare was thought provoking, engaging and quite challenging. I got a glimpse of the Zimbabwean life and how people are adapting to political and economic turmoil. Victoria Falls in my tummy.

The thing is one always calculates the cost of things in one's own currency, so I would mentally convert Zimbabwean bond to dollar, then dollar to Rupees, to actually understand the cost of things.

Later we got introduced to the amazing - “Chibuku” shake shake. Chibuku is a locally made maize beer. Shake shakeshake international beer, Chibuku international beer! Soon we began preparing for our journey to Zambia, hoping it would turn out to be equally exciting.

Coming up: Zambia.

Know more about the journey: www.thegreatafricancaravan.com Follow more of Shikhant's work: @the_Choorma

Side note: After we left, Zimbabwe's situation has only worsened. The country now is coping with an extreme food and economic crisis.

Next day, Team Meeting.

January 2020 • KHIRKEE VOICE

Fed up of being asked the same questions by everyone all the time, EKTA CHAUHAN decides to write a letter from a young woman to her aunts, making it clear that some things need to change.

CITIZENS COME TOGETHER / from page 1 We stand with our fellow citizens.” These kind of conversations truly shows the beauty of a diverse country like ours. A lawyer was explaining his analysis of CAA and NRC in simple words for the audience. After that we met Mastakeem, a youth in his late 20s, who turned out to be one of the organisers of this meeting. When we asked him about the cause and challenges they faced in mobilizing people, he said, ”for a long time we were planning an event of this scale, but people were not willing to leave their houses. I along with 4 of my friends started a silent protest on the roads. In the beginning people tried to stop us, but eventually people started to join us. Then we found the support of our elders and were confident to gather more people. We organised a rally and approximately 1000 people participated. We got more confident and organised today’s event. Initially a lot of people were hesitant, but they had to join us. People of different religions are standing in our support. I want to clarify that this is a people’s protest and no organisation or politician is involved in this. Women and youth are the pillars of this movement. We will continue our struggle for justice.” Mustakeem and his friends had organised everything efficiently. We could gauge that the law needs to be reviewed in the wake of these protests. We started walking towards Khirkee Extension to understand the opinion of people who are not participating in these protests. We met a resident of Khirkee, Gurmeet, 28, who said,”I have not

Shaurya, “This is a fight for secularism.”

read about the Act in detail, but isolating one religion doesn’t seem right to me. The country means the same to all of us. I will read more about it.” We walked across the streets of Khirkee Extention to reach Khirkee Village. Ritu Chauhan, 45, said,”I feel NRC and CAA is unnecessary. We have other issues to deal with like education and health. Why waste money on counting the people when you should be investing it in development.” We understood that people from other communities think of the law as a waste of resources of the country. As we were heading out, words of Mohammad Irshad echoed in our minds. He beautifully put it in words, saying,” Every citizen in India could feel the restlessness in their hearts, when the constitution, created for all religions and castes by Baba Saheb Ambedkar, when the country, for which our ancestors made sacrifices, her unity is attacked upon. That’s why there is a need for all of us to fight together.”

Women at a recent rally against CAA-NPR-NRC at Gandhi Park in Hauz Rani

raju parmer

The Sophiatown of Delhi

Dear Aunty, I

illustration: alia sinha

have an opinion.

I know you wish well for me. You want all the happiness and luxuries for me. But a golden cage is still a cage. I want to fly. I wish to sore higher. I want to touch the skies. I want azaadi. I wish I could explain you what freedom feels like. I wish you could see beyond the confines of the family. I wish you could discover yourself as an individual and find happiness as a human. Not as a mother, or a daughter in law. As a human. Here is what you would have found: 1. Women are humans first. They have personal dreams and ambitions. While having a family may be a part of their dream, it is not THE dream. We don’t work to get a job so that we get a good “rishta”. We don’t study so it is easier to help children with homework. We study to broaden our worldview. We work because it brings us satisfaction. 2. “Zayada padne likhne se ghar tut jaate hai”. Women are tired of hearing this. The marriages are

not breaking because women are educated now. They are breaking because they were based on systematic oppression of women and women are standing up to it. Do we really need such families? 3. Women are not weak. I have seen you, my grandmother and my mother work harder than any male in the family. You wake up before everyone else and sleep after everyone. You work when you are sick. You work when you have periods. You never tell anyone of your discomforts. You are strong. All of us are. 4. It is okay to tell my brother and my dad that I am on my period. It is okay to ask a male friend to buy me pads. It is okay to skip work and rest. My body is shedding blood as a natural rejuvenation process. It is bleeding to create life. 5. We are not asking for it. We do not dress to attract male attention or any attention. I see bare chested uncles walking around on the streets of Khirki. I sometimes spot a cute boy on the metro. Sometimes my colleague

wears really body-hugging clothes. If I can control myself and not grope them, so can they. 6. Please set higher standards for your Raja Beta. We have to study, cook, clean, take care of family, birth kids, be polite, smile all the time, work, earn, keep our gaze low, not argue and another million things to be a good girl. While your son graduates to be a raja beta/good boy only by folding up his legs on the couch while the maid cleans the house. Men all over the world juggle household chores, family and work. It is high time Indian men start doing so. Lastly, please stop branding loud, talkative and angry women as bad women. We are loud because we do not feel heard. We are talkative because we have long list of grievances. We are angry because for generations, silence has been pushed down our throats and now it is impossible to bear. We want to break free. And we want to take you and our future daughters with us.

