http://wanderingfeminist.wordpress.com/- Individual postings only
http://wanderingfeminists.wordpress.com/- collective postings
http://wanderingfeminists.wordpress.com/- collective postings
Monday, June 16, 2014
Sunday, June 15, 2014
A question for all of you: What do you want to hear about?
So, after my first two blogs on the 'journey', which isn’t my journey
alone but those of many others, so parts of if are shared, other lived
alone, but told here from my perspective and voice. I heard back from
many friends that they were glad that I was finally writing again and
reflecting on some of the issues that have challenged me in the past and
ones that continue to challenge me today.
There is a dear friend of mine, who I have worked with, ranted with, cried and laughed with for a few years now. And no we have still actually never met in person, she is one of my sisters form another mother, Robyn Baron. I reached out to her today and asked her if she wanted to write a few blogs together since some of the things I have been wanting to write about, the two of us have spent many a day/night on long skype calls across the globe with our pots of coffee ranting about. So yes, you shall be hearing from the 'gender mosters' ( Robyn and Jasveen) soon!
I was sharing with her some of the questions/topics I have had in my mind for a while to write about and we decided what could be more feminist way than leaving the choice with you to tell us what you want to hear about next. (We are exploring finding a site that will allow us to have a collective/shared space where friends can post too- and we can really explore topics as a feminist community that has worked on this issues individually and collectively-ideas on that welcome too!)
The running list of topics/themes that I have right now is ( a lot of them interconnected):
Let me know what of the above interests you the most, and/or feel free to add more topics.
There is a dear friend of mine, who I have worked with, ranted with, cried and laughed with for a few years now. And no we have still actually never met in person, she is one of my sisters form another mother, Robyn Baron. I reached out to her today and asked her if she wanted to write a few blogs together since some of the things I have been wanting to write about, the two of us have spent many a day/night on long skype calls across the globe with our pots of coffee ranting about. So yes, you shall be hearing from the 'gender mosters' ( Robyn and Jasveen) soon!
I was sharing with her some of the questions/topics I have had in my mind for a while to write about and we decided what could be more feminist way than leaving the choice with you to tell us what you want to hear about next. (We are exploring finding a site that will allow us to have a collective/shared space where friends can post too- and we can really explore topics as a feminist community that has worked on this issues individually and collectively-ideas on that welcome too!)
The running list of topics/themes that I have right now is ( a lot of them interconnected):
- Feminist dilemma’s in humanitarian work - humanitarian structure and the power relations inherent in the system and its processes-dynamics and how humanitarian feminists engage with it
- Women divided/movement divided- What brings us together and what tears us apart. Politics and the women’s movement
- Working within and outside of systems and structures- challenges and compromises
- Where is the third wave feminism? Or are their waves anymore
- Why we still need Feminism?
- Why aren’t feminists calling themselves feminists anymore?
- As a Humanitarian community we had to move to systems- all the ism' like professionalism, – but as a result we depoliticized.
- Taking over the feminist language by the mainstreaming language – diluting the intent and impact
- Reclaiming our language
- How do we understand ‘political’?
- Tyranny of the humanitarian idea- everything we do is saving lives? using guilt so we don’t enagage with things that we need to- insidious ways of organisational cultures- self-sacrificing- patriarchal culture we all exist in.To quote Robyn and I agree with this statement completly . We shouldn’t be afraid to call it like it is because the only change that can happen is one that happens when we call it.
- Living by/conforming to dictates of humanitarian work and feminist work: Contradictions?
- The feminists of today- across borders, race, class, sectors, -because the personal is still political!#
- Why hearing the word mainstreaming makes me cringe and want to crawl up /scream at the same time!
- My feminist compass
- Feminism and faith- belief in both and the inherent contradictions or not!
- Feminist relationships- sisterhood.
- How professionalization of humanitarian work has taken a lot of the politics out of it- strands that were political has been depoliticized- feminism
Let me know what of the above interests you the most, and/or feel free to add more topics.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Reclaiming my history: A Preamble
So, I left off last time with the start of the journey but where I
want to/need to start now is a few miles down that road. This part of my
life was the part that was defined by the 'arrogance of youth', my
youth.
Its the part that has been crying out to be said out loud to the extent where I feel that I am beginning to glimpse what Rilke referred to in his 'Letters to a Young Poet' and when Maya Angelo said 'There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you'. It is a burden, which if I do not let go off, then movement forward will not be true. That is not to say that I was ever silent, those of who know me, know that I speak my mind and don't hold back at times with unintended results!
That part of me comes from this phase in my life, it comes from never letting a voice go unheard. It comes from a place of a 20 year old girl struggling to find a place for herself in one of the strongest women's movements of her time in her country and a place for herself within the Criminal Justice System that still epitomized all the cliches you can think of. 'I have an opinion that will be heard', my age and my gender go against me but I will not let that be a hindrance to the path I have undertaken. Such self-righteousness and arrogance had to come to a head at some point!
So this is my truth and I reclaim the arrogant youth that I was, it was that youth that has led me to be where I am now. It is that part of the journey that allows to be unafraid of challenges/or being challenged- because only when you engage with criticism and challenge with an open mind do you grow.
This is what I needed to say as a preamble before talking about some of the amazing work I got be a part of from 2000-2008 and to help shape and influence some of the thinking and creativity with which the Rajasthan women's movement engaged on issues of violence against women. A movement that has been and remains to this day an inspiration, that made me want to be a part of it while I was still a student. The landmark judgements and legislation's that this state alone had to its name, meant I wanted to be there, I wanted to know what was so special about this group or people and organisations, how had they achieved so much that I got to read about their work in our Gender and law class.
