khirkee Voice (Issue 10) English by Khoj International Artists' Association

KHIRKEE VOICE

FALL EDITION 2019

ISSUE #10

Artists on an Epic trip through Africa

Apidae Mel i pon i na

P h oto : Co n n a l Ea rd l e y

ABIDJAN, IVORY COAST

PLEASANT & WARM WITH SCATTERED T-STORMS AND RAIN

DELHI, INDIA

WARM & HUMID, GETS COOLER BY DECEMBER WITH CHILLY EVENINGS

O s m i a fe d ts c h e n ko i

P h oto : C l a y B o l t

KABUL, AFGHANISTAN

PLEASANT & SUNNY, GETS COLD AND RAINY BY DECEMBER

LAGOS, NIGERIA

P h oto : C l a y B o l t

A p i s M e l l i fe ra A d a n s o n i i

PLEASANT & WARM WITH SCATTERED T-STORMS AND RAIN

N o m i a C ro c i s a s p i d i a

P h oto : C l a y B o l t

MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

ities are conglomerates of differences that often spark misunderstandings. These schisms strike along divisions of class, ethnicity, religion, culture, color and so on. We rarely seek to address these divides due to our indifference or lack of curiosity. But cities are also places that create possibilities for diverse communities to encounter each other. Sometimes these encounters can shatter our rigid notions and beliefs, developing into lasting memories. In search of some of these ephemeral moments, we wanted to talk about experiences and instances when the ‘other’ surprised us, and forced us to take pause. I myself had such an experience as a child. We would often visit our village in Uttarakhand during the summer vacations. The village was divided into distinct ‘Beeth’ (upper class) and ‘Dom’ (untouchables) areas. ‘Dom’ was on the outskirts, we would go there with shepherds sometimes. One day while returning home, we got caught in a sudden hail storm. There was only one house in sight,

Kunal Singh

S o u rce : U n i v . of Ka n s a s

SUNNY WITH LIGHT RAINS, GETS COOLER BY DECEMBER

YAOUNDE, CAMEROON Cte n o p l e c t r i n i P h oto : C l a y B o l t

- research & compilation: kunal singh bees of the world

A p i s Ce ra n a

MOSTLY CLOUDY, WITH SCATTERED RAINS & T-STORMS

Turning Waste into Opportunity

the one we had been forbidden from going to. But in that storm, seeing someone calling and waving from the door of that house, was the biggest relief. When I managed to reach there, a woman rushed me inside, and gave me a towel and hot tea, and took care of me. She helped me in a difficult time despite our community discriminating with them. That day onwards I called her ‘Tai’ (Aunt) and greeted her despite my relatives’ protests. We asked friends to share some anecdotes that challenged their preconceptions. Taiyaba Ali, 24 years Old When I came here to study English Literature at Ramjas, I made friends with people from all over the country, people I had only known distantly through books or visual representation. One such person was Tenzin, a Tibetan refugee, who was in Delhi to study as well. We became good friends, brought together by the experience of living away from home. That year my Birthday fell during the end of semester exams , so there was no opportunity to celebrate. I’m not much for celebrating Birthdays,

but every year there would be cake with friends or family. After the exams were over, Tenzin came up to me and told me he wanted to take me out to celebrate my Birthday. He took me to Majnu Ka Tila where he treated me to a traditional Tibetan meal, while he explained to me the roots and significance of everything we ate. Later, he showed me around the colony and bought me some Tibetan incense. Since then, Majnu Ka Tila became a most comfortable and familiar ‘other’. I made other Tibetan friends too, who have been one of the most generous and hospitable people I have ever come across. Ratan Singh, 55 years Old I came to Delhi in the mid 70s looking for opportunities for a better life. I was working in a small Dhaba in Sarojini Nagar, and stayed in a small rented room with another friend from my village. I made just about Rs 200 per month, of which I would send Rs 120 home. My boss was a strict man, a Baniya. Most of us hated him. Whenever we missed a day, he would deduct money from our salary. One morning I woke up with a

fever. I took medicines and went to work, fearing losing money. I felt dizzy and weak all day, but didn’t tell anyone. My condition worsened, I could not get out of bed and missed work . A friend from the dhaba came looking for me on the third day, and asked me if I had money. I only had 15-20 Rupees left. He helped me with dinner and left. That night I realy felt like I would die. The next morning, my friend reappeared, and handed me 150 rupees. The dhaba owner had sent it for me to visit the hospital. I was shocked. In the hospital, the doctor told me had I delayed I would be incurable. I was discharged when I had partially recovered, and went back to work. The owner looked strict as always. I thanked him and promised to repay him- he just told me to go home and recover fully, to pay him back when I could. Life happened, and I never saw him again, but his generosity had saved my life, and I have never forgotten this incident. We’ve all had these experiences and encounters. Maybe its time we shared more stories about looking out for each other instead of always dwelling on our differences.

BEES OF THE WORLD

WARM AND HUMID WITH SCATTERED RAINS

PATNA, INDIA

Photo essay: Invisible Workforce

Supported by

UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTERS Mahavir Singh Bisht

S o u rce : U n i v . of Ka n s a s

A p i s M e l l i fe ra

KNOWING THE OTHER

mckay savage/ flickr

OCTOBER - DECEMBER 2019

12 PAGES

The Saga of a Jahajee continues

S E A S O N A L REPORT

or most of us, our familiarity with bees is limited to the fact that they make the honey we love so much- and that their stings hurt like hell! We flail wildly if we see one coming at us, and can’t wait to get the hives they make in our neighborhoods removed, lest they attack us. But bees are amazing creatures, and besides the popular and familiar ‘honey bee’, come in a wide variety of shapes, colours, and sizes, each with its own quirks and characteristics. Responsible for pollinating nearly 80% of the foods we eat, Bees are natures gift to humanity.

