March 13th, 2009 Jo
The Mean Streets of Dehradun . . . it takes nerves of steel, an iron resolve and a certain measure of masochism to venture out on them - whether as a pedestrian (really dangerous), a bicyclist (even worse), or a driver (in which guise you engage in delusional thinking by believing you are in control).
Nevertheless, I do it all the time, using all three of the above options. Proof that you can get used to anything.
The story I have to tell, however, is not a moving vehicle one. In this story, I was parked. Illegally, as it happened.
I parked, as I often do, in front of Ellora’s. It was New Year’s Day (which will be important in the story). I knew it wasn’t allowed, but I was in a hurry and I only had a few errands to run. As usual, they took longer than I thought and it actually occurred to me as I walked back towards my car: “Wouldn’t it be funny if I’d been towed?”
I thought it would be funny because it NEVER HAPPENS. In all my years in Dehradun (almost 20) I have never been towed and, until a month or so ago, I had never even seen anyone towed.
But in December, Dehradun got a new traffic superintendent and he was a tyrant, determined to impose some order on our hapless, crazy city - see above photo. In the month previous, I had witnessed numerous towing incidents, motorcyclists being ticketed for not wearing a helmet, people running red lights being pulled over and a general atmosphere of zero tolerance.
I loved it. I am a maniac on our roads because I am one of the few who know there are traffic rules and I insist on following them. This automatically creates mass confusion because everyone else follows the “like water for traffic” system in which you simply go with the flow. If you meet with an obstacle, you FLOW - either to left or right. Not me. The obstacle is always in the wrong and I get out and screech. Mass confusion.
So I was all for the crackdown in Dehradun. I cheered every time I saw an arrest being made and I would have garlanded the tow truck wallas if I could have. I mean, the way people park wherever they feel like it, regardless of impeding traffic and pedestrians - it simply has to stop. 
Thinking such thoughts, and amusing myself with the funny idea of my own car being hauled off, I rounded the corner and found, to my dismay, that it had actually happened. My car was gone. I did what I suppose every “victim” does: glanced wildly in all directions, certain I must have been mistaken, must have parked somewhere else, couldn’t possibly have been towed. But slowly, the truth dawned. I asked a man sitting in his shop if he had seen it happen and he nodded happily: “Silver Santro? Yep. They took it three minutes ago.” He told me where to go and I hailed an auto rickshaw and headed for the pound.
By the time I got there, I had recovered my equilibrium. I saw my car standing lonely on one side and the policemen around it knew immediately it was mine (I suppose the “Obama” sticker helped). I could see them snickering as I walked by to pay my fine. But they were in for a surprise. “This is EXCELLENT,” I said as I pulled out the 350 rupees. “You guys are doing a wonderful job. And I’m so glad it happened today. My New Year’s Resolution is that I will never park illegally again. Thank you. I’ve really learned my lesson.”
There was a stunned silence. Then the cop holding my ticket said “Come with me.” I followed him in to an inner office where a woman sat behind a large desk. she signed my ticket, then glanced at me and asked the policeman in Hindi: “What’s her problem?”
“I just wanted you to meet her,” he said. “She thinks we did a great thing by towing her car. She says she’s made a New Year’s Resolution never to park illegally again.”
I left the station in good humor. The cops were all smiling and cheerful and I drove home full of the milk of human kindness.
Two months later I took my Dad into town for a haircut. I parked the car as close as I possibly could to the barbershop because Dad has a hard time walking even in the best of circumstances and the streets of Dehradun don’t qualify as even close to being the best. When we got out of the shop, Dad picking his way through the rubble and the potholes with his cane, I found, yes, indeed, that I had been towed again.
Muttering under my breath, I hailed an auto, took it all the way out to Vasant Vihar, dropped Dad, then rode all the way back into town to the police station. There was my car in exactly the same spot and there, surrounding it, were the same exact policemen who had been there the last time. All grinning. When I emerged from the rickshaw, they greeted me cheerfully: “Madame! What happened to your New Year’s Resolution?”
I didn’t smile back. “This time, it wasn’t my fault.” I said. “This time, you made a mistake. This time, I was with my father. He’s 87 years old and he can’t walk too well. I had to park as close as I could to where we needed to go, but you don’t have any special provisions for people with disability. It’s not fair!”
Once again, there was silence. Then one of the cops said “You know, you’re right. Why don’t you go and meet the Superintendent? Tell him what you told us.”
Once again, one of them escorted me to the inner sactum. The Superintendent was sitting in lonely splendor. He heard me out, then sat and stared at me for a few moments. “I have to admit we never thought about this before. Do you have any suggestions?”
Did I have any suggestions? Did he have any idea what he was asking? For starters, I just happened to have one of our Right to Ride bumper stickers in my purse:
“I work with an organization for people with disability”, I explained. “This city is hellish for us. We’ve got to make it work for everyone!”
By the time I walked out of his office, not only had my ticket been torn up and my car set free with an apology, the Superintendent had promised to organize an awareness program on the Parade Ground for all of the bus, vikram and rickshaw drivers in the city the following week. And he did. But that’s another story.