Its my preamble to what helped me set up and run the first Mahila Salah evam Suraksha Kendra (MSSK- A holistic redressal centre for women facing violence) along with an amazing and inspiring group of women. The name MSSK was the only concession I made to the concept and vision I had in mind! A collaboration between 9 ( later 12) women's organisations and the State Police.
To be continued...
Its the part that has been crying out to be said out loud to the extent where I feel that I am beginning to glimpse what Rilke referred to in his 'Letters to a Young Poet' and when Maya Angelo said 'There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you'. It is a burden, which if I do not let go off, then movement forward will not be true. That is not to say that I was ever silent, those of who know me, know that I speak my mind and don't hold back at times with unintended results!
That part of me comes from this phase in my life, it comes from never letting a voice go unheard. It comes from a place of a 20 year old girl struggling to find a place for herself in one of the strongest women's movements of her time in her country and a place for herself within the Criminal Justice System that still epitomized all the cliches you can think of. 'I have an opinion that will be heard', my age and my gender go against me but I will not let that be a hindrance to the path I have undertaken. Such self-righteousness and arrogance had to come to a head at some point!
So this is my truth and I reclaim the arrogant youth that I was, it was that youth that has led me to be where I am now. It is that part of the journey that allows to be unafraid of challenges/or being challenged- because only when you engage with criticism and challenge with an open mind do you grow.
This is what I needed to say as a preamble before talking about some of the amazing work I got be a part of from 2000-2008 and to help shape and influence some of the thinking and creativity with which the Rajasthan women's movement engaged on issues of violence against women. A movement that has been and remains to this day an inspiration, that made me want to be a part of it while I was still a student. The landmark judgements and legislation's that this state alone had to its name, meant I wanted to be there, I wanted to know what was so special about this group or people and organisations, how had they achieved so much that I got to read about their work in our Gender and law class.
Its my preamble to what helped me set up and run the first Mahila Salah evam Suraksha Kendra (MSSK- A holistic redressal centre for women facing violence) along with an amazing and inspiring group of women. The name MSSK was the only concession I made to the concept and vision I had in mind! A collaboration between 9 ( later 12) women's organisations and the State Police.
To be continued...
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
A journey that began 15 years ago
( The First of many to come- one a week is what I am aiming for)
The recent work around EVAW, focus on sexual violence in conflict #time to act, the incidents of rape and violence at home in India, my work on gender equality and GBV within our humanitarian work has brought me a point where I want to reflect on the journey so far. There is a burning need to document some of the my experiences, growth, learning over the years . I am not sure what the end goal/product would be. But this is where I start with the hope that by the end it might be a way to put the last 15 years in perspective and maybe a road map for the next 15! These are my ramblings for now, a journal documenting the past one day at a time, one change at a time, one compromise with reality and practicality at a time!
In 1999 I started on a journey while I was in my second year of my Masters degree at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, a journey that will never end for me. As part of our field work placement, I elected to work at the Special cell for women and children. The Special cell for women and children[1] was started in the year in 1984 as a TISS project with the Mumbai Police to work with survivors of violence. I had joined the MA in Social work with the belief that I wanted to work with children, but that year changed the focus of my work and changed me. It forced me to think about myself, my beliefs, the family, community and society I was a part of. The only marathi word that has stayed with me since is ‘ghatasphod[2]’, it is a word that even when I hear it now, I can see a mental image of explosion within the household. Of parents fighting, children terrified, scared and cringing, of violence in the relationships which are meant to be the safest and most intimate.
That time, that place, the people there, made me explore in both a personal and professional way what gender equality was, deconstruct it , break it into pieces and look at through the lenses of my own life over the 20 years that had preceded that time. It made me dig deep within and without to understand violence again women and children, relationships, family.
What kind of father would rape his 5 year old daughter and say ‘mera beej hai, me phal nahi phele khauga to kaun?’ [3]. To try and understand how a woman who was beaten black and blue and could hardly move without pain will still ask us to help her go back to the person who had inflicted that violence on her. I studied the theories that went to explain these personal stories- the cycle of violence, battered woman syndrome, and others.Some of my first reading were, Against Our Will: men, Women and Rape by Susan Brownmiller, Our bodies Our selves, the feminine mystique, Battered women by Walker, In a different voice, the beauty myth and numerous other books that took me through a world of feminist history, theory, the struggles and milestones in end violence against women. I devoured books by Simone de Beauvoir, Maya Angelou, S. Brownmiller and numerous others.
I lived mostly in my head for those two years, the love lives of my friends, the drama of college escaped me, the memories that my friends have from that time are different from my memories. I dont have a clue who was going out with whom, which were the cliques. But I can still recall faces of clients, conversations with my supervisor about the work and what I was witnessing and seeing. I can recall the anger and passion that seemed to take me over and say this is what my life will be about, I cannot live in a society that condones and tolerates violence, this is the change I want to contribute to.
My faculty guide during this time was Ms. Anjali Dave. She got me fascinated with Law, Psychology, the power of language, education, research, sociology, history. Because the personal is political became my mantra, it has defined the way I have lived my life and worked for a long long time. So the first post is dedicated to you Anjali Maa'm for starting me on this journey all that time ago.
From Gaziantep, Turkey
[1] http://download.tiss.edu/fap/RCI-VAW/RCI-VAW_Publications/Because_the_Personal_is_Political.pdf
[2] Divorce
[3] A statement made that has stayed with me, since it was my very first case working with a survivor of child sexual abuse.