The Apidae Meliponina is a stingless bee found in the Ivory Coast. They usually nest in hollow trunks, underground cavities and rock crevices, and have also been found in old rubbish bins and water meters. They only produce small quantities of honey for their needs. The Apis Mellifera, also called the Western Bee or the European Honey Bee is the most common of the 7-12 species of honey bees worldwide. These bees can be found on every continent except Antarctica, and are used widely by commercial beekeepers all over the world. They are the single most important pollinator for agriculture globally. The Osmia Fedtschenkoi are

found in Afghanistan and prefer to make their nests in pre-existing cavities such as in the hollow stems of bamboo. Their nest cells are composed of chewed up leaves and moistened mud. The Apis Mellifera Adansonii is a strain of Bees that originated in Brazil as the result of a scientific experiment to cross breed aggressive African Bees with Honey bees. They are distinguishable by their aggression and tendency to swarm, and are also called Killer Bees. The Nomia Crocisaspidia of the Nomia species, native to Somalia, are moderate sized Bees that like to make their nests in the ground. Most bees of this species like to nest

solitarily, but some also like to nest communally where females share a nest but will have no queen or worker bee classes. The Apis Cerana, also called the Eastern Honey Bee or the Asiatic Honey Bee, is native to South, South East and East Asia. Cerana Bees build nests consisting of multiple combs in cavities containing a small entrance, presumably to keep away intruders. The species is also known for their highly social behavior. Ctenoplectrini are characterized by short tongues, modified scopae and large comb-like tribal spurs adapted to collect and carry a mix of pollen and floral oils, and are found in West African countries.

KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

EXCLUSIVE SERIES

Notes on an African Caravan Episode #1: South Africa

Text and illustrations by Shikhant Sablania - You are going to Africa? - Yes. - On a roadtrip? -Yes. -What about finances? Do you have funding? -No. -Are you stupid? -Yes.

I would get all kinds of questions from my friends and family when they got to know I am heading on a roadtrip through Africa. We were a group of inspired individuals who wanted to travel from Cape Town to Cairo. I had no idea what to expect, we had been planning this for 2 years, and here I was on a flight to South Africa, with my anxiety creeping in slowly...

The Great African Caravan is a collaborative art and travel project, where a group of 12 artists from 7 different countries travelled from Cape Town to Cairo, across 10 African countries, covering more than 16,000 Kms, with the philosophy of "Unborder", to discuss, collaborate, engage artists and communities, and encourage dialogue on peacebuilding.

The first thing you notice is the skepticism in people, especially at the airport. However, for us the cold was way more challenging:

Akram and Charan reached Cape Town before anyone else, trying to get our accomodation sorted, and also trying to recce the place for the team. It was a first timer for all of us!

Whoever told us Africa is going to be hot!

Charan GP

Akram Feroze

Satya Shivi

Shikhant

The rest of the team arrived a few days later, and we soon got to work. There were many things to put in place before we even started the journey. We were nt even sure if we could leave CapeTown!

Later, Akram told all of us about their first few days in Cape Town and we also discussed our plans ahead. Guys this house is much better than the house we first saw in Woodstock, that place was filled with Indians and the streets were slightly scary, the residents there warned us of petty theives and robberies. However, that concern gone, we still have many challeges to tackle. Our cars are still stuck at the Cape Town port, I m still not sure if our crowdfunding website will work. Once the rest of the team is here we ll start planning for our days ahead.

And this is the rest of the team*

Helene

Ife

Yllka

(Germany)(

england)

(kosovo)

We had been working on the planning and networking in Africa for the past 2 years, the people in the caravan were of prime importance, for there is no caravan without people, innit? IdaG (netherlands)

alaG

ilbert

(argentina)

(uganda) *for now

But why were we putting ourselves through this misery? We wanted to experience firsthand, life in Africa- the culture, the people, the food. Most of the news and information that come out of the continent is higly biased, it is usually about three things:

Wildlife

Tribes

And travel is the best way to understand, communicate and explore. We were not just travelling, we were also working with the local artists, the people. I sketched and documented some of my conversations along the way.

This journey was destined to be diffuclt, we had our own set of challenges since day 1. And being Indian, I am used to some of these challenges in my homeland. It amazes me how our cultures being so near are yet so far, pushed apart by some imaginary layers that continue to swindle our minds.

pe at Ca stuck Cars port. Town the s for issue Visa . Team t. ciden ery in Robb

However, our partners in South Africa were quite supportive and understood the need for such It was reassuring to see them collaboration and dialogue to exist. go out of their way to help our Our friends in Cape Town helped project. It also boosted our us at every stage possible- be it morales when we at our lowest visa issues, or plain logistics. points.

War

But what we experienced was quite vivid, just in South Africa there are more than 10 ethnic groups! Cape Town being a major trading port has attracted people from various parts of the globe, historically. Even it s recent history and culture is filled with cultural amalgamation of the native Bantus, European settlers and Indian diaspora.

Despite these challenges, we did what we were there for, our artistic collaborations were going on full force!

There are many more strories from our stay in CapeTown that I will share in the next installment of our journey, watch this space for more!

And then we were soon on the road, prepared for the adventures that awaited us...

Shivi

Akram and Ife held theatre workshops with the people of the community, addressing crimes related to drug abuse.

Gala developed music collaborations with the students and staff of the local school around creative expression and non - violence.

I made street art collaborations speaking about the role of women in society and the importance of gender equality.