Editorial

Imagining Egalitarian Futures

bout ten years ago, my friend Julia and I went around Khirkee asking people about the view from their window, and if they had a choice, what else would they rather see? While many had simple desires like more sunlight, or more greenery, most were stumped. They would go on about all the problems they saw outside their windows, but few could imagine a view that was different from what they were used to. This was surprising to me. Having trained as an architect, my automatic

response to any new place is to re-imagine its spatiality, scale, materiality, versatility, usability. It was one of those eureka moments when I understood viscerally, that not everyones minds work the same way, everyone processes information differently. The current moment feels like critical turning point in the ongoing saga of our nation. The past seems distant and surreal, and the future, in many ways full of uncertainty, with a prevailing sense of doom. In Khirkee, as in cities and neigborhoods across

the country, there have been protests and rallies over the past month against the governments passage of the CAA, NPR and NRC legislations. At Khirkee Voice, we chose to dwell on the how things might turn out, and the possibilities that our current political and social environment presents for the future of our cities and neighborhoods. Will we head towards a monolithic, majoritarian, and authoritarian future, or can we build for ourselves a more egalitarian, inclusive, and participative polity?

As this harsh winter of discontent turns to spring, we choose to look forward with hope, and present here an alternative imagination of our neighborhood and the city at large. What might an egalitarian city feel like? How might an authoritarian regime transform the neighborhood? What memories will people have of these contemporary times, when things are unimaginably different in the future? What memories do people have of the irretrievable past that is long gone? How might one patch together

an imagination of the city where everyone, regardless of their race, religion, culture, or history, can feel a sense of beloging, a sense of ownership, for the neighborhoods and cities they call home. We start by painting fragments of such possible imaginings in these pages. Just like an architect paints the picture of an idea for a client before building, we believe it is important to paint a ‘picture’ of these egalitarian and inclusive possibilities, before we can start working towards making them a reality.

KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020

EXCLUSIVE SERIES

FORCED INTO THE OCEAN 11th installment of an Artist’s rendition of his great grandmothers forced migration.

The First Abduction of Lela TEXT + ARTWORK ANDREW ANANDA VOOGEL

est Coast Demerara, British Guyana, 1964. Mala’s family had just moved from Grove Plantation to Canal No. 2, following an increase in tensions and unrest between East Indian settlers and the West African communities. After the British abandoned the thousands of forced laborers they had brought to the Caribbean, riots and violence began to erupt. Not because the two groups hated each other, nor because they had ever wronged each other, but only for the mere fact that the newly instated politicians were very aware that the way to gather up as much power as possible was to create divisions be-tween previously peaceful communities. As mobs began to form and protests became more and more violent, Mala’s father Polo thought it best to take his seven daughters to a quieter side of the colony, closer to the jungle. One morning, Polo, his seven daughters, his wife and his mother gathered up their few possessions and left the Grove Housing Estate. Mala was eight years old and she was excited for the new adventure. The dirt road into their new village was flanked with mango groves, coffee plantations and stilted houses that all came to an abrupt end at the beginning of a huge gurgling canal whose water was black as cola. In fact, the name of the actual canal was Cola Creek because of the deep dark color of the water and the presence of bubbles that constantly floated along the surface. She was enchanted by her new surrounds. It was much more wild and far less contained than the plantation estates they were moving away from. As they began moving their things into their new home, Mala noticed many of the village boys walking past would stop and stare for a moment before continuing down the path. Her second eld-

est sister Lela was about to turn 16 and it seemed that there were a lot more boys hovering about ever since Lela’s last birthday. Mala really wasn’t too sure what all the fuss was about, so she continued letting her mind wander through all of the lush surroundings that were at pre-sent causing her to create a list of exciting and curious adventures that she would have to at-tend to immediately. After the family began to settle in, her nani sent Mala to Fifty Rod Pond to fetch some water. It was called Fifty Rod Pond, well because it was fifty rods from the village center. Mala took a bucket and shuffled down the dusty path. When she arrived at the pond she noticed a few of the other local kids playing around the pond. The kids were all covered in a thick grayish clay. It seems as if the local kids were in the middle of a mud flinging war. The rich gray clay sat around the base of the pond and Mala could feel the soft squishy sediment as she got closer to the water’s edge. Mala paid the sporting kids no mind and went about her business filling her bucket with water. All of the sudden she felt a cold heavy splash on her leg. Immediately, she turned her head and saw that a mischievous looking boy had flung a clay bomb at her. She gave him a perturbed look and made a loud sound by sucking the inside of her teeth. The boy looked slightly amused and slightly frightened, He responded with a retaliatory glance and then darted off. Mala brushed off the clay, though some of it had stuck to her dress. She headed back toward her family’s new home. As she walked through the village, she noticed the thick groves of mangoes and jackfruit and the lush rows of coffee trees. An excitement began to thump in her chest as she imagined running through them in the misty mornings before school. She noted

the ripe plump mangoes sitting atop the trees of a particular grove. She was sure her sister Sheila had already spotted them. Mala hadn’t told anybody, but Sheila was a notori-ous mango thief and was notoriously hard to catch. Sheila was Mala’s third oldest sister and she had a reputation for being tough. Even as a child, she always walked with her machete through the village. There were many stories of her mischief. She was infamous to all of the lo-cal plantation owners because she was widely suspected of thieving the ripest fruits from their fields. Unfortunately for the plantation owners, she had never been caught with fruit in hand, so as of this day no one had been able to pin any of their pilfered fruits on her. Mala had joined on a few of her sister’s great heists, always serving as the lookout. But she did feel a little tinge of guilt every time they pillaged a local crop. If she refused, Sheila would surely give her a few good kicks and punches, so at present until she was a little bigger, Mala accepted her role as accomplice. Mala arrived to her house and proudly delivered the water to her nani, having sur-vived her first encounter with the local village trouble makers. Sita, her nani looked at the gray residue on her shorts, “What you got on your dress pickney,” she asked. “Some boy a throw clay ‘pon me next to the pond nani,” Mala replied. Her Nani, who was one of those Indians who had endured the great crossing from India to the Caribbean known as the Kalapani took the edge of Mala’s dress in her hand and began to rub the residue of the clay between her fingers. “This nice pickney,” Sita replied. Her nani instructed her to take her sisters Lela and Sheila and head with a few more buckets to collect the clay and bring them back to her. Mala called for Lela and Sheila to collect their buckets