The recent work around EVAW, focus on sexual violence in conflict #time to act, the incidents of rape and violence at home in India, my work on gender equality and GBV within our humanitarian work has brought me a point where I want to reflect on the journey so far. There is a burning need to document some of the my experiences, growth, learning over the years . I am not sure what the end goal/product would be. But this is where I start with the hope that by the end it might be a way to put the last 15 years in perspective and maybe a road map for the next 15! These are my ramblings for now, a journal documenting the past one day at a time, one change at a time, one compromise with reality and practicality at a time!
In 1999 I started on a journey while I was in my second year of my Masters degree at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences, a journey that will never end for me. As part of our field work placement, I elected to work at the Special cell for women and children. The Special cell for women and children[1] was started in the year in 1984 as a TISS project with the Mumbai Police to work with survivors of violence. I had joined the MA in Social work with the belief that I wanted to work with children, but that year changed the focus of my work and changed me. It forced me to think about myself, my beliefs, the family, community and society I was a part of. The only marathi word that has stayed with me since is ‘ghatasphod[2]’, it is a word that even when I hear it now, I can see a mental image of explosion within the household. Of parents fighting, children terrified, scared and cringing, of violence in the relationships which are meant to be the safest and most intimate.
That time, that place, the people there, made me explore in both a personal and professional way what gender equality was, deconstruct it , break it into pieces and look at through the lenses of my own life over the 20 years that had preceded that time. It made me dig deep within and without to understand violence again women and children, relationships, family.
What kind of father would rape his 5 year old daughter and say ‘mera beej hai, me phal nahi phele khauga to kaun?’ [3]. To try and understand how a woman who was beaten black and blue and could hardly move without pain will still ask us to help her go back to the person who had inflicted that violence on her. I studied the theories that went to explain these personal stories- the cycle of violence, battered woman syndrome, and others.Some of my first reading were, Against Our Will: men, Women and Rape by Susan Brownmiller, Our bodies Our selves, the feminine mystique, Battered women by Walker, In a different voice, the beauty myth and numerous other books that took me through a world of feminist history, theory, the struggles and milestones in end violence against women. I devoured books by Simone de Beauvoir, Maya Angelou, S. Brownmiller and numerous others.
I lived mostly in my head for those two years, the love lives of my friends, the drama of college escaped me, the memories that my friends have from that time are different from my memories. I dont have a clue who was going out with whom, which were the cliques. But I can still recall faces of clients, conversations with my supervisor about the work and what I was witnessing and seeing. I can recall the anger and passion that seemed to take me over and say this is what my life will be about, I cannot live in a society that condones and tolerates violence, this is the change I want to contribute to.
My faculty guide during this time was Ms. Anjali Dave. She got me fascinated with Law, Psychology, the power of language, education, research, sociology, history. Because the personal is political became my mantra, it has defined the way I have lived my life and worked for a long long time. So the first post is dedicated to you Anjali Maa'm for starting me on this journey all that time ago.
From Gaziantep, Turkey
[1] http://download.tiss.edu/fap/RCI-VAW/RCI-VAW_Publications/Because_the_Personal_is_Political.pdf
[2] Divorce
[3] A statement made that has stayed with me, since it was my very first case working with a survivor of child sexual abuse.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Our work with building and strengthening widows association's/solidarity groups
The story behind this story soon to follow- the amazing team that makes this possible. Thank you Aqela Jan and colleagues.
In broken justice system, women in Kabul find their legal voice
SUSAN SACHS
KABUL— From Monday's Globe and Mail
Published Monday, Feb. 21
http://www.theglobeandmail.
In broken justice system, women in Kabul find their legal voice
SUSAN SACHS
KABUL— From Monday's Globe and Mail
Published Monday, Feb. 21
http://www.theglobeandmail.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Messed up funding priorities: where is the money for women?
Billion's of dollors of Aid coming in, yet we cant find the resources to Help Torpikai and thousands of others like here!
You will give us millions to spend on infrastructure, yet not what we need to keep Torpikai and her children and all the other widows off the streets
These are some screwed up funding priorities.
Kieran Green is the Communications Manager for CARE Canada. He is currently in Kabul, Afghanistan, gathering stories about the Afghan women CARE is working to empower. This is a piece that he wroteToday was my first chance to get out into Kabul and meet some of the women CARE works with in Afghanistan. I’ll get to meet many more over this week and next, and I hope to hear many stories of success – women who have found livelihoods, education, health and empowerment with a hand from CARE. But today the stories were different. They weren’t stories of success. They were stories of need, and desperation.
Today, out in the impoverished districts of Kabul, I met two women: Torpikai and Khatam Jan.
Torpikai fled her native province of Logar, one of the most dangerous provinces in Afghanistan. She spends every day looking after her ill and elderly mother and mother-in-law, her sister-in-law who is both physically and mentally ill, and their six children. The children don’t go to school. She can’t afford the fees. The neighbours give them old clothes. The wearable pieces she uses for her family, the rest she burns for heat. She bakes bread for the neighbours to earn a meager income. With all the family to look after, there’s no way she can ever leave the house to find other work.
Khatam Jan lost a leg to a land mine, and her husband to a bullet, in the violence that tore apart Kabul in the 1990s. Once she did laundry for neighbours to earn a meager income to support her son and four daughters, but today she is too old to work. Her son is in grade 10, and can only afford the school fees by finding and selling plastic bags in the street. There’s no money left for the rest of the family.
What both women have in common is their only source of food: CARE’s HAWA program (Humanitarian Assistance for the Women of Afghanistan). Since 1994 CARE has been providing basic staples – wheat, beans, oil and salt – for thousands of vulnerable Afghan widows. Those distributions have been funded since the beginning by the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA).