I soon realized that this project is going to be pivotal in my life story. The African experence was changing all of us on a deeper level. As Ife put it: It's a microcosom of the macrocosom . We were creating a universe within our group.

Akram

Satya

Charan

Helene

Ida

Ife

Gala

Shikhant

To know more about the caravan check out The Great African Caravan on Facebook. or the website: www.thegreatafricancaravan.com. To know more about my work check out www.choorma.com

Our next destination was Harare, Zimbabwe!

Harare

we Zimbab

Fall Edition 2019 • KHIRKEE VOICE collage: malini kochupillai

Of Football & Black Magic We’ve all heard outlandish stories about some or other community that looks, talks, eats, or prays differently from us. Sometimes these stories become Urban Legends that get repeated enough times that they become truths unto themselves.

met Tayo* sometime in August this year. He had agreed to speak with me about the Nigerian community in India for a project I was working on. Tayo lives in Greater Noida where he attends an Indian university, enrolled in a course that teaches mechanical intelligence. I had caught him in the middle of a dispute between the Nigerian Students Collective and the college authorities, yet he agreed to meet and share with me his life in Delhi. As we spoke, our conversation revolved essentially around the Other’ing of each others’ communities. It is no news that Africans at large have been perceived in varying, and sometimes less than favourable light in the capital and elsewhere. Our conversation acknowledged truths and misconceptions of the Nigerian community and veered towards specific incidents. Tayo expressed his disbelief at the assumptions of cannibalism that are often made about Africans, in addition to them being “billionaire” drug dealers. Speaking freely about racism and xenophobia in his own country then, Tayo began to tell of a lesser known reputation

that Indians have held in Nigeria for decades. Nigerian football has had a prominent Indian presence, much to our ignorance. The story goes like this – the Nigerian Green Eagles and the Indian National Football team were set to play a friendly match, set up by FIFA. Nobody could be sure of the year, however the venue was said to be in Lagos. The terms of this match were set by India where they demanded that every goal they scored would count for 3 goals- to which Nigeria agreed, given that Indian football had not yet made a mark in the international arena. The Indian team played barefoot and through the course of this match, scored 99 goals. Nigeria had not scored any. With 5 minutes left for the match to end, the Indian team decided then that if Nigeria could score even one goal, they would concede defeat. Eventually, Nigeria’s Sam Okwaraji did score a single goal, shortly after which he died of a heart attack. Nigeria won with a final score of 99-1 and India was banned for a 100 years by FIFA thereafter. The reason for this ban and absurd score was attributed to black magic or “juju”. It is said that every time the Nigerians attempted to

kick the ball, or their goalkeeper tried to defend his net, the ball would appear as a lion or a tiger or a ball of fire, scaring the goalkeeper and enabling the Indian team to make many, easy goals. Variations of this story also mention the fact that Indian players preferred playing barefoot so as to make their juju more potent. In fact, pictures of the Indian team from back in the 1940s have risen on internet blogs and sports websites to support this story. Many also mention that when Okwaraji did manage to ignore the fiery lion’s head and kick it, the ball turned to stone. Yet, Okwaraji attempted this kick and lost his life in the process. As Tayo narrates it, this story has been repeated in almost every household in his country. Even now in 2019, if someone tries to dismiss it, the rising argument hinges on two points – barefoot players and Okwaraji’s sudden death. Websites that reference this story as myth and nonsense have comments sections drowning in counter-arguments, where it is Nigerians who refuse to believe any other variation of the story except the one they heard growing up. “Why else has India never managed to play in the FIFA World Cup?”,

they argue. But in truth India and Nigeria never played a match, and Sam Okwaraji died after playing against Angola in 1989. It is true that FIFA had put a ban on India for playing barefoot; however their absence in the World Cup has been because of lack of expertise. Tayo asked me before we parted, why is it that Indian women wear the bindi? I replied that it represents the third eye, though in present times it has simply become a beauty motif. This was new knowledge for Tayo. In Nigeria, he said, people are afraid of India’s prowess in sports and equate it with black magic. The image of the snake-

charmer, introduced through several tropes in Bollywood movies of the ‘80s and ‘90s, seems to have left a mark. Indians, Tayo said, are believed back in his country to be keepers of a certain knowledge that evades the rest of the world. I laughed but was reminded of recent news where the Rwandan soccer team was disciplined for using black magic on the field in 2016. Football and black magic are no mismatch; infact for a sport that relies so much on luck, perhaps juju is brought in as reassurance. *Name changed to protect privacy Sam Okwaraji collapsed on the feild during a Nigeria-Angola match in 1980

sportsvillagesquare.com

Upasana Sarma

Editorial

To Other or Not to Other

he other day, a [biologically male] friend of mine told me how they felt lower back pain whenever a close [biologically] female friend of theirs was about to get her period. They said they had felt it every time the two of them were staying together, and she was waiting for the flow. Now, we have all heard about how women who live together, start to bleed together, but this was news. At first it was surprising and somewhat unbelievable, but then it was fascinating, and got me thinking, why the hell

not? If women’s bodies can mysteriously synchronise from proximity, perhaps all bodies can synchronise, maybe it’s all about how well we know, empathise and care for each other. How deeply we are connected to another. Our lives are defined by what we have known, seen, and experienced, and thought we understood- it shapes our world view, our opinions, our interactions. But we forget that there is so much more that we don’t know, that we’ve never heard of or seen, and couldn’t conceive of understanding.