and follow her down to Fifty Rod Pond. Lela was Mala’s quiet sister, studious and of a gentle disposition. She had recently begun maturing and stories of her beauty was quickly on the tongues of all of the gos-sip mongers in their new village. She was mostly unaware of the increased attention, though she did notice when some of the village boys were eyeing her earlier in the day. Polo’s three daughters marched through the village, Mala leading the way. The grayish clay that Mala had stumbled upon was called by the locals daub and it made a perfect coating for the underside of the stilted homes. It smoothed out the rough aged wood and gave it a nice coating that also kept the inside of the homes cool during the hottest months of the year. A trick Sita had remembered from Gajiyapur, her old village in Uttar Pradesh, a place she thought of often, a place she had longed to return to. She brushed those feelings away as she sat in what was her new and long established reality. The reality her children and grandchildren now knew; the sweltering heat of an alien landscape, the repetitive back breaking labour of the plantation and the isolation of exile. Mala, Sheila and Lela arrived at the pond. The sun had begun to droop down into the deep back end of the jungle. The water of the pond was reflecting all of the beautiful strange hues of purples, pinks, blues and oranges that arise during the evening time. Mala dutifully began to scoop handfuls of clay into the bucket. But Sheila and Lela were distracted, taking in their new surroundings. They wandered to the other side of the pond, where they were approached by some of the older village boys. Mala looked up and noticed the tallest one. She thought that he looked quite handsome from a distance, but paid no mind to it and went back to filling

her bucket with clay. One of the boys walked up to Sheila. “Hey gyal, how you do,” he said. This boy was the eldest son of Choka. Choka was a rich local farmer who had a tractor and a boat and a nice crop of mangoes that would later become one of sister Sheila’s prime pillaging grounds. Choka was famous for having eleven sons and two daughters. Mala’s family had heard about Choka and his family before they had arrived. Mala looked up again from across the pond and saw that the boy was handing Sheila a fruit. She thought her sister was already into her usual hustle. But then she noticed from the corner of her eye, the taller boy she had been staring at earlier was quickly making a dash for Lela. Mala stopped scooping clay and stood up. The boy’s name was Sugrim. He was another son of Choka and earlier in the day he had been spying on Lela from afar. From the moment he saw her, he had fallen sick with love and he didn’t know what to do. His older brother had taken him to the pond to settle his passions, but as soon as the sisters arrived a fire lit in Sugrim’s chest. His brother had gone to offer the sister’s some man-goes from their father’s grove, but as soon as his older brother began talking to Shiela, he felt a strange sensation and he rushed towards Lela. She was so beautiful and ever since she arrived earlier that day, he had been going mad. He didn’t know what to do. As soon as he got to her, he lifted her up and vaulted off towards the outskirts of his father’s plantation. Lela didn’t know what to do, she had been swooped up so quickly by this boy. Mala, Sheila and Sugrim’s older brother stood there, aghast and unsure of what to do as well. All of the sudden, Sheila pushed Sugrim’s older brother to the ground and shouted to Mala to go and tell her father what was happening. Sheila then

picked up her machete and ran in the direction of Sugrim and Lela. Su-grim was holding Lela and running as fast as he could. He didn’t know what he was going to do, all he knew is he had to be alone with her, he had to tell her about this crazy feeling inside his chest. But, at the moment he couldn’t find the words and so he just kept running. He heard the frantic of footsteps of Sheila fast behind him. She was shouting out threats of what she was going to do with him and that he better not do anything to her sister. Amidst all this, Mala had dropped her bucket and began to run in the direction of their new home. She felt shivers down her spine as the sun set. Their new village was an old colonial Dutch settlement that was still known for the many unsettled spirits of dead Dutchman. As she ran, the many ghost stories she had heard began running through her head and it caused her to run even faster. Mala got home panting heavily. “Daddy, some boy run an took Lela.” Polo put down his evening glass of rum and got up. He grabbed his machete and walked outside. The sun had now fully set in their new village and the multitude of insects had just began the first movement of their nightly symphony. Polo grabbed Mala’s hand and instructed her to take him to where Lela had been abducted. She grabbed her daddy’s hand and hurriedly began walking towards the pond. Mala felt slightly safer with her dad next to her, but æ ß

she still dare not look off into the trees, in case she caught glimpse of a wandering dead Dutchman. As they hurriedly plodded forward, they heard a commotion in one of the groves. Polo peered in and saw his third eldest Sheila showering a reign of kicks and punches into a young man, who was laying helplessly on the ground, yelping and moaning. Lela was next to Sheila looking befuddled and confused. Polo called for his two daughters to come out from the grove and to stop beating up on the young man. Sugrim had failed in his first attempt to steal away Lela. He had not even had the chance to say one word to Lela. Sheila had caught him as soon as he reached the outside of his father’s mango grove. As he lay there, aching from Sheila’s fury, his heart still beat with nervous energy at the thought of Lela. Polo corralled his three daughters and they headed to the pond to finish the task they had set out to do. They each filled their buckets with clay qui-etly and sauntered back to their home. “We’ll talk about this in the morning pickney,” Polo said to Lela. “Time we eat.” Their nani had cooked up a vegetable curry and roti. Everyone sat down and began to eat. The night came into its fullness and Mala listened closely as she chewed her dinner. She could hear the screeching of the bats, as they joined in with the insects in the eve-ning chorus that echoed and spread from the plantations out into the darkness of the jungle.