Over the years the HAWA program has been the mother for a host of other programs that help women move beyond dependence on food aid to sustainable lives and livelihoods. CARE is proud that a majority of women have ‘graduated’ from food aid to better lives. Unfortunately there will always be a small number – women like Torpikai and Khatam Jan – who because of illness, disability, age or circumstance will likely be dependent for their entire lives.
Even more unfortunate, it now seems the funding for the HAWA program will soon run out. Unless CARE can find a new donor, the food distributions will end. For the women like Torpikai and Khatam Jan this will be a disaster. They don’t know how they will survive. Torpikai says she will pray, and probably send her children out to beg. As for Khatam Jan, she just doesn’t know.
The funding for this work ends Next month. What is going to happen to these women? where is the commitment of the international community?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Afghanistan enters the world of International one day cricket
India v/s Afghanistan, Afghanistan's Debut match in International Cricket, dont know who I want to win more, wish both could and they were not in the same group! Cheering Noor Ali's first few boundaries. Cheering Noor Ali’s 50!
India win by 7 wickets. My star from the afghan side was Noor Ali.
1st May 2010
India win by 7 wickets. My star from the afghan side was Noor Ali.
1st May 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Thank you Sarah
Have been grinning since I saw the message you left on my board. It helps deal with the stress of figuring out if one will have a program left by the end of the year, with donors not interested in women's empowerment but visible infrastructre! The hypocracy of it all. A few words that come to mind about the injustice of it all , but those are only for my private venting and not a public space like this. The whole donor scene is going to be a subject of another entry soon! Inshallah
CARE Afghanistan's version of Goldilocks and the Three Bear's
Its been a long time since I wrote a Blog entry, the last few months have been filled with proposals, budgets, log frames, staff retrenchment, hiring, attacks on schools and a thousand things that seem to happen at the same time and requires one’s immediate attention.
But what got me out of my blogging lethargy was what was happening outside my office window today and I just had to go out take pictures and write this before I can get back to work!
It was CARE Afghanistan’s own version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, so here it is Ahad trying to figure out which one is ‘just right’ for him! Without further ado I will let you look at the pictures and see for yourself.
But what got me out of my blogging lethargy was what was happening outside my office window today and I just had to go out take pictures and write this before I can get back to work!
It was CARE Afghanistan’s own version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, so here it is Ahad trying to figure out which one is ‘just right’ for him! Without further ado I will let you look at the pictures and see for yourself.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Note to Self: reason why I should never move out without a camera
Saw the most amusing sight while driving back to office from a meeting. There was a afghan police pick-up with two gun trotting cops in the back with a huge pink baby cot between them, with what looked like atleast 4 feet of pink curtains around it. They wizzed in and out of the traffice jam and were soon gone. Some lucky commandant has had a baby and needed that in a hurry, ensuring there was enough protection for it to reach in one piece.
Missed my camera!
Missed my camera!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
multi purpose office space
Also being a day care.
Care has a wonderful day care for its staff. But there are times when my office doubles up as a day care and my role includes the same. when school's are shut or when the normal day care provider at home is unavailable and staff bring their children over for the day. They normally troop into my office, ostensibily for saying salam but realistically to raid my chocolate supplies (kept especially for such intrusions).
Here are a few snaps of what really happens and how my stationary is actually put to use
Munaza jan (one of the youngest ones) and my all time favourite! Now you know the reason I have toshak's in my office and not the normal furniture.
She also has a tendency of appropriating all my markers on a regular basis :).It a constant battle
With Helen (the most precious one), while the rest of my team is jabbering away in Dari, this is the role assigned to me!
Peer learning at its best :). This is the only time Munaza condescended to smile for us. Tabassum is the only one she listens to.
Most of the HAWA kids as I call them.
Care has a wonderful day care for its staff. But there are times when my office doubles up as a day care and my role includes the same. when school's are shut or when the normal day care provider at home is unavailable and staff bring their children over for the day. They normally troop into my office, ostensibily for saying salam but realistically to raid my chocolate supplies (kept especially for such intrusions).
Here are a few snaps of what really happens and how my stationary is actually put to use
Munaza jan (one of the youngest ones) and my all time favourite! Now you know the reason I have toshak's in my office and not the normal furniture.
She also has a tendency of appropriating all my markers on a regular basis :).It a constant battle
retrieving them.
With Helen (the most precious one), while the rest of my team is jabbering away in Dari, this is the role assigned to me!
Peer learning at its best :). This is the only time Munaza condescended to smile for us. Tabassum is the only one she listens to.
Most of the HAWA kids as I call them.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Is constantly being surprised
As you read in the last post, the last few days I have been striving to keep it together before I leave for my annual leave. Three days after the blast, when I went to office and was having a weekly meeting with my team. The managed to surprise me yet again, the love and affection I get from them is an honour. At the end of the meeting, I am stopped leaving the room and they tell me they have something to share with me. The colleagues who were not in the meeting walk into the room and I see Aqila jan, one of the colleagues I most admire for the way she works with her team on strengthening the widows association, comes over with a gift in her hands and gives it me.
When I ask what it is for?, I get the flimsiest of excuses, for me it was their way of reaching out to me when I was hurting and letting me know they want me here. I wont even get into what some of them had to say to me then as it will probably make me cry again. I had tears in my eyes for the rest of the day and everytime i think of it even now, my eyes get wet.
Am putting some of the pictures that they took (not the best, me in an emotional state). But I wanted to share this with you, these are the colleagues who keep me going, all of whom have lost loved ones to the war and terror here. Yet they find it in their hearts to reach out to others constantly and not let bitterness and anger take over their lives. I bow before you all. Thank you
The livestock, KHAWA, FIRUP-K,WAFAA teams (We love acronyms here).