This ‘not knowing’ leads to all kinds of misunderstandings, presumptions and predilections. In this tenth edition of Khirkee Voice, we meditated on some of these unknowns, which has lead to some new knowledge and fresh understanding around ideas we may never have encountered otherwise. A group of intrepid artists from various parts of the world went on an epic road trip from South Africa to Egypt. In these pages, one of them starts to tell us of their adventures and encounters with the diverse countries,

cultures, histories and people of an endlessly fascinating continent. In addressing the theme of this edition, a writer expresses her anguish at everyday instances of ‘othering’, asking the simple question- where does it stop? A photographer reveals the living and working conditions of some of the invisible workforce that drives our city, even as we turn a blind eye to their existence. A graphic designer gives us her humorous perspective on grooming schools. And a gender-fluid trans person opens up about her life and challenges, even as ze gives us a

primer on understanding nonconformity. Putting together this edition has left us wondering, ‘why do we ‘other’’? Why do we seek comfort in only the familiar? How can we be more curious and open to knowing and understanding others? Can we search for things that are similar between us, instead of looking for the differences? What might it take to make us more connected to each other, and by extension, to nature? We leave you here with these same questions, maybe you will write to us with your answers?

KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

EXCLUSIVE SERIES

FORCED INTO THE OCEAN 10th installment of an Artist’s rendition of his great grandmothers forced migration.

An Encounter TEXT + ARTWORK ANDREW ANANDA VOOGEL

TEXT + ARTWORK

ANDREW ANANDA VOOGEL

The heart is a ledger of the many games Time plays with us all.

he early morning streets chirped and buzzed in the summer heat. The sweat began to bead along her forehead as Mala exited the mini bus and began to walk into the city, each step intentional. A thin summer dress lightly hugged her body as she paced forward through the Paramaribo streets. She had been married now for six months. A fate she desperately wished could have been avoided. The family she married into sent her off immediately to find employment and she was able to secure a position at My Family Store. A boutique on the east side of Paramaribo, known for its saris and fashion items. It had been a neighbor who had mentioned the vacancy to her and she was thankful for the time out away from her new family once she’d secured the position. Mala had been in the employment of the store for six months and had grown accustomed to her daily commute and the tasks she performed in the store. Even though the store was open late, she took the opening shift. She enjoyed the feeling of early mornings and it gave her an excuse to leave the house of her new family as soon as day broke. Her life had become burdened

since her wedding day, but she still found small pockets of existence that brought her moments of enchantment. Like the sound of the crickets in the hot sticky evenings, the reflection of the clouds in the puddles after a hot rain and the books that she had stowed away in her small sack, which contained the few possessions she had held onto since leaving home. That morning the air had been particularly sticky. She approached the shop and unlocked the door. She was usually the first one in and she always begun the day by turning on the British Broadcasting Corporation and vigorously sweeping the dust that had settled from the previous day. This was her favorite part of the morning. The shop was mostly quiet and the scattering dust kicked up by her broom glinted against the breaking light. The news and stories coming in from all over the world gave her a welcome distraction from her present situation. As she swept across the store, her feet barely touched the damp wooden floor. Mala got lost in the swirls and mindless patterns of the morning’s cleaning. All of a sudden, the radio chimed in. The West Indies had won the first Cricket World Cup, defeating Australia by

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ality must be held in her motherland. She’d dream to one day leave this strange place she called home and voyage there. The place where her language, her culture, and her history all began. But, for now she was destined to life in the sweltering heat of the Caribbean. Her hands gently hung each sari carefully on the display racks. She would alternate the colors as if she were decorating the interior of a wedding hall. As each of the garments came into the store and eventually sold, she always felt a small moment of remorse. Wondering what new life they would go on to live. As she quietly mused, she heard the door creak open again. The day’s first customer, she thought. As she swung around to greet them, a peculiar face appeared through the light. A tall man, with blonde hair came through the door. “Is Mr. Kahn in,” the man asked. Mala looked at the man curiously and then rushed up the stairs to see if her boss was available. She looked down once more at the stranger. He was definitely a Dutchman, with an awkward accent and an ease that was not usual for those coming from the Netherlands. “Mr. Kahn, you have a visitor,” Mala said. Mr. Kahn motioned to send him up. Mala went back down the stairs and motioned for the Dutchman to head up to mr. Kahn’s office. He reached his hand out toward Mala and she gave him a confused look. She brought her hand up slowly and he shook it confidently. “Nice to meet you, I’m Alexander,” he said.

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Paramaribo, Suriname, Circa 1970’s. Archival Pigment Print Meera with Motorbike, Circa 1970’s, Archival Pigment Print Cosmic Map II, Mix Media, 2017

Tales of the City

17 runs. The Capitan, Clive Lloyd, was Guyanese, a tall middle order batsman. She knew her village back in Guyana would be celebrating and she was sad she couldn’t share in the merriment with her family. She finished sweeping and picked up the duster. As she began to dust, her mind fell into the endless journeys she had been on over the past year. From leaving her village and being smuggled across the border, to her forced of her arranged marriage. She wondered what would be next? At 19, she was living what was turning out to be a much more adventurous life than she had ever imagined. She finished the dusting and began opening the shutters to the store. The bright Caribbean light shown in through the slats and she was momentarily blinded. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the door began to open. She peered across towards the door. It was Mr. Khan, the store’s proprietor. He was a short, pudgy fellow, who was infamous around town for having affairs with his employees. He had not made a pass at Mala as of yet and she had intended on keeping it that way. Mr. Kahn always rushed through the door with the morning paper. He slowly sauntered up the stairs towards his office, without saying a word. Mala went about cleaning and unpacking some newly received shipments from Benares as the radio excitedly recounted the glorious win of the West Indies. Mala always loved receiving new shipments, especially those coming from India. The delicate silks and expertly woven sarees always made her wonder what multitudes of re-