Cola Creek, 2007. Archival Pigment Print Untitled, 2007, Archival Pigment Print

•

WHICH WAY? Mahavir Singh Bisht Translation: Taiyaba Ali

y grandfather often told me this story where two palanquin bearers in the hills would carry around an English officer. Our country was ruled by the British back then. Traditionally, the brides of Uttarakhand are carried to their in-laws in a palanquin, even today. However, the English officer was no bride! Infact, he saw the hill dwellers as nothing more than cheap labour. It so happened once that while transporting the officer from one place to the other, the bearers stopped at a turn and flung the palanquin, with the english officer sitting in it, off the side of the hill. They then paused to look at each other, and themselves jumped off the hill one after the other. I often think about story and wonder “What could have been the thought behind this act?” Was it the officer’s torture that drove them to do it? Did the country’s resistant mood against British rule inspire this revolt? Maybe they wanted to follow in the footsteps of Shaheed Bhagat Singh, rather than Gandhi’s peaceful resistance in taking this violent course of action. Who knows? There is no way to find out about the specifics of this 80-90 year old story. Even my grandfather passed away some years ago, leaving behind just the tale. Regardless of everything though, surely the act was a brave one to say the least. Once as I was traveling from Azadpur to Kingsway Camp, pondering over these questions, a co-passenger blurted out, “work is hit by increasing air pollution.” Failing to comprehend, I frowned. Seeing my confusion he replied, “I am a labourer. But due to the high pollution in Delhi, construction has been halted.” His face was full of desperation and despair, but his body was stoic. He got off as we reached Kingsway Camp. As he walked away he said, “Let’s see what happens..I have to send

money home...it’s been quite a few days now.” I just nodded to him in goodbye. ----That evening I went to Jashne-Rekhta. Like every year, a varied crowd including intellectuals and artists were in attendance, keen to understand Rekhta and its culture. So what is Rekhta? Rekhta can be understood as a style of language which means “mixture” or “scattered”. Also known as “Hindustani” or “Khadi Boli” in simpler terms. Mirza Ghalib explains through his couplet- “You are not the only master of Rekhta, Ghalib, it is said that the era also saw a Mir.” Rekhta can be seen as a link between Persian, Urdu and Hindi. Many poets, lyricists and dramatists skillfully use Rekhta even today in their compositions. As the evening proceeded, Manjari Chaturvedi gave a dance performance on Begum Akhtar and Iqbal Bano’s songs. During the performance, reports started coming in that the protests at Jamia Millia Islamia University against the Citizenship Amendment Act had worsened. I called my friends for updates. I heard that the police had attacked numerous students studying in the central library. By dusk, news of buses being set on fire at Mathura road was trending everywhere. The injured students were later hospitalized for medical attention. As a result of police’s brute force, a student lost one of his eyes. All this information was gut wrenching. Later that night people from all over occupied and protested outside the police headquarters at I.T.O. They demanded action against the police’s brutality and immediate release of unlawfully detained students. The gathered protesters included not only students but women, men, children, old, and young. The protest came through and by morning all the detained students were released. Was this a new revolution sprouting in the country? It definitely felt like it. The last time Delhi witnessed an environment like this was back in

Tales of the City

January 2020 • KHIRKEE VOICE

photograph: mahavir singh bisht

2011, when people took their fight against corruption onto the streets. ----Meanwhile this protest was shaping up into something larger. People everywhere talked of boycotting the show of documents. People from all parts of the country were mobilizing against the CAA and NRC. The government still kept its stance ambiguous amongst all the noise. The news of the death toll in states including Uttar Pradesh had reached till 31 with all the violence. Meanwhile, Republic Day is near. I wonder how it will take shape amidst the ongoing protests. Contemplating these matters, my grandfather revisited my thoughts. My aunt lived in Delhi in the early 90s. She sent a letter to my grandfather, inviting him to visit her. My grandfather spent most of his life in his agrarian setup. Once he came to Delhi in his youth to join the army, but soon got bored and went back to his village. However, he could not refuse this invitation and set out with my grandmother. When he reached Delhi two days later, he was received graciously. My uncle suggested that since he was here, he should not miss the 26th January parade show. On the night of the 25th night, they took an auto to Daryaganj. They would have to walk from there till India gate. In Delhi’s bitter cold morning, they set out at 5 a.m. and finally reached the stands at India Gate at 7 am and stood in the barricading for the general public. He would often tell us about the diverse tableaus from across the country he saw on parade. Despite being a farmer, he loved his country dearly, like a soldier would. With all of this running in my head, I reached Shaheen Bagh one day with a couple of friends. There stood a huge replica of India’s map and a smaller India Gate behind it. For a moment, I think I became one with my grandfather, I felt how he might have felt, watching the many ‘indian-nesses’ floating by in the parade on that Republic Day years ago.

KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020

TIME TRAVELING WITH THE COMMUNITY Illustrations - ALIA SINHA Photographs + Text - EKTA CHAUHAN

gher

chaupal

Ekta’s Childhood Home, 1990’s

“Our Satpula has changed so much! I used to come here as a child to swim in the lake. Sometimes I had to get my buffaloes across and I would jump in with them, hold them and float across. The water was so clean that one could drink it.” Srichand Chauhan, age 69

Satpula Lake, 1960’s

Look at th playing! It rem times we used t hockey sticks m branches. Now it’s great tha come here an - Subash

January 2020 • KHIRKEE VOICE

“The whole Khoj area used to be fruit orchards full of mango trees and jamun trees..” Mahendra Singh Kaushik, age 65

Village Well, 1960’s

Khoj, 1950’s

The Malls, 1950’s

“Khirkee village had extensive farmlands. I think our village must have had the largest expanses of farms. Our lands stretched till Tughlakabad. Where you see the mall and the court, we grew sugarcane there. Oh! We produced the best cane and jaggery in the area. Khirkee’s jaggery was very famous. We didn’t have much money back then, but we were content and happy with whatever we had. The village community was very close and we helped each other during good and bad times.” Krishan pal Chauhan, age 77

“Life is comfortable now. We have piped water at home. When I was a newlywed bride in Khirkee, I would wake up early, feed our cattle, do household chores and then work at our farm. In between all of this, I had to fetch water in pots from the village well. Us women, did not have any time to relax.” Murti Chauhan, age 78

he children minds me of the to play here with made out of tree we are old, but at we can still nd play cards! h Chauhan

Now we only come to the terrace as there is no mobile network downstairs, and can just about see the domes..