OMID team
with Aqila jan
With Dr. Zohra. The last one has me weeping, not a pretty sight but they sure know how to get to me :).
When I ask what it is for?, I get the flimsiest of excuses, for me it was their way of reaching out to me when I was hurting and letting me know they want me here. I wont even get into what some of them had to say to me then as it will probably make me cry again. I had tears in my eyes for the rest of the day and everytime i think of it even now, my eyes get wet.
Am putting some of the pictures that they took (not the best, me in an emotional state). But I wanted to share this with you, these are the colleagues who keep me going, all of whom have lost loved ones to the war and terror here. Yet they find it in their hearts to reach out to others constantly and not let bitterness and anger take over their lives. I bow before you all. Thank you
The livestock, KHAWA, FIRUP-K,WAFAA teams (We love acronyms here).
OMID team
with Aqila jan
Monday, March 8, 2010
Reflections on the blast last friday: 26th Feb
http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?264615
First Person
An Indian In Kabul
One of the first questions I am asked by Afghans is: Am I a Hindustani or a Pakistani? And when I respond, the smile and welcome I get overwhelms me... Friday, 26 Feb was the first time I felt unsafe here, exposed because of my nationality...
Jasveen Ahluwalia
I woke up on Friday morning around 6.40 to a loud noise, thinking we were having another earthquake. That illusion dissolved within seconds when I heard the second blast and then gunfire. Within minutes, after a call from a colleague, the four of us living in our staff compound got together. We could see the smoke from the blast and hear continuous firing for more than two hours after that. Details of what was happening kept coming in along with rumours. The one thing we were sure of in the initial hour was that it was an attack in the area of Shar-e-Naw -- the city centre. All through the day, I was in touch with friends at the Indian embassy and others, and every call added another horror. It was too close to home this time around.
I am a development professional who has been living in Afghanistan now for nearly two years. This is not the first time I have lost friends or colleagues to an attack of this nature, nor would it be the last. The first big explosion was a few months after I came here -- the attack on the Indian Embassy in July 2008. Still new to the country, my initial thought was that it was a car back- firing, till I saw colleagues moving away from glass windows. That was my induction to life in Afghanistan. The second one was when one of my first friends here, a Canadian AID worker, was killed on her way back to Kabul from visiting a community education project. Three other colleagues died with her.
Over the years, one has grown accustomed to the fact that insecurity is a constant part of life. One doesn't even think about it, until another attack/kidnapping happens. Then you find out the details, try and understand where we can tighten security, what one needs to avoid or be careful about and move on to business as usual. It's the only way you can survive working here.
But this Friday was different. I knew many of those killed. I have memories of going to Noor Guest house to visit the doctors when I had been ill, and having heard Nawab, the tabla player, at cultural events numerous times. These were people and places that are like my back yard. My favourite sheer yak (local ice cream) shop is the one next to where the Noor Guest house once stood. It has been vaporised now. I know the children who beg on these streets. I know some of them by name -- they are part of the fabric of my life here. This was an area which has numerous guest houses where friends and colleagues are put up when they are visiting. This time around, I have still not been able to put this behind me and move ahead.
It is the first time I have felt unsafe here, exposed because of my nationality and the fact that I am a Kharaji (foreigner). Till now I have basked in the love and affection the people of this country have showered on me. The way they have opened their hearts and homes to me has always made me feel at home. But I no longer feel that I could blend into the crowd at Mandayee or Laysee Mariam (the local markets), having been told enough number of times that I can pass off for an Afghan woman, till I open my mouth. Now every time I am on the streets and my head- scarf slips, I feel exposed.
One of the first questions I am asked by Afghans is: Am I a Hindustani or a Pakistani? And when I respond, the smile and welcome I get overwhelms me. Indians are loved in this country. Is that all an illusion? I used till now to believe that I am not as much of an outsider as other expats here. I have never been as conscious of my nationality as I am here, both in a positive and negative way; it had never been something that I allow to define me exclusively.
The slightest sound now startles me into thinking: Is this another attack? I do feel unsafe now, however much my friends and colleagues have tried to comfort me and tell me otherwise, it's a sad state of being. I don't live in a fortress with armed guards, and I don't wish to either. That isn't why I am here: to hide behind armed guards, only move between office and home. I am here to get to know this country and its people, to contribute in any small way I can to its development. Large gatherings of Indians is a security risk we are being told, that one needs to avoid guest houses and other places where there is a large Indian population.
I organised a prayer meeting a few days ago in memory of all those who lost their lives in Friday's attack: Afghan, Indian, Italian and French. All of Friday there were calls from Afghan friends and colleagues reaching out. They live with this insecurity every day of their lives. They live with the fact that today might be the last day of their lives. Every single one of them has lost loved ones in the last 30 years of war; I hope I have imbibed some of their strength and resilience while I have lived in their country.
I do not want this fear to remain and change me, I want to continue living and working here with my friends. But I do live with the reality that if 'they' are out to get you, they will. This is the phrase most often used by the Indian and Expat community here. It could just also be a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time which, I reflect, is true of any other part of the world as well.
The tragedy is that my memories of Afghanistan are built around such incidents -- those are the time- lines we use here: The day of the Serna attack was the Bollywood party, the day of the German embassy bombing was when our Health Grant came through. These are the incidents you use to remember when things happened. When will this change? In my lifetime? When will my Afghan friends who have had to leave their country be able to come back?
I am of course here by my own choice. My Afghan friends and colleagues don't have that choice. They can't escape the violence. The children on the streets don't have that choice.