mahavir singh bisht

Fall Edition 2019 • KHIRKEE VOICE

MEANDERINGS Mahavir Singh Bisht

hen I was heading out for a morning walk, I noticed a group of people at the corner tea shop. They were standing quietly. Usually, when you see a similar group of people in the city, you hear them speak loud, creating a lot of noise. I went closer to realise that they were speaking in sign language. Their bright faces were answering each other by making artistic shapes and strokes with their agile fingers in the empty space in between. I was charmed and overwhelmed by all of this and decided to get a cup of tea to stand and observe. Once in a while, in the metro you encounter a couple of people talking to each other in sign language. It was almost surreal to see a group of ten-fifteen people together in a group conversing. Occasionally they would smile looking at me. I was wondering, why does our society not see them as normal? How beautifully they are conversing in silence without any unwanted noise. I went home with these thoughts and imagery in mind. On my way to the metro station, there is a small market. You could see rows of small readymade garment shops. As I was walking, I could hear a couple of people arguing in the right lane in the Blacksmith basti. Twenty-twenty five blacksmith call this basti home. Two groups were arguing with each other. A lot of bystanders were gathering. When I inquired, they told me that a girl in her early twenties had disappeared from the basti. The first group was saying that the girl was being forced to marry, so she ran away. The second group, the girl’s family, believes that due to family feuds, the first group has kidnapped and hid her away. The argument was escalating. A policeman appeared from nowhere and intervened. He asked the group to maintain peace so that he can re-

solve the issue. The bystanders dispersed and I also started to walk towards the metro station. Moving ahead, there is Azadpur Commercial Complex. It hosts a lot of corporate offices. Right in the middle, there is Akash Cinema, a single screen theater which is not functional anymore. In late 90s and early 2000s it would screen all the Hindi blockbuster movies. People from far away places would come here to watch films. Most of the single theaters in Delhi are closing down or have turned into multiplexes. ’Amba Cinema’, which is not far from here, has also been dysfunctional for many years. You could see blue metal sheets raised around ‘Akash Cinema’. Maybe some construction is going on and it would also be turned into a multiplex. As you move ahead, you cross a few general stores and taking a left you find yourself on the main road. You could see Azadpur Village on the other side of the road. Like most urban villages in Delhi, the houses here are tightly knit. When I was a kid, I had a lot of school friends from this village. Then you cross a footover bridge and enter the metro station. ---In the evening, returning from work, a few colleagues asked me to join them for ‘The Lion King’ remake. I agreed. I have a lot of childhood memories attached to it. It’s a beautiful story of a jungle with unforgettable characters like Simba, Nala, Mufasa, Scar, Timon & Pumba and others. A generation has grown up watching them on TV. The story revolves around the Pride Lands of Africa ruled by Lion King Mufasa and Queen Sarabi. The future king Simba is born and Rafiki the Mandrill, presents it to the animals of the Pride kingdom. Everyone is happy, except uncle Scar. Scar schemes an evil plan with Hyenas to claim the throne. The story unfolds as a narrative about family, friendships, sacrifice and

lust for power. I thought, watching the remake would be exciting. We reached the Multiplex in Nehru Place. Due to some reasons the security was tight. We managed to enter the theater. The movie packed with photo-realistic animation seems interesting. It was interval. I decided to get some popcorn. I laid my eyes on the back row. I could see a recognisable face. When I looked carefully, I wanted to laugh, but only managed to smile. It was Congress Politician Rahul Gandhi. He was fiddling with his phone, as if trying to evade attention. You could see a security person sitting in the row after leaving an empty seat. A couple of people were trying to strike a conversation with him and he would raise his head, nod and would go back peeking into his phone. I had a lot of questions as well. But, what would I have asked in this scenario. I thought, after the hyped and tiring general elections, our politicians also deserve a break. I decided to fetch the popcorn first. All this, reminded me of our Prime Minister, who is going to feature in an episode with survival expert Bear Grylls. The episode is shot in Jim Corbett park, famous for Tigers. On one hand we have Rahul Gandhi and on the other our Prime Minister, it seemed like ‘The Lion King’ in real life. Such is politics in our country. By the time I returned, movie had started. One fellow in my row secretly captured a photo of ‘Mr. Gandhi’. I asked him to mail it to me. Then we forgot about Rahul Gandhi and were engrossed in the film. In the night I followed the same route home. I could see the lights of Azadpur village. The market was empty by this hour. I entered my street. In the lane on the right corner, I saw a girl sitting on the pavement of one of the houses. She must be in her early twenties. She raised her head and stared at me. I rushed toward my house, as the dogs started barking.

KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

Afrrii Brie

It’s really absurd to see the presense of Bollywood eveywhere in Africa. In Zimbabwe, at the home we stayed at, Hindi films and TV shows constantly buzzed in the background. Kids, adults, almost everybody is hooked on to them all the time.

Shivi Bhatnagar

Text & Illustrations by

As a filmmaker, it’s even more amusing to see how the crazyness of Bollywood has travelled across borders, so far and wide. It s like we are colonizing the minds of people people with our movies, and I am not saying this casually, cos Ive met women here wanting to be like actresses in Bollywood films - with Henna tatoo and eveything. It s just insane!

South

Pap, Sheema, Porsho, Ugali - whatever you might call it, it s the same thing, a meal of boiled maize. And I am tired of it. I was expecting some variety in the food section - but I have only been disappointed!

For a vegetarian like me there aren t many options in Southern African countires, except for this maize meal and there is not enough soup or curry to eat it with. Well at least I can add sugar and turn it into a semi-edible Halwa!!