“I remember this lane is where our gher/ animal shed was. We treated our cattle like our children. I would bathe them, feed them and milk them. These days, it is impossible to even get pure milk.” Kamla Chauhan, age 80

Gher, 1960’s

“At home, our roof was always fun. in the winter, my grandmom used to make a chulha out of cow dung to make gajar halwa for us. And in the summer, we would play catch in the evenings. During monsoon, we danced in the rains. We could see the roof of Khirkee Masjid, and Qutub Minar beyond it. It used to fill us with fascination.” Ekta Chauhan, age 26

photograph: steven s george

KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020

Steven S. George relates a fictionalised account of an interview with Prof. Dilip Menon, as it unfolds in the lanes of Khirkee Extension

NAVIGATING THE NEIGHBORHOOD

teven: Sir, I want to show you something. It’s really important. Prof Menon: Yes? What is it? Steven: We need to go somewhere for it. Prof Menon: Okay. Let’s go. Steven: We’ll have to shrink ourselves a little to go there. Prof Menon: Why? Steven: Sir, you’ll have to trust me on this. Prof Menon: Let’s see. The Professor was shocked when Steven brought a boat into the classroom. Steven: This is our ride for today. Prof Menon: And how do you plan to ride this? Steven: We’ll travel through the drainage pipes, just to avoid the traffic. It will be a bit noxious but where we are headed isn’t that far from Jamia. Both of them travel through the pipes of the city, to reach the ‘city of the world’ (a word borrowed from Amitav Ghosh’s Gun Islands). The Professor was not used to such rides; as soon as he got out of the boat he fell and his trousers got torn. Steven: I am really sorry sir. Wait. I will take you to MM Khan’s Tailor Shop. Prof Menon: It’s okay. Just show me what you wanted to show, then I’ll go home and change. Steven insisted that he go with him to the tailor’s shop. Steven: Please stitch Sir’s trousers, asap! MM Khan: Okay. Give him these pants to wear while I mend his trousers. Prof Menon: This trouser looks a bit… Khan: Sir, this is a sample piece

for Kenyans. Prof Menon: How come you know how to tailor Kenyan clothes? Khan: Sir, my father got an opportunity to learn tailoring from Germany, he passed on his skills to me. I have many clients from Uganda, Nigeria and more.. By the way, what does sir do? Steven: He works as the Director of the Centre for Indian Studies in South Africa. Khan: Wow! You work in South Africa, that place changed my life forever. Few years back, I was taken to South Africa by their Ambassador for a tailoring project. Sir, but why have you set up an Indian Studies Centre in South Africa? Prof Menon: The idea of setting up the Centre, was to move away from ideas of national histories. Khan: Meaning? Prof Menon: The supposed idea is that the study of something called India has to be done in the space that we call India. We have to think about the fact that the world is made up of the movements of peoples and migrations. So there is also an idea of India which comes to us from South Africa, from the Caribbean and other spaces, which is as valid an idea as that created by nationalism. Khan: Then what about nationalism? Prof Menon: Nationalism you see, is about a sense of belonging as also excluding those who do not belong. When we think about India from the diaspora, it’s about a notion of belonging to a large number of people who are involved with other nations as well. Like you Mr Khan and your friendship and connections with other nationalities. Perhaps which is a more hospitable

idea of the nation that we can work with. Khan: Sir, wonderful thoughts, here are your trousers. Prof Menon: Thank you Mr. Khan. Listen Steven! I need to recharge my phone urgently. Steven: Let’s go to Swati Janu’s recharge shop. Swati: Yes sir? Steven: He needs to recharge his phone. Swati: Okay sir, while I am doing your recharge, could you answer a question I always ask my customers? Where is your village? Steven (jumps in): The ocean is his village.

“I try to think of history through the ocean rather than land. It is about looking at the spaces between nations; the spaces that are larger than nations and cut through nations.” Prof. Menon Prof Menon (glares at him): I am basically from Kerala, grew up in Delhi, Kolkata and Mumbai. Pursued my higher education in England, taught for a few years in America, Hyderabad and Delhi. South Africa is where I have come to rest. I hope I answered your question. Swati: Yes and your recharge is

successful. If you don’t mind, why does Steven say that the ocean is your village? Prof Menon: That is because I try to think of history through the ocean rather than land. It is about looking at the spaces between nations; the spaces that are larger than nations and cut through nations. Swati: When did you start thinking about this? Prof Menon: Fairly recently. We began by working on the histories of the Indian Ocean and looking at movements and connections between people across continents, which was more about putting together information. Five years later, we started thinking of an approach towards the world with the ocean as a concept to think about the world and history. Swati: One last question, why the ocean? Prof Menon: The ocean is both a fact as well an idea. The ocean encircles the globe, it is constantly restless, there are no fixed and stable identities and it is a connector. The ocean creates conversation between continuous, moving and fluid identities rather than fixed oppressive identities like being a citizen of a country. Both express their gratitude and start walking. Prof Menon (while walking): Weren’t you supposed to show me something? Steven (brings a newspaper): This is the Khirkee Voice Newspaper, published by Khoj. I wanted to show you this. Prof Menon: That’s it? What if I tell you I already knew about it. Steven(sighs): How come sir? Prof Menon: A Zimbabwean

postdoc at my Centre, Melissa Myambo who worked on the varied and locally situated cosmopolitan identities in Delhi, brought a copy for me. Steven: Oh! The person who talks about how Khirkee Village of Delhi is similar to Sophia Town in Johannesburg, South Africa. Prof Menon: Exactly! Steven: And what’s your perspective on it? Prof Menon: I think Khirkee Voice too reflects the cosmopolitan mood as it exists in the neighborhood. You can easily find local communities of Sudanis, Afghanis, Somalians, and many more reported in the newspaper. Steven: Sir, mainly, I wanted to show you Andrew Ananda Voogel’s artistic piece in the newspaper, which is being serially published. Prof Menon: Yes. Steven: He has fictionalised the tale of his great grandmother taken from a village in Uttar Pradesh during the British period for indentured labour. Sir, I wanted to ask a few questions related to it? Prof. Menon: Sure. Steven: If you read narratives of indentured labour, you feel really disturbed, and begin thinking also about the slave and slavery. Some scholars call the slave the first modern subject. Can you explain? Prof Menon: When I draw upon the idea of the slave as the first modern subject I draw upon the idea of modernity as characterized by the idea of the individual as an independent identity as also the fact that individuals can invent their identities– that he/she/ they can become who he/she/they want to be. Slaves are ripped from their homes, transported across the oceans as bodies to be sold and have to invent a history, tradition and community for themselves where they are forced to live.. Steven: What about the space on the slave ship, when they are nobody, just mere bodies? Prof Menon: The slave is ripped away from a certain identity and there is a middle passage when they are taken across the Atlantic Ocean to the US. During the middle passage they are merely flesh, flesh waiting to be sold. Having lost their identities they have to create, invent and forge new identities and a new culture in a new strange land. Steven: Okay. Now I understand what you’re saying. Prof Menon: Now we should be leaving? Steven: Just one last spot before we leave but to reach there we’ll have to swim on these streets. Prof Menon: What? Find out more in chapter two in the next edition!