First Person
An Indian In Kabul
One of the first questions I am asked by Afghans is: Am I a Hindustani or a Pakistani? And when I respond, the smile and welcome I get overwhelms me... Friday, 26 Feb was the first time I felt unsafe here, exposed because of my nationality...
Jasveen Ahluwalia
I woke up on Friday morning around 6.40 to a loud noise, thinking we were having another earthquake. That illusion dissolved within seconds when I heard the second blast and then gunfire. Within minutes, after a call from a colleague, the four of us living in our staff compound got together. We could see the smoke from the blast and hear continuous firing for more than two hours after that. Details of what was happening kept coming in along with rumours. The one thing we were sure of in the initial hour was that it was an attack in the area of Shar-e-Naw -- the city centre. All through the day, I was in touch with friends at the Indian embassy and others, and every call added another horror. It was too close to home this time around.
I am a development professional who has been living in Afghanistan now for nearly two years. This is not the first time I have lost friends or colleagues to an attack of this nature, nor would it be the last. The first big explosion was a few months after I came here -- the attack on the Indian Embassy in July 2008. Still new to the country, my initial thought was that it was a car back- firing, till I saw colleagues moving away from glass windows. That was my induction to life in Afghanistan. The second one was when one of my first friends here, a Canadian AID worker, was killed on her way back to Kabul from visiting a community education project. Three other colleagues died with her.
Over the years, one has grown accustomed to the fact that insecurity is a constant part of life. One doesn't even think about it, until another attack/kidnapping happens. Then you find out the details, try and understand where we can tighten security, what one needs to avoid or be careful about and move on to business as usual. It's the only way you can survive working here.
But this Friday was different. I knew many of those killed. I have memories of going to Noor Guest house to visit the doctors when I had been ill, and having heard Nawab, the tabla player, at cultural events numerous times. These were people and places that are like my back yard. My favourite sheer yak (local ice cream) shop is the one next to where the Noor Guest house once stood. It has been vaporised now. I know the children who beg on these streets. I know some of them by name -- they are part of the fabric of my life here. This was an area which has numerous guest houses where friends and colleagues are put up when they are visiting. This time around, I have still not been able to put this behind me and move ahead.
It is the first time I have felt unsafe here, exposed because of my nationality and the fact that I am a Kharaji (foreigner). Till now I have basked in the love and affection the people of this country have showered on me. The way they have opened their hearts and homes to me has always made me feel at home. But I no longer feel that I could blend into the crowd at Mandayee or Laysee Mariam (the local markets), having been told enough number of times that I can pass off for an Afghan woman, till I open my mouth. Now every time I am on the streets and my head- scarf slips, I feel exposed.
One of the first questions I am asked by Afghans is: Am I a Hindustani or a Pakistani? And when I respond, the smile and welcome I get overwhelms me. Indians are loved in this country. Is that all an illusion? I used till now to believe that I am not as much of an outsider as other expats here. I have never been as conscious of my nationality as I am here, both in a positive and negative way; it had never been something that I allow to define me exclusively.
The slightest sound now startles me into thinking: Is this another attack? I do feel unsafe now, however much my friends and colleagues have tried to comfort me and tell me otherwise, it's a sad state of being. I don't live in a fortress with armed guards, and I don't wish to either. That isn't why I am here: to hide behind armed guards, only move between office and home. I am here to get to know this country and its people, to contribute in any small way I can to its development. Large gatherings of Indians is a security risk we are being told, that one needs to avoid guest houses and other places where there is a large Indian population.
I organised a prayer meeting a few days ago in memory of all those who lost their lives in Friday's attack: Afghan, Indian, Italian and French. All of Friday there were calls from Afghan friends and colleagues reaching out. They live with this insecurity every day of their lives. They live with the fact that today might be the last day of their lives. Every single one of them has lost loved ones in the last 30 years of war; I hope I have imbibed some of their strength and resilience while I have lived in their country.
I do not want this fear to remain and change me, I want to continue living and working here with my friends. But I do live with the reality that if 'they' are out to get you, they will. This is the phrase most often used by the Indian and Expat community here. It could just also be a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time which, I reflect, is true of any other part of the world as well.
The tragedy is that my memories of Afghanistan are built around such incidents -- those are the time- lines we use here: The day of the Serna attack was the Bollywood party, the day of the German embassy bombing was when our Health Grant came through. These are the incidents you use to remember when things happened. When will this change? In my lifetime? When will my Afghan friends who have had to leave their country be able to come back?
I am of course here by my own choice. My Afghan friends and colleagues don't have that choice. They can't escape the violence. The children on the streets don't have that choice.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Welcoming the weekend with a bomb blast and grabbing the grab bag for the first time
Was woken up a little over an hour and a half back on a jumma morning (my weekend) with the sounds of a blast (initial thought was earthquake), stepped out of my bedroom to see all the windows had opened with the impact, and things had fallen off the counter. Grabbed my wallet and passport and stuffed it into my grab bag, got a call from, my neighbour, Jen to say that our Country Director Lex said to get dressed and be ready. Now for the things that I thought of putting into my bag (all in a period of two minutes), prayer book, extra pack of ciggaretes and my knitting. This is the first time that i thought of my grab bag (we are all advised to have a small bag ready for emergencies)
We all went out into the yard, its been pouring all night and still raining, there are four of us in the compound right now, made a pot of coffee and stayed together till the gun shots abated, checked out the exit routes in case we needed to get out. An hour spent like any other socialising, how strange is that, except ofcourse everyone was worried- the phase that was repeated most often- if they are out to get you they will, nothing we can do. Called parents to let them know that I was still alive and kicking. Texted friends in the neighbourhood to make sure they knew what was happening and were ok.
Now that I have not heard any gun shots for the last twenty minutes, will get back to work and stay put for the day!