A group of artists on a Africa to Egypt, acro nent, share thei observatio and culture from

Most East African cultures have a mono-diet. Upon further investigation, we found out that this has it s roots in slave history. Slave owners provided just enough food to the slaves for them to have enough energy to work in the fields, and deprived them of any nutrition in their foods - to further suppress their intellect. It was crazy, it kept getting harder to believe as one kept digging deep into the colonial history of Africa. Satya Swaroop

Apprehensive? Anxious? Yes, you can feel a lot of these things in Uganda. Kampala man! The street, it s not similar to other cities. It s busy, it s crowded, It kinda makes you be on your toes. Africa as a continent has been stereotyped and painted with one colour, but the fact is that there is so much variety in this continent! And there is so much to understand and explore!

Zambi

As an artist I try not to define myself, I would rather have other people define my work. As a pan-Africanist, I would like other Africans to also collaborate and share wisdom.

Tanzan

Rwand

Ife Piankhi

I was really looking forward to visiting Ethiopia. It would be my first visit to a country outside the core East African countries. As the home of the African Union headquaters, and one of the few countries to have never been colonised, it is the home of Pan-Africanism, the idea of a culturally and politically unified Africa. Upon reaching there, a huge billboard welcomed us to The Land of Origins Yes, please!! *cue some wakanda music.

The Rastafarians we met in Shashamane take quite seriously the theory that a number of them moved from the Caribbean and have settled in the country. It was therefore disheartening to learn that some sections of Ethiopia do not consider themselves part of Africa. The irony of that really broke my heart. There is also a long history of conflict with neighboring Eritrea, among the major tribes within the country.

I am very optimistic that Ethiopia will soon live up to the expectations of being the originators of Panafricanism!

Ugand

Kenya

Ethiop

Sudan Rolland Bayagaba

What is happening in Sudan is quite sad, people protesting on the streets of Khartoum, demanding for a change in government. It was very interesting to see how the protests were so organized. They protest on Thursdays and then the rest of the week they go about living their regular lives! It s amazing how it works! I thought we would see chaos and distruption, but there is a method to the madness. *Earlier this year, a military coup finally lead to the formation of a new government in Sudan.

Zimba

Gala Solar

I feel proud of the people and how they planned it. Back in my country, I have seen protets and we have seen our share of political disturbances, but they are usually promoted by one political party. But here it s different, the people are just tired of bad governance, and are getting creative!

Egypt

Know more about o www.thegreatafr and @ The Great A Faceb

Fall Edition 2019 • KHIRKEE VOICE

ica efly...

The people in the city of Cape Town are very warm and inviting. However, the way the city is designed can be quite eerie. They literally planned the whole city to completely segregate the population based on peoples skin colour!

y Shikhant Sablania

There is a need to decolonise the city.

The further you move away from the center, there is a notable shift in the demographics from mostly white to mostly black and Africana people. They have been forced out into the margins of the city- to townships in the outskirts. Number of people

a roadtrip from South oss the African contiir thoughts and ons of life m Mother Africa!

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Akram Feroze

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Distance from city centre

Ida Simonsen

Africa

Aah! I fianally get to have some amazing food on this journey, at least there are some spices! While Indian Spices can be found all over the continent due to ancient trade routes, thanks to the Indian community in Tanzania, for the first time we tasted familiar flavours in the street food. Tanzanian food is a complex mixture of Arabic, Indian and Swahili food choices - and I loved it! And thanks to all the Arabs for connecting Asia and Africa across many fronts, especially at the peak of spice trade. Infact, the connections between India and the African continent go further back in history than the European Industrial Age!

ia The first day we reached Kigali in Rwanda, we went to the Genocide museum. It was essential for us to go there and see for ourselves what actually happened during the genocide of 1994.

nia

From the first display onwards I was moved. It was disgusting to learn how the local tribe was divided during slave times- breaking them up into the Hutu and Tutsi with no basis in any logic, thus sowing the seeds of hate and distrust that grew into this volcanic extermination of an entire race.

da Yllka Lota

My interest in music started when my mom used to take me to Sunday Mass at our Church. But then I got curious and started asking questions like: If Jesus is dead, why are we still praying to him? Why is Jesus not black ?

pia

our epic journey at ricancaravan.com African Caravan on book.

My mom was certain I was going to burn in Hell!

Achieng

How can people be so incenced as to kill your own neighbour? At the same time I was thinking about the war in my country and my childhood stories of war between Kosovo and Serbia. The museum was an essential step to know and rememebr the extent to which humanity can fall - So that we never repeat it!

I am not religious anymore, but it distrurbs me how Christanity is so big in Africa and how people can be so blind to their reality. The Preachers, oh I so hate them, people go and give them all their life savings and go back into the vicious cylce of debt and poverty. It s sad how these preachers manipulate vulnerable people.

Otieno

The moment we mis-read the map and ended up in a no-entry area, we knew we were in for an adventure! The cops came and asked for our passports. We had no idea what was going on. As it happened, they just asked us to follow them till our last destination in Cairo, without any further explanation.

Helene Hasler

Throughout the night, while we were driving along behind them, our mental clocks were running, what would happen to us? Were we in their custody? Had we commited a crime? We had no idea what was coming our way!