January 2020 • KHIRKEE VOICE

WHEN LOVE SUSTAINS “

Please come inside, have a look. You are welcome here. It is a free library we are building. Everyone is welcome here. Here we do everything ‘pyaar se’/with love.” When heard for the first time, these words may sound phony; the deliberately crafted joy of meeting someone one doesn’t even know yet. Probably, it will take only a while and soon the fanciful love/ pyaar will be exhausted, like it does everywhere. Because anger sustains, othering sustains, power

structures sustain, hitting children who make mistakes sustains. Of all the things that sustain, love does not. But when did all that sustains become worthy of being sustained? When did it become given that people in authority will have ultimate voice? When did it become normal that response to a repeated query will be met by annoyance? And when did it become acceptable that those who have access to everything can deny

others anything? The first time I met Alam in the library, we were in our first year of building Sikanderpur library. I smiled at him to make him feel welcome. I wanted him to be a part of this world we were trying to build together. But inside, I was worried. It was easy for me to smile at someone and make them feel welcome, to invite them to a conversation for the first time. Doing it everyday while holding up the same ideals, was exacting

Today at school, my teacher asked me to slap one of my classmates. Why did she ask you?

What did you do then?

RITIKA PURI illustrates her most memorable experiences at The Community Library Project in a hand drawn cartoon strip, she writes here about one we loved. for me. I had no experience in my growing up life where love sustained. I feared my charade will drop down someday soon. Alam started coming to the library everyday after school hours. He lacked interest in reaching any set library milestones, he’d get a book issued and will keep it for weeks until he felt he had read it to his capacity. He questioned everything, he observed the routines, he made notes of each time we claimed in the library that

That kid was taller and bigger than her, ma’am knew that if she hit him, he wouldn’t feel anything, so she asked me.

I refused straight away. I thought that we should practice the ‘with love’ strategy we talk about at the library in other places as well.

we do everything ‘pyar se’. Soon I observed, everytime my actions failed at ‘pyaar se’, I was being noticed. And because I was being noticed and held accountable for my actions and words, I had no choice but to quickly adopt self correction. When a book was lost, I self corrected from ‘but how can you lose the book’ to ‘tell me what happened’. When members did not read the books they issued, I self corrected from ‘take simple language books’ to ‘but did you check the illustrations’. When a parent came in saying it was fine with them if I hit their child for bad behaviour, I self corrected from a ‘Hmmm...‘ to ‘No, it is not okay to hit a child, we don’t do that here’. Because I was being watched for a precedent that was set, I felt compelled to live up to it. And as I learnt self correction, I soon learnt to not operate from my inappropriate first impulses and readjust my reactions. I was soon finding ‘pyaar se’ a sustainable act in the library. To redefine what is sustainable, there is a need to redefine the power given out to those who lead systems. As long as unquestioned power remains, every unsustainable thing will sustain. As Alam watched us leading in the library, he observed others too who held positions of authority in his life. He observed his elders, friends, teachers. And one day when a teacher in his school asked him to beat a fellow erring student, he stood up and refused to do so as it did not follow the principle of ‘pyaar se’, inspired by his experiences in the library.

Shaunak Mahbubani

he protest at Shaheen Bagh in Okhla has now crossed 35 days. It started on 15th December when the locals of Shaheen Bagh took out a rally in protest against the police violence at Jamia Milia Islamia University. Many members of the community are students at the University, and the actions of the police created a strong uproar among the people here. As the rally reached the section of national highway 24 that connects Mathura Road to Kalandi Kunj, more and more people came out to show solidarity. The atmosphere in Delhi and throughout the country was already charged, multiple groups had started raising their voices against the Citizenship Amendment Bill, which had been passed without debate into a law. As the night went on and numbers remained strong, a decision was taken by the people present to block one side of the

road. “We have been silent on many issues, but something needed to be done. If we didn’t act right away, we could lose all our basic rights,” says one of the protestors who was part of this decision making. A small seating area was created for the women to sit in, and portable speakers were arranged to allow for speeches. As news about the road block spread, more and more people from the neighborhood came out to see for themselves. From just 100-200 people, the crowd grew enormously over the next two days. Protestors spilled over to the other side of the road, and soon that too was blocked for all traffic. “Seeing this, the police came in to negotiate for the opening of one side, and the protestors agreed to this request. However, mistaking this for a moment of weakness, the police came towards the crowd with lathis in hand trying to scare away the protestors,” says another first hand witness. The police’s tactic did not work

and the crowd stood their ground, occupying both sides of the road. More and more people, especially women, kept coming out of their homes to join the protest on hearing about the police’s actions. The looming threat of their citizenship being questioned, combined with first hand experience of police violence managed to unite the fragmented, largely migrant, community that lives in Shaheen Bagh. Over the next few days a small stage was set up by the people, for the people. People from the community brought in food to feed those who were sitting and working there. Materials to add more tenting area, floor mats, mattresses, etc were all contributed by community members themselves. Held together by the women sitting there, the protest has a very strong organic and altruistic character. Volunteers for food distribution, stage management, crowd management, security were collectively allotted through a recognition of skills and

photograph: mahavir singh bisht

Shaheen Bagh se Khabar

The resilient, fierce, and undaunted women of Shaheen Bagh

time commitments. There have been many disagreements along the way, but the community’s determination to stay focused on the larger goal has made space for peaceful resolutions. As the protest has grown, different people tried to capture the spirit of the protest and claim themselves as leaders. However, one month in, this movement continues strong and resolute as a faceless protest led by women. The protestors of Shaheen Bagh

have dispelled many myths regarding the status of women in India at large and specifically within its Islamic communities. Their maturity in dealing with volatile and uncertain situations, learnt through generations of invisible labour, has ensured that the protest continues in the face of external and internal threats. They strongly proclaim, “We will continue to sit here until our voice is heard. We want to speak with a representative of the government.”

KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020

n a not too distant future, as the city goes through a rush of transformation under the establishments massive wave of ‘formalizing indianism’, Khirkee has changed dramatically from what was once a broken but mixed, erratic, informal and serendipitously beautiful neighborhood. When the new Indian capital was announced in 2025, the focus shifted from investing in the former capital city- and with it, its villages. Changes were made; orders were given to document everyone and everything; every citizen and noncitizen was now under watch. A young girl returns to Khirkee for a visit, and is shocked by how much the neighborhood has changed. The village had been stripped of its special Lal Dora status, bringing in a wave

of new investors and building typologies that has changed the face of the village. In a letter to her father, she describes this new Khirkee, as she goes on an odyssey through the strangely familiar, yet unrecognizable streets she once roamed. February 2, 2033 Dear Dad, It’s been an intense 3 days! But first, a confession- I’ve been shopping my heart out! The retail market in Khirkee has exploded with all kinds of international brands and production houses, but at a strangely downsized scale, It’s probably because they had to convert that atrociously big mall into a centre for those unclassified citizens we read about all the time. You would have been

so uncomfortable here, they’ve covered every little inch of visible space in advertising or with another display. The aisles in all the shops are notoriously small and stacked to the ceiling. I asked one of the store owners (while I tried to balance my bags, my camera and purse up high over the racks because they wouldn’t fit!) and she told me its because the industry still hasn’t recovered from the economic downfall 12 years ago, so they can’t afford anything going to waste. I wanted to go out for a drink last night, but couldn’t find anything! All I found were these small joints with names of those big food courts we used to go to. But the food available is all vegetarian and barely edible. And I had to pay separately for all the vegetables I wanted in my dish (what’s up with

that?). It wasn’t all a loss though, as I ended up making a friend. This girl was eating at the table next to mine and I noticed she was wearing this same odd set of clothes that I’d seen several other young people wearing that day. We got chatting, and she told me that it was a uniform that every youngster has to wear while they do their 8 year mandatory service in something called the Propaganda Corps. Isn’t that outrageous? Apparently, only the people who have either served already or got disqualified (for speaking out against this strict regime or for health reasons) are the ones who don’t need to buy this uniform. I asked her why she kept serving if she didn’t agree with the policies, she said it gets really hard for them to find a place in the city if they don’t serve the full period. I think

10 10

I’ll see her again tonight, It seems like everyone is still confused about what the government is truly aiming for and I’m intrigued to know more. It’s nothing like I remembered, dad. I knew the location, but didn’t recognise anything. The walls outside Khirkee are so high, you can barely see the entrance. Once inside, you can see the walls from everywhere. And they now have these elevated roads that run right above the neighborhood, you can’t see the vehicles but you can hear the engines roar. All the time. Mishti (the girl in the uniform) said “Only people from the H-clan are allowed on those roads. They used to come to Khirkee earlier for food and exhibitions but they don’t anymore. Mingling between the H-clan and the Khirkee population is highly discouraged.”

January 2020 • KHIRKEE VOICE

5 1. A Fire truck stuck in a tight corner in Khirkee Extension, circa 2020 2. Public Parks in impossible alleys, Khirkee Extension, circa 2020 3. A park in Khirkee, before the ‘Canopy’ came, circa 2020 4. Children wearing anti-pollution masks play at Sheikh Yusuf Qattal’s Tomb, Khirkee, March 2033 5. Children play near the new Detention center in Khirkee Extension, March 2033 6. A woman skis at the NDMC Ski arena, as the vertical landfill building puffs out a cloud of white smoke above Khirkee, March 2033

4 I went for a walk in the park yesterday. It was nice, but felt a bit orchestrated, as if I was being watched all the time. I couldn’t tell much because the visibility is so low. The village (along with some other areas in the city) has been given a ‘special’ categorization, and a kind of parasol that has been installed all over it. It keeps the air of the village trapped inside and doesn’t let it mix with the air from the nearby blocks. I saw a half ripped poster about it, saying it was to protect the village from ‘harmful sun rays’ and ‘pollutants’ from the rest of the city. But I wonder if it is as bad outside, seeing how dingy the inside is. But at least some of the kids at the park have these gadgets that go over their nose and mouth- they seemed thrilled with it. They call it the “Air Maker”, it allows them to run and cycle without coughing and feeling

weak. They let me try it and I loved it. It suddenly made me feel better and helped me think clearly. Dad, were there these many cows when we were here? They seem to be everywhere now, as if they’ve replaced street dogs. It is apparently mandatory for every house to have a cow now- can you believe it! If one lives on a higher floor, they still have to raise one and arrange for a temple like accommodation for it on the ground. People feed them and care for them, some reluctantly. They say once a man made a harsh joke about this and he suddenly disappeared the next day. They looked for him for days but have given up now. I wonder if he ended up at the citizens centre. And these cows are so strange, they go up the Trash Mountain and come almost sliding down. Trash Mountain is this sloping

structure where all the garbage is accumulated and people use the slope to play. It’s a very cool place with a chimney on top. It even releases a big cloud of white smoke every hour, just like the old clock tower in our city. Then there is the huge (and by that I mean Enormous!) structure near the village that I suspect they meant to make as a statue of someone, im sure it’s visible from everywhere outside. A strange copy of the Statue of Liberty I’m guessing, because I can’t tell. From Khirkee, you can’t even see the face of this thing, it is so ridiculously huge. I miss you, dad. It’s funny, this village is called Khirkee yet most of the houses don’t have windows. But I’m sorry I have to go now as data is limited and I’m only allowed one refill a week. Really wish you were here.

