It’s hard to tell if Nasreen* found the centre or the centre found Nasreen. It was early 2020 and northeast Delhi was in the grips of communal violence. The world around Nasreen, a resident of Shiv Vihar, had crumbled. She couldn’t go to school and felt enormous mental stress. She sent frantic pleas for help to a philanthropist whose email ID she found online. When things calmed down a notch, a leader from a local not-for-profit organisation visited Shiv Vihar to look for someone young to manage a community centre for girls. People in the neighbourhood pointed towards the girl who speaks English with confidence. That’s how the not-for-profit found Nasreen and assigned her the task of mobilising girls and young women who had never been to a school, dropped out of school or faced violence and other forms of distress due to the riots.
From mobiliser to trainer to counsellor and centre in-charge, Nasreen has come a long way in four years. She is also pursuing a graduate degree in commerce and aspires to go to the US for higher studies. When I asked her to consider Azim Premji University instead, she said she’ll give it a thought, because she wants to meet “Mr Premji”.
“Apne haq ka khaana kha rahi hai ladkiyan. Apni education ke liye lad rahi hain. Paise bacha rahi hain, apni baatein rakh rahi hain aur harassment ke baare mein baat kar rahi hain (She is standing up for her rights. She is fighting for her education. She is saving every penny, putting her views forward and speaking out against harassment).”
I asked Nasreen about the impact of the centre. Here’s what she said: “Apne haq ka khaana kha rahi hai ladkiyan. Apni education ke liye lad rahi hain. Paise bacha rahi hain, apni baatein rakh rahi hain aur harassment ke baare mein baat kar rahi hain (She is standing up for her rights. She is fighting for her education. She is saving every penny, putting her views forward and speaking out against harassment).”
This is similar to what I heard from Rubina* and Ishani* (co-founders of a young not-for- profit) at their office in Lucknow. They said that the “girls need to be visible. This will happen with more local (young women) role models. More young women living in communities and creating ripples of change by bridging knowledge gaps and by being around”. Rubina and Ishani first met at a fellowship programme a few years ago. They pursued work on child protection and livelihoods in different states and met once again, after a gap of several years, to set up their organisation. They seek to enable more young women role models in communities in and around Lucknow. Working intimately among communities, in a communally polarised environment, hasn’t been easy. Nonetheless, they are navigating their personal, political and professional lives with caution.
Young women working at an NGO
For Meenakshi, striking this balance hasn’t been as subtle. She started working with Muslim women in Ahmedabad’s Juhapura in 2002, right after the Gujarat riots. On both the occasions I met her, she was the only Hindu woman in the office of the not-for-profit she works with. She’s been around for 22 years, mostly working without pay. Her current role as a counsellor keeps her busy. She spends her days meeting women and girls, listening to their problems and sharing advice on a range of issues. When she reaches home in the evening, she makes it a point to charge her phone — because of the calls that come at night. I asked her about changes, if any, over the years.
“Violence pehchan rahi hain auratein. Har aurat mein samajhdari hai ki uske saath kya ho raha hain. Unhe khul ke baat karne ki himmat nahi milti. Yahan aati hain toh khul ke baat karti hain aur ek doosre ko himmat deti hain.” (Women are now recognising violence. While they are aware of all that is happening to them, they do not have the guts to be vocal about it. When they come here, they speak openly and encourage each other).
She said, “Violence pehchan rahi hain auratein. Maine ’80s me TY (college 3rd year) mein gender pe ek paper likha tha. Tab se main maanti hu ki har aurat mein samajhdari hai ki uske saath kya ho raha hain. Unhe khul ke baat karne ki himmat nahi milti. Yahan aati hain toh khul ke baat karti hain aur ek doosre ko himmat deti hain (Women are now recognising violence. In the ’80s, during my third year of college, I had written a paper on gender. Since then, I knew that women are aware of all that is happening to them, but they do not have the guts to be vocal about it. When they come here, they speak openly and encourage each other).”
Meetings at Meenakshi’s office are a good demonstration of this. I have seen this with my own eyes three times. Usually, a meeting starts with just three or four women in attendance; within 30 minutes, the room fills up with 35-40 girls and women, who discuss their own personal concerns or those of the other women they are supporting. There’s a fair bit of worldly deliberation as well. I have heard them talk about the spiralling real estate prices in Juhapura, drug addiction among youth, elections and the merit of running ‘NIOS centres’ to ensure that more and more girls complete higher secondary education.
While talking to Meenakshi’s organisation was like talking to a community-based organisation with no one leader in sight, the interaction with Romila* was different. She represents 25 years of fearless work in an otherwise challenging geography. She spoke with not just clarity but also with a force that is best described as a mix of courage, certainty and confidence. She narrated many stories of survivors of violence, deep-rooted patriarchy in our public systems and the value of economic empowerment of women and community-based work. A couple of things she didn’t articulate but were loud and clear were the importance of knowledge in mounting a counter to gender-based violence and keeping your books (of accounts) and, subsequently, conscience clean.
Workshops that support community-based leaders
A clean conscience is what prompted a young gynecologist from King George Medical College, Lucknow, to give up her practice and go after the malpractice of sex determination. Dr Nisha Singh*, who, over 28 years, busted many sex-determination rackets in Uttar Pradesh, eloquently explains the economics of the business. Even after all these decades, she vividly remembers what got her to step out of her clinic.
As a young gynecologist from a well-to-do neighbourhood in Lucknow, she met many young couples who had the same question — is it a girl? These were teachers, civil servants, members of prominent business families and so on. She was appalled that the question didn’t stop. She tried working with doctors and administrators but realised that greed and insensitivity give tough competition to reason and ethics. While practitioners were raided under the Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques Act 1994, Dr Singh worked with the judiciary as well. Most cases, sadly, ended in acquittals. That’s when she decided to work in the community, among girls.
We were driving through lush mango orchards in the Mal block of Lucknow. Though not as famous as its neighbour Malihabad, Mal was quite a riot of mango trees covered with baur (flowers). While talking about her journey, the doctor enthusiastically pointed at the trees, wondering if this is where the phrase “baura gaye ho kya (have you gone mad)” originates.
Mango orchard in Lucknow
This anecdote may have nothing to do with the path the doctor has chosen, but it is true that the work she has devoted herself to requires a degree of out-of-the-box thinking. This very thinking and passion keep the Nasreens, Romilas, Rubinas, Ishanis, Meenakshis and countless other women across India’s social sector going.
*Names changed to protect identity