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens), Stolen or Strayed | 6 Comments »
June 13th, 2008 Jo
I enjoyed watching this reluctant citizen, and her even more reluctant daughter, being approached, cajoled, educated and finally won over by a determined youg activist:
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June 13th, 2008 Jo
Friday the 13th is the day G D Agrawal chose to begin his historic fast-unto-death in protest of the government’s plan to build four dams on the River Ganga between the Gangotri Glacier and the Himalyan town of Uttarkashi. Local demonstrations of support were held around the country, including this one organized here in Dehradun by the People’s Science Institute which a team from Karuna Vihar turned out for.
The young researchers and community organizers from PSI stood on Rajpur Road, Dehradun’s busiest street, 
explaining the reason for the protest to various passers-by and asking them to sign the petition which will be taken to the Prime Minister. The response was heartening. Many people were willing to stop and listen, and most who did decided to sign in support of a ban on any construction along the Ganga. But will it be enough? There is so much political will behind the dams, and so much need/greed for electricity in the cities that it seems unlikely that one man’s resolve, courageous and principled though it is, will be sufficient to turn the tide.
G D has acted both out of religious conviction and scientific understanding. He is convinced that building the dams could be catastrophic, not only for the communities in the immediate vicinity, but for the entire region should there be an accident.
And an accident seems almost certain given the slipshod methods of construction and the callous disregard for safety norms. On a recent visit, Ravi and Kanwarjit Chawla, a civil engineer, peeked into one of the tunnels which has been built to divert water from the lakeformed by damming the river and found it was leaking copiously, to no one’s apparent concern.
The fast began this morning and will continue, G D says, until the construction comes to an end or he dies of starvation. The Ganga is like our mother, he says. What is the point of living if our own mother is tied up and bound?
You can sign the petition and add your voice to the thousands of others who say no to the destruction of our national heritage: http://www.petitiononline.com/tpsy2008/petition.html
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens) | No Comments »
March 25th, 2008 Jo
I am not a big fan of the government. Although I am normally a patient person, I find the bureaucracy and torpor of most government offices too frustrating to deal with. And yet, I recognize the need to work at that level, both because the government is the only institution with the infrastructure to do what needs to be done and because policy change is essential. I also recognize, in saner moments, that the government is not a faceless monolith, but is made up of people, many of whom have wonderful dreams and plans and a true desire to do good.
One such officer is the Chief Secretary of Uttarakhand, S K Das. I have known him as a man of great integrity and vision, a person who genuinely wants to change things for the good, who wants to make the system work for poor people and who has the power to make it happen. I met him yesterday and we had such an interesting conversation. I walked in feeling purposeful and energized. My fiftieth birthday was a milestone for me. I told him I had looked at my life and realized that, more than anything else, I want to make a difference in this world, and that turning 50 had made me suddenly see how urgent it is to make every day count. (I have to say he laughed at that, and pointed out that he was already 60 and still waiting for that amazing accomplishment. But he is a modest man.)
I told him about the promise I had made to the entire staff that we would build our own campus this year and that I needed his help to fulfill that promise. He has agreed to help us get the 35 ac clearance we require for 100% tax rebate to large donors, AND to look into other ways the government can assist us in our plans. Watch this space for more good news. It’s all finally happening!
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens) | 2 Comments »
March 16th, 2008 Jo
Remember Train Bai? The baby born on a moving train a few weeks ago? Her mom went to the loo and gave birth to a daughter so tiny she slipped down the toilet and landed on the tracks below. And survived!
This is not Train Bai, but like her, this little girl was born two months premature. Unlike her, Zoe was born in a hospital in England and kept in an intensive care unit for over six weeks. Once released, she went straight into an early intervention program and is now doing well, though she still does have some motor problems associated with her prematurity.
Train Bai needs early intervention too. Even more desperately than Zoe did - Train Bai was premature, low birth weight, and had major trauma at the time of delivery. I wrote an article on why early intervention is so important in The Hindu on Sunday. Check it out. Comments are welcome, but let’s all try and spread the message: tell your pediatrician, your friends, your neighbors. It’s so important, and so possible!
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens), Serious Stuff | 3 Comments »
March 13th, 2008 Jo
Several years ago, I met my friend Alana Officer,
then Director of Handicap International’s India office, for the first time (there always does have to be a first time!). She handed me her visiting card and there, to my amazement, I found her name (I assumed) printed in Braille. “I once gave my card to a blind man,” she said. “And I felt like an idiot.”
I made up my mind to do the same on my card. Living in Dehradun, the home of the National Institute for the Visually Handicapped which has one of the largest Braille presses in Asia, I assumed this would be a piece of cake. But, you guessed it, there is no free cake in a government set up. In fact, there is no cake at all. I tried. Various other Foundation staff members tried. Our calls weren’t returned. The guy in charge was on holiday. Our order was too small. Our order was too big. Go to the NIVH website and every Braille button you hit takes you to a “URL not found” page.