7. The new streets of Khirkee Extension, March 2033 8. Women stand in a small sliver of sunlight under the new flyover, Khirkee, March 2033 9. Satpula of Liberty, Khirkee, March 2033 10. Satpula park before the canopy and statue were built, circa 2020 .

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KHIRKEE VOICE • January 2020

‘BREAKING’ FOR SUCCESS ASHIF KHAN goes by the name of B-Boy Shif in ‘Breaking’ circles, where he has not only been making waves for himself, but has also been instrumental in introducing the craft to troubled youth who might otherwise have been lead astray. MAHAVIR SINGH BISHT spoke with Ashif about his exhilirating journey of ‘Breaking’ away from the norm. Translated by Taiyaba Ali. Mahavir: Tell us about yourself, your hometown, early days and how did you get into ‘Breaking’? Ashif: I was born and grew up in Delhi, and for the past year or so have been have been living in Hauz Rani. Some years ago, we lived in a place called Gola dairy near Dwarka, where I finished my intermediate studies. It was there that I first learnt about Breaking and B-Boying. A group based there used to do Breaking performances. Till then I had no clue what Breaking or B-boying was, I used to think of it as performing stunts. Breaking requires a lot of strength and practice, but something about it drew me from the beginning.

the organizer of a B-boying group. After practicing with him for over two years, my skills improved and I started to become known in local Breaking circles. Gola dairy is a slum area. People used to think I am just another slum dweller but B-Boying has helped me shape my own identity. We would visit Delhi’s Subhash Nagar, C.P. and N.S.P area every Sunday for a battle or a Cipher. It was a very encouraging and uplifting experience. Gradually we became popular and people started talking about us. M: What has changed in you through B-Boying? A: B-boying has been very beneficial for my personal growth. Any talent gives you the confidence to move forward. If it weren’t for Breaking, I would still be a slum dweller and working for minimum wages. Through practice I have become disciplined. And in the eagerness to become better Breakers, we stayed away from bad influences. People would tell us that this would affect our studies. In fact, the opposite happened- breaking helped us to enhance our focus and we were able to score better grades.

Ashif performing at Khoj

M: What happened next? A: From Gola dairy, we moved to Batla House, where I found another B-B_oying group after some searching. I kept learning and also started training others as much as I could. We stayed there for four years while I completed my graduation from Jamia University. Then we had to leave for West Bengal. M: What made you leave for West Bengal? A: My father got separated from his family and went missing when he was about seven or eight years old. Someone put him on a train and he reached Delhi. The police in Delhi put him in a Child rehabilitation

Ashif (right) with his idol, B-Boy Lilou at Mumbai Cipher in 2018

centre, but he escaped from there with some friends. Facing many difficulties, he built his own life from nothing. My father has always been a friend to me and guided me with example. He would often narrate his life story to me- he has been searching for towns called ‘Mirzapur’ across the country for the past thirty-six years, searching for his lost family. He has visited more than two hundred Mirzapurs in his search. Finally two years ago he heard of a Mirzapur in West Bengal on the news, went there, and found his parents. He was ecstatic and we now had a hometown, and a family. So we decided to visit. M: How was life in Bengal? When did you come back to Delhi? A: In Bengal, we realized that language was a big barrier. I only stayed there for a month, but in that short time, I bonded with the local boys over Breaking. We would practice on a school terrace every day. After coming back to Delhi, I would do training sessions with them via video-calls. Sometime

+ negi

M: Tell us about your journey with Breaking since then? A: I got to know of Breaking for the first time in 2011, when I was 15 years old. I saw a video where B-Boy Lilou and Hong 10 were performing and it left me speechless. I decided that day that this is what I want to do. It was then that I first met Amit. He was

M: What was your family’s opinion? A: My family has always been very supportive. They never stopped me. I would make sure that my school homework and the household chores were finished before going off to practice, which would always help me relax and be myself. While practicing, each time someone peculiar would come and teach the group interesting new things.

M: What kind of people would visit the group and how did it help you? A: A lot of my peers used to be petty criminals and addicts before they started Breaking with our group regularly. If anybody wanted to join the group we would tell them they have to be disciplined during their time here. There were rules that everyone was supposed to follow. Dancing can be intoxicating in its own way, so people who dance regularly lose interest in all other kinds of intoxication. When I started dancing regularly, I no longer needed to spend time in the gym- my body became strong and flexible. Earlier I was very weak and shy, I didn’t talk to people much. Breaking requires a lot of both mental and physical strength. My health got better with time and my confidence increased as well. I no longer hesitate in conversing with anybody.

ago they performed at a local event organized by the government. It made all of us feel happy and proud. In Delhi I started working for a courier company in Khirkee, and moved to Hauz Rani. I would often visit Khoj to pick up or deliver packages, and heard that they nurture people’s talents. At that time, they were looking for creative locals like me for their ‘Voices from the Margins’ project. I didn’t want to let this opportunity go. Through the project, I found a new breaking group in Khoj, met interesting people, it was a very enriching experience. I even got the opportunity to visit U.S.A., where I learnt a lot. When I came back, Khoj was looking for an assistant, and I was happy to get the job. Now I practice here, as well as meet new people regularly. Recently, I went to Mumbai and met my idol B-Boy Lilou & B-Boy Junior. My dream is to represent my country in B-boying and wherever I get an opportunity, I want to train youngsters in this art.

digital collage: suryan//dang

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Layout design by Malini Kochupillai

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Edited by Malini Kochupillai & Mahavir Singh Bisht [khirkeevoice@gmail.com]

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Supported & Published by KHOJ International Artists Association