We all went out into the yard, its been pouring all night and still raining, there are four of us in the compound right now, made a pot of coffee and stayed together till the gun shots abated, checked out the exit routes in case we needed to get out. An hour spent like any other socialising, how strange is that, except ofcourse everyone was worried- the phase that was repeated most often- if they are out to get you they will, nothing we can do. Called parents to let them know that I was still alive and kicking. Texted friends in the neighbourhood to make sure they knew what was happening and were ok.
Now that I have not heard any gun shots for the last twenty minutes, will get back to work and stay put for the day!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
There was finally snowfall in kabul!
Yeah!!!!!!!!!
Lydia and me braving the snow and wind to get our energy fixes :)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Knitting Club finally meets
One of my biggest stress busters the last few months has been knitting, started doing it for all the SMT/security/PCM meetings that we have every monday. It helps me to stay focused and sane :). The first time, i brought my knitting along there were the usual comments and jibes, as well as requests for scarfs, but now no one bats an eye when they see me camped in the knitting room (opps, meetings room) with my knitting, note pad and coffee.
So when I started talking to friends about it, we realised that there were a few knitting enthusiasts amongst us as well as a few who wanted to learn, and a few who then put us in the category of old maids :).
So this monday, the first knitting club get-together took place at my home with Salima, Karen and me (the enthusiasts), Zahra (the learner)and Alka (who came for the comfort food or dal, mattar pulao, zeera aloo and chatni's). Salima has set herself a goal of completing a scarf she started 5 years ago in two weeks, Karen, has been working on socks (how cool is that) for the last two year, and I wanted to finish the scarf I started earlier this winter. So we thought if we sat down together with khana, tea and crepes (salima- makes fabulous crepes) we could motivate each other and relearn some of what we all seem to have forgotten, casting, which is knit, which is pearl and how do you change colours midway (I still havnt figured out how to do this without leaving a mark)?
Karen counting the stiches, while alka decided to join in and make a coster just for the fun of it. There was talk of darning needles, patterns, knitting books- cant wait to see where we go with this.
Zahra, the novice of the group, finally moved past the casting and first row. This girl has the right attitude, long way to go :) !
My new goal is to complete the scarf in two weeks and start on an Afghan (with diffrent coloured yarns) and get more of the ladies and gents (oh yes, there was one brave soul who is interested in learning how to knit) involved in the knitting club. I was also teased about my comments on the proper way to hold needles (but that was my mom talking not me, ladies)
Salima jan finally figured out the pattern she was working on and that it was pearl the bumps!
Look forward to more evenings like this one!
So when I started talking to friends about it, we realised that there were a few knitting enthusiasts amongst us as well as a few who wanted to learn, and a few who then put us in the category of old maids :).
So this monday, the first knitting club get-together took place at my home with Salima, Karen and me (the enthusiasts), Zahra (the learner)and Alka (who came for the comfort food or dal, mattar pulao, zeera aloo and chatni's). Salima has set herself a goal of completing a scarf she started 5 years ago in two weeks, Karen, has been working on socks (how cool is that) for the last two year, and I wanted to finish the scarf I started earlier this winter. So we thought if we sat down together with khana, tea and crepes (salima- makes fabulous crepes) we could motivate each other and relearn some of what we all seem to have forgotten, casting, which is knit, which is pearl and how do you change colours midway (I still havnt figured out how to do this without leaving a mark)?
Karen counting the stiches, while alka decided to join in and make a coster just for the fun of it. There was talk of darning needles, patterns, knitting books- cant wait to see where we go with this.
Zahra, the novice of the group, finally moved past the casting and first row. This girl has the right attitude, long way to go :) !
My new goal is to complete the scarf in two weeks and start on an Afghan (with diffrent coloured yarns) and get more of the ladies and gents (oh yes, there was one brave soul who is interested in learning how to knit) involved in the knitting club. I was also teased about my comments on the proper way to hold needles (but that was my mom talking not me, ladies)
Salima jan finally figured out the pattern she was working on and that it was pearl the bumps!
Look forward to more evenings like this one!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Under 19 Cricket world Cup: Afghanistan Vs India, the defending champions
It was a treat to watch Afghanistan play India in the U 19 world cup, I wasnt sure who I should be cheering for, the defending champions or the afghanistan team. Noor-Ul- Haq, played a captain's innings of 61 to take the afghanistan team to a respectable score of 118 all out. Zaki is a another player to look out for in the future. Of the 16 teams that competed in the tournamnet, afghanistan though in the bottom half did not fair as badly as the US team, which i am sure will being some cheer. I look forward to seeing this young team taking on some of the greats in the years to come.
I have seen some of them play on the ISAF grounds once before against an English county team, wish more teams would come to kabul and play cricket!
Does anyone know whats so special about Nangarhar and cricket, half the team was from there?
I have seen some of them play on the ISAF grounds once before against an English county team, wish more teams would come to kabul and play cricket!
Does anyone know whats so special about Nangarhar and cricket, half the team was from there?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Today's Surprise
The day began like most Sunday's, moaning that the weekend was over, that i had not caught up with work stuff as much as planned and it would be a tough week as a result. So the first part of the morning was spent trying to catch up with emails, going over my schedule for the week and stuff like that. The surprise of the day was my newest project team (cash for work for widows) had planned a lunch for the entire HAWA team and invited representatives from all program's and departments. Probably the first time something like that was being done. Our office has more than 800 national staff and 16 expats, so its rare to meet across programs and departments for just a get together, except an annual event which Lex and Sunmaya host (our Country Director and his wife).