Then one day at a conference, I met Sachin Verma who works with “AccessAbility” in Delhi. He, too, handed me a card, and it, too, was printed in Braille. But this time I was smarter. I got the name and address of the person who did it for him and it couldn’t have been easier.
Here’s how it works: Take your box of 100 visiting cards, place 150 rupees - in cash! - inside , and mail the lot to:
K N Chandrashekhar, #11 Villa Suchita, Behind Giri Apartments, Bangalore, 560 078
Mr Chandrashekhar’s cell number is 0944-986-4777 and his email is hichandrashekhar@gmail.com
You can choose three things you want printed (name, organization and phone number, for example). The charge is one rupee per card and fifty to courier it back to you. I got mine within three days. The guy has his own little press right in his house. Small is beautiful.
Let’s all get our cards done this way. It’s a great message of inclusion. Thanks Alana, thanks Sachin, thanks Mr Chandrashekhar!
UPDATE FROM ALANA, now working with the World Health Organization in Geneva:
This is such fabulous timing. I have been trying to get WHO to get our cards printed in Braille since I have been here. Without going through the tedious details we have not as yet succeeded.
I have sent the blog details and asked the team to see whether this may be a solution for us also.
Thanks Jo,
Alana
Posted in Bright Ideas, Government Blues (and Greens) | 2 Comments »
February 29th, 2008 Jo
The Concessions Mela was a success at one level. Just about everyone got their certificates. The clerks who came along with the doctors were busy from the moment they arrived, and it was hard work. They barely got a chance to breathe, let alone look up from their papers, stretch their legs or sip a cup of tea.
But while we appreciated their efforts, and we were delighted with the results (nothing like getting a certificate after waiting for hours!), what happened in the days leading up to the mela was an outrage.
The date for the event had been decided by the Chief Medical Officer weeks beforehand and had been communicated to the doctors well in advance. But right up until the morning of the mela, we were unsure whether they would actually attend. The day before, several doctors informed Shipra that they had no intention of coming, and their behavior was both rude and insulting. Shipra said she had never in her life been spoken to as they spoke to her.
It was only with enormous effort and diplomacy that she was able to persuade them to make an appearance. As a professional, she was able to take their ill-mannered comments in her stride but for parents already hassled and upset by thir child’s disability, such treatment is unforgivable.
We were not asking for favors. Granting of disability certificates is part of the doctors’ job, for which we, as taxpayers, pay them. Camps such as the one we organized are also part of their mandate and in fact, are welcomed because it helps them spend the money they have allocated for the purpose and never used (though this didn’t stop them hinting that a little “gift” would not go amiss).
As citizens, we have a right to expect courteous treatment and the prompt issuance of the certificates we are entitled to.
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens) | 4 Comments »
February 19th, 2008 Jo
Some years ago, the Foundation registered with the National Trust, an autonomous government organization formed to protect the rights of people with mental handicap. Like many things the government does, it’s a great idea, but difficult to implement and frustrating to be involved with. We have been asked to serve on three Local Level Committees, for example, with the closest “local” one three hours away (the other two are eight and ten hours distant). The committees - which basically exist to form and monitor legal guardianships for people with mental handicap - consist of an IAS officer (a District Magistrate or higher), a person with disability and a representative of a voluntary organisation. That’s where we come in. Because Uttarakhand has so few organizations registered with the National Trust, those that do exist have been asked to serve on committees all over the state. The problem is that the District Magistrate, who convenes the meetings, often forgets to let us know about them (or lets us know too late for us to get there in time).
But this week, we got the message about a meeting in Tehri Garhwal (the one that’s three hours away) two whole days early and we decided we would try and make it. Rizwan, our newest member of the awareness team, and a delightful, willing and
eager person, volunteered to go. The three hour journey took him about six (bad directions), but he screeched into the DM’s office right at four. The meeting started 40 minutes late and was over in just half an hour. The first thing Rizwan heard was a complaint that we never attend the meetings. He explained how the notices either never arrive or arrive after the fact and someone sitting in the back of the room muttered “Appoint a different NGO.”
Exactly. Local committees should be local. For the National Trust to work effectively, it needs to be truly representative of the nation, not only of capitol cities like Dehradun. But the Trust has a genuine problem: organizations from the smaller towns and villages may not even know it exists. And if they do, the paperwork for registration may seem just too daunting. We are hoping to go back to Tehri (and Uttarkashi and Rudraprayag, our other “local” sites) and work with local people to identify good NGOs who can take our place on the committees. With the admin support our Resource Centre can provide, we can help them navigate the registration process and perhaps access some funding as well.
As he was leaving the meeting, Rizwan told us on his return, the DM called him back in. “That’s a dangerous smile you’ve got,” he said. He got that one right. His smile is half the reason he was hired: there’s a world of possibility contained in it. And possibility is what a job in awareness is all about - helping people to imagine that things can be different, that hope is alive, that magic is afoot.
Posted in Government Blues (and Greens) | 2 Comments »