Later in the morning it became clear that they were escorting us for our own safety! It seems they do this with any unaccompanied tourist vehicle. We took a collective breath of relief, but also laughed at our own skepticism!

otto steininger/getty images

KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

Subtle Acts of Othering Jyotsna Siddharth

You pick yourself up and go about your life and one day you bump into a stranger and they ask you, what is your last name and where exactly do you come from? On many occasions and such, when you are not able to speak about your life- in urban, upper class, and upper caste settings in cities- mostly because it is not a shared or familiar experience for most. Even when you walk into colleges or research seminars, you find the gaze turning towards the marginalised. You struggle for scholarships and find yourself in universities abroad that have many many societies that represent your culture, but not one that represents your people. You leave home and country to have a “better life”. At times you wished not to evoke your identity

because maybe you wanted a break for once, maybe you wanted to be a human without labels. However, that’s not a privilege you can enjoy. Especially if you’re one from the minorities of class, caste, gender, sexuality, religion, and ethnicity. The last time you were asked about your caste- during fieldwork, in the train, at a friend’s house, at an event, at a workshop, or in bed. Not long ago, you were bullied in school, for years while growing up, because of your dark skin, or because you don’t speak english very well, or you came from a rural background, and you were made to sit separately during lunch at school, or you were the first generation to get an education in your family, or maybe your single parent couldn’t afford things, and you couldn’t explain to your friends why.

You fought with the world, and your inner demons, when your caste and sexuality became a ground for violence and abuse. During family gatherings, when your life is evaluated and judged as childish, petty, and mostly a result of frivolous relationships. You felt alone. You were othered the first time you reunited with your father, and were told that you were unwanted. You learnt to be resilient, and to ignore the giggles of teachers and peers because you were irregular at school. You un-heard your family’s jibes at your sexual openness, as they tell you it was due to your inability to commit. You were told, your ideas, and your life are that of an upper-caste, or even a white person, and that your choices were precarious and unstable.

You are not aghast when you see most people hire someone to clean their toilets, and then serve them water in separate utensils. You cringe when someone is ostracised or murdered for falling in love with someone of a different caste or religion than theirs. Or lynched because they told their name. You hear stories that some children were asked to clean toilets in their school, or how it’s easy for some people because they have a reserved quota, or when you are only allowed certain jobs because your last name, social capital and affirmative action doesn’t apply to the rest. When you’re told, they cannot date you because you’re a different caste or religion. All this doing and undoing of othering- where and when does it stop? You question.

Reclaiming the Night

hot and humid, it couldn’t dampen my excitement. What surprised me most about the group was the fact that some girls were joined by their mothers who were just as eager about the event. I asked one of them what prompted her to come to the walk. She said, “I have always enjoyed walking as an activity. I go out to talk whenever I find time. And rarely an opportunity comes when I can walk at night. So when my daughter told me about this walk, I couldn’t say no.” Our first stop was Lajpat Nagar Railway station. We walked through the lanes and past the confused stares of men who couldn’t comprehend as to what women were doing on the streets so late at night. Saumya, one of the organizers, told us about the history of the area, “Jangpura was originally known as Youngpura after Colonel Young who established the colony. It was later expanded to include the migrants who arrived in Delhi in 1950-1951, following the partition of India. Today it is home to a large communities Afghani and Iranian refugees.” Upon reaching the station, we rested for some time. Except for a few people who had made the station their shelter, it was mostly deserted. Some of us climbed the bridge and waited for a train to pass underneath us. It was nostalgic, almost like being in a story. We were interrupted when the guard asked us to leave, he didn’t to be held responsible if anything were to happen to us. Disappointed, we moved along. We walked the lanes of Bhogal which mainly houses Afghani refugees. The lane had a lot of Afghani bakeries and eateries. The tiny carts screaming “famous

Afghan burgers” outside these shops stood in silence as we walked past them. Curious to know more about the organization, I spoke with Meghna, a team member at ‘We Walk at Midnight’. “The idea of We Walk at Midnight was concieved in 2012, when our founder Mallika Taneja walked in a protest March following the brutal rape and murder of Jyoti Pandey. Since then, she had organised seven walks until June 2018. Post that, we have been organising these walks every month, each at a different location in Delhi. Next month we are planning a twelve hour long relay walk on the 14th and 15th of August.” When asked what they mean to achieve through these walk, she said, “We all have different takeaways from the walks. For many of us, it’s meditative. For others, it’s an act of assertion, independence.” I couldn’t agree more with her. For me personally, it was a liberating and exhilarating experience. I have never been this calm and fearless walking the streets of Delhi, not even in broad daylight. It tasted like freedom. Delhi has been often termed the rape capital because of how unsafe it. Things have not changed significantly since the tragic incident of December 2012, despite numerous public protests and promises made by people in power. Geetika, a fellow walker, recalls how empowering the experience was. “The walk made me feel powerful. In Delhi, walking on the streets in the daytime is difficult, forget about even thinking of stepping out at night. It was amazing to see these women walking at night. While it drew a lot of attention from the men on the streets, we

found strength in numbers. What was disappointing was the reaction of a policeman telling us to leave the place, simply because he didn’t want us to approach him if we were harassed!” Amid the continued confused stares of men and a couple of catcalls, we walked towards the Nizamuddin dargah. Unlike the rest of the places we visited, the lanes leading up to the Dargah we alive even at that hour. Men were gathered around tea shops in groups, chattering about their day. They stopped and looked at us as we passed. We entered the Dargah and walked around for a while before settling down on the floor around the main shrine. Travellers slept on the floor all around us, using their luggage as pillows. The shrine rested peacefully, tired from the day’s activities. And as I drank the tea that we were served by the people there, I experienced a complete sense of calm, my tiredness melting away. We left the Dargah after visiting the baoli (step well) and thanking the people there for their kind hospitality. After a quick dinner of kebabs and tikkas, we saw each other off, promising to text as soon as we got home. The walk had tired me out, but it also left me satisfied. I felt like I had accomplished something big and that a burden had been lifted off my head. I may forget some of my fellow walkers from that evening, but I will never forget how it made me feel- liberated, exhilarated, alive. I felt safe that day, even though I was walking in the streets in the middle of the night. How wonderful it would be if every woman in every city all over the world felt the same!

thering and being othered can be subtle, provocative, and often crippling. It can strike anywhere. Maybe at a party, when you sit there listening to conversations about people’s ancestral land, heritage and family traditions. And you think about the poor, low-income, service neighborhood you stay in, and then think about where everyone else goes home to, and where you do. You are told again and again that you don’t look like a person from a disadvantaged background, and right after, that you are quite privileged to be one. At cafes, get togethers, and on the streets, when you hear people address those who don’t look so polished as bhangi, chamar and chudi.

A Women Walk at Midnight Poster announcing a 12 hour walk on the night of 14th- 15th August, 2019

Priyashi Bubna

nce through this ruined city did I pass I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked ‘What knowest thou of this wilderness?’ It replied: ‘I can sum it up in two words: ‘Alas, Alas! Delhi thrives in the morning, bustling with so much activity through the day that it gets hard to catch a breath. But as the sun starts to set, it wraps itself in a shroud of mystery, a chilling silence deafening the streets. That is how I have known the city for the couple of years that I have lived here. I have visited places, the lanes and ba-

zaars, and the malls and cinemas, all in broad daylight. As much as I crave to know the city at night, I have never dared to set foot out at that time for fear of the unknown, never ever gave the idea a thought. I heard of Women Walk at Midnight, an organization that plans midnight walks for women in the city, through a friend. They were organising a walk in Jangpura. I registered immediately. When the day arrived, I packed the essentials- a scarf, a bottle of water, and a can of pepper spray for safety, and met the group at the Jangpura metro station on 20th July. After introducing ourselves, a group of 16 women started the walk. A couple others joined us along the way. Even though the night was

Fall Edition 2019 • KHIRKEE VOICE

JUSTUS

Person 1: Finally, Khirkee’s world famous tea. Person 2 : We missed you man, you’re so irresponsible. Satya (smiles) : No, No, I am the untouchable. Why are you drinking the tea from me? Isn’t it forbidden? Person 2 : Sorry for that. I had lost my mind. Person 1 : Not so easy, you’ll have to treat us first. Person 2 : Agreed. What would you like to have Emperor Satya? Satya : A dignified life. Leave that. Did you hear anything about Ashfaque? Person 1: The police was here the other day, they raided his room for things and randomly asked people questions. Satya: What questions? Person 2 : Oh, they were just taking the edge off the moment and harrassing everyone with questions. He was asking about you, as well. Satya : Why? What was he asking? Person 1 : Leave this Satya. I have something to share. You know I met a refugee person yesterday. Person 2 : How do you know he is a refugee? Person 1 : What do you mean? Person 2 : How do you know he’s not an illegal immigrant? Person 1 : I don’t know. Listen! His name is …. leave his name. He

is from Myanmar. He was… He claims to be a poet and shared his story in this poem. “I teach only two things, O disciples, the nature of suffering and the cessation of suffering.” Oh Gautama, your disciples learnt only two things, the nature of sufferings to others, the end of others To become an Arhat, The soul requires cleansing. The Arhat in Myanmar, Cleaned the entire Mohammedan souls of Rakhine.

Satya : Oh Shit! I didn’t notice. Person 2 : I didn’t know it was such a bad situation, when one runs from his country. Person 1 : Now you understand why it might not matter if it’s an illegal immigrant or a refugee?

(Sips the tea) It is really nice. How much for this? Satya : 6 Rupees. Police : This is 150 Rupees and this is my 6 Rupees. Satya : Sir, why are you giving me this 150 Rupees?

life would Satya have imagined something like this. As the evening arrives, Satya’s friend comes to the stall as he is cleaning the vessels. Person 2 : You know what! Person 1 : Today, while the sweeper was cleaning the floor, he

Police : That man we caught from the castle, he earnestly requested me to give this to you? I don’t do it usually, I am tough man. But I agreed to him. Now I am leaving. Satya : But sir, what happened to him? Police : He wasn’t from Bangladesh, he had come here from Bangladesh. He is actually from Myanmar. Satya : and now? Police : He will be deported to his country in the next week.

found the watch! Satya (in a burdened and sad voice) : But the time is gone.

thought doodle by author

single day had ushered waves of cacophony in the life of Satya. His body temperature was at its peak and his mind was in the abyss. Many workers had to leave for work empty stomach. For two days, there was no tea, therefore no conversations. Satya could not stay in the room anymore, there was rent and other expenses pending. On the third day he rose again, it was a moment of rebirth for the streets from the humdrum.

Final Act of a play in Four Acts Written by Steven S. George

People’s rule is democracy, Liberty. Equality. Fraternity. We waited long for democracy, An end to military dictatorship. Liberty, Elected Government burnt down our everything, Equality, Minority community face genocide Fraternity, Men, Women and Children raped and murdered. Democracy wins another Nobel Peace Prize. Mother died of hunger Sister raped in jungle Brother murdered in market Father nowhere to be found Running, Swimming for several days I reach another land to stay No Food was there to suffice, Drugs and pills put nerves on ice No roof for rope to hang Cut my arms twice, O Gautama I cry to thee, When will this suffering flee?

Satya : Was this written by Ashfaque? Person 2 : How is that possible, he was from Bangladesh. Person 1 (hesitates and leaves in a hurry) : We shall leave for work otherwise we will be late. Satya mechanically continues selling his tea. Satya’s body is serving tea and taking money, while his mind