An Experience

The morning began with an early phonecall from Asha, my good friend and co-worker, asking me to join her on an excursion to the Community Health Centre (CHC) to interview Veena Devi. I didn't ask the purpose of the interview, didn't think twice of Veena Devi or the CHC, just thought of the great experience and research I would gain from the trip. I responded excitedly with a yes. I look back on that moment now, ashamed and disappointed in my foolishness. "An experience..."

It's much more than that. It's someone's life story. It's reality. It's anything but a stupid experience.

I quickly realized my mistake when we reached the CHC. Even prior to entering, a feeling of queasiness, of unsettling, reached my stomach. I could smell the sickness in the air and it overwhelmed my very core. As Asha and two of our community health workers engaged in a conversation nonchalantly, I found myself sinking in the sickness around me. I felt seperated from my body; it was as if a third person was watching the scene- someone other than me. A young boy, in tattered old clothes, covered in dirt and likely no older than 11 or 12, was holding his twisted and bleeding arm gingerly; he still had the strength to smile at me. I tried to smile back. Even before I began to digest the scene, a woman being held by 3 others walked by muttering inaudible words, rolling her eyes in her head. With an inexplicable feeling of fear, I flashed my eyes away from her. Just then, my eyes fell upon a petit woman in a faded purple salwar kameez; she was so skinny that her collar bones looked as though they were carved out of her skin. She sat in a crouched position, holding her legs so close to her that you would think they were falling off. That was when I first saw Veena Devi.

Asha, the community health workers, Veena Devi, and her sister-in-law all walked outside, with me timidly following behind. We found a little pavement to sit on that wasn't polluted or covered in garbage, and began to talk.

Veena Devi was married off at an age close to 17, she thinks. She lived a relatively normal life with her husband, until 5 years into the marraige, when overnight, he went 'mental.' Things began small, where he would verbally abuse her. Saying she was a slut, and a whore- that she had slept with all the men in the village, including his brother. His verbal abuse got worse and more wide spread. He would insult her in front of large groups of people, and say things directly to his brother, accusing him of having an affair with his wife. His brother eventually committed suicide.
The abuse got worse, and turned physical. He would pull knives on Veena, beat her with a stick, a broom, a rock, whatever he could lay his hands on. Veena claims she stayed strong through it all, never letting depression or saddness take her. Until one day, when Veena's husband left the house. Veena Devi's sister-in-laws and brothers told her not to go, but she followed him, not wanting to be left behind by her husband. They spent the following 2 days in a field she says. Only Veena Devi knows what happened in those two days. All she said was that they had entered into sexual relations and she felt fear the entire time. Her family says she hasn't been the same since. Refusing to eat, sleep, or even stay in one place, Veena seems to be suffering from severe depression. She has attempted to commit suicide multiple times, always to stopped by someone. Her husband is currently missing, her children dispersed among relatives, and Veena Devi sits with a look of emptiness in her eyes, and speaks very little and very quietly- all while twiddling her fingers with the innocence of a child.
When I asked her what was the feeling she had when she tried committing suicide, she thought deeply, and replied:
"I want to be free, I want to fly."

Play by Play

I'm sitting at a little place not far from my home in Norblingka, drinking a mango shake and feeding the shop's dog and still sneezing. Today was a good day. A memorable day.

It started at 6:00am, when I woke up, woke up my roomies, ironed my all white indian suit. I was ready for the 33% reservation campaign for women in parliament. Before I go on about the day, I'll give you some background. Less than 10% of the individuals sitting in the Indian parliament are women; many feminist activists and NGOs around the country are supporting a bill to end this inequality in the Indian government, one that demands 33% reservation of seats for women in parliament. The 33% for women campaign includes three caravans that are travelling the North, South, and Centre of India with a mission to spread awareness of the bill, rally support, and put pressure on the government. Today, three NGOs in the area hosted this campaign, Jagori, Nishta, and the Human Rights Law Network. Though I've been specifically working in the realm of healthcare here with Jagori, I had an opportunity to sit in on the rally today and participate in the activities.

We began by decorating the hall with signs of equality, justice for women, etc. and then made our way over the central location where the rally began. Songs rang through the air, women from all over India who organized the campaign on a national level came out, local NGOs were all participating. It was a lot of fun. We then made our way back to the main hall, where speakers, men and women, from all over the country were speaking about the bill and the campaign...and how the day that no one needs to ask for 50% reservation for women, will be the day that true equality will exist.

The day ended off with some festivities. I had a chance/was forced by Jagori staff to dance to classical Himachali music. Some how I ended up incorporating bhangra into the dance- don't ask ;).
So that was a quick play-by-play of my day. I'll check in again soon.

With love, Sheiry.