Inspite of implementation challenges and the like, am thankful every day for the great team I have. I dont say that because of the lunch and like :), but because they really do work like a team, which from what I hear from colleagues in other organisations, is a rariety here. They happily put in extra hours, take on extra work, things that one took for granted back home but is a challenge for most teams here.
Its a pleasure to work with such a dedicated group who pushes and inspires me to improve myself constantly too.
Inspite of implementation challenges and the like, am thankful every day for the great team I have. I dont say that because of the lunch and like :), but because they really do work like a team, which from what I hear from colleagues in other organisations, is a rariety here. They happily put in extra hours, take on extra work, things that one took for granted back home but is a challenge for most teams here.
Its a pleasure to work with such a dedicated group who pushes and inspires me to improve myself constantly too.
Jugharoos in kabul: January 2010
For the Jugharoo’s. Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away. George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)
Here's to more travels together, to fun and silliness !
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Annual Pilgrimage to Salang: Year 2
This year too I got to go to Salang again and indulge in my obsession with snow, snow fights and all. Thanks to Kebar, Humayoun and Shahwali who indulge me, friends who make life is Kabul special. I dont think I can thank you guys enough for putting up with me, pampering me, you have spolit me now :)
The day started with Shahwali and me loading up the two car's, making sure the radios were working and then picking up the other two gentlemen. Sharif and Ustad were the two drivers who took us there and bore with the snow ball fights that started on the streets but continued in the vehicle (more on that a bit further down).
The first stop once outside Kabul was in Humayoun's village called Kalakand (no it isnt named after the Indian sweet), where we bought some Kangina, grapes preserved for the winter in a covering made of mud and straw. Once Humayoun had finished with the selection we were on our way again. Food, snow and snow fights were the recurring themes of the day.
Kebar's wife had prepared the most delicious boloni (the afghan version of the paratha), which is saying something considering the quantities and varities I have eaten in my time here. These were gandana and kaccha aloo mixed with chillies (gandana aka leek, kaccha aloo aka Potatoes). The Punjabi's and Afghan's have a lot in common, especially their love for food.We also crossed Kebar's village called Totomdara, supposed to be a Hindu inspired name, a lot of the land there is owned by Hindu's.
The first town we crossed was Char e Kar, where Care has a sub office and the education program is implementing community based education for girls. The second one was Jabal Siraj where I saw the Afghan version's of jughad's. In Rajasthan (which is probably my home town now, I never know how to respond to the question which part of India do you come from?) we have Jughad's as the main form of transportation in rural areas, the engine is the motor used in wells and a wooden plank for seating, highly decorated in different styles depending on the region. I found a variation here where intead of a motor of a well, its a motorcycle converted into a jughad or auto (as its called here). The journey is beautiful when you have the Hindu Kush range on both sides, making it a beautiful road trip.
The rest of the day went dodging snow balls, being almost buried in the snow a few times, clearning roofs of snow, picknicking besides a stream, sitting on our shawls. Both Kebar and Humayoun are quite brutal with their jang -e- barf. All in all a fun filled day with instructions for me to find a husband who lives where there is constant snow and since I was playing Babul by Shobha Mudgal an ironsmith or loohar.
I can never get enough Boloni, especially my favourite version- leek and potato with chillies.
The Salang Valley
Me with Humayoun on the left, Kebar on the right and then Shahwali
The journey back into Kabul was tinged with sadness, I was already missing the snow and thinking about when I would get to see it again. The road had been blocked by a comapany of American troops in their Humvees and tanks. Everyone who was with me would not let me take pictures of the scene saying that I could be shot at for something like that, questions asked later. Brought back the issue of how foreign troops are viewed and what actually goes on in the name of security.
This is only one that I took before my friends stopped me. I counted atleast 40 of these and am sure, missed quite a few.
The first stop once outside Kabul was in Humayoun's village called Kalakand (no it isnt named after the Indian sweet), where we bought some Kangina, grapes preserved for the winter in a covering made of mud and straw. Once Humayoun had finished with the selection we were on our way again. Food, snow and snow fights were the recurring themes of the day.
The first town we crossed was Char e Kar, where Care has a sub office and the education program is implementing community based education for girls. The second one was Jabal Siraj where I saw the Afghan version's of jughad's. In Rajasthan (which is probably my home town now, I never know how to respond to the question which part of India do you come from?) we have Jughad's as the main form of transportation in rural areas, the engine is the motor used in wells and a wooden plank for seating, highly decorated in different styles depending on the region. I found a variation here where intead of a motor of a well, its a motorcycle converted into a jughad or auto (as its called here). The journey is beautiful when you have the Hindu Kush range on both sides, making it a beautiful road trip.
The rest of the day went dodging snow balls, being almost buried in the snow a few times, clearning roofs of snow, picknicking besides a stream, sitting on our shawls. Both Kebar and Humayoun are quite brutal with their jang -e- barf. All in all a fun filled day with instructions for me to find a husband who lives where there is constant snow and since I was playing Babul by Shobha Mudgal an ironsmith or loohar.
I can never get enough Boloni, especially my favourite version- leek and potato with chillies.
The Salang Valley
Me with Humayoun on the left, Kebar on the right and then Shahwali
Our Picnic Spot, next to stream, sitting for boloni and chai on our shawls
The journey back into Kabul was tinged with sadness, I was already missing the snow and thinking about when I would get to see it again. The road had been blocked by a comapany of American troops in their Humvees and tanks. Everyone who was with me would not let me take pictures of the scene saying that I could be shot at for something like that, questions asked later. Brought back the issue of how foreign troops are viewed and what actually goes on in the name of security.
This is only one that I took before my friends stopped me. I counted atleast 40 of these and am sure, missed quite a few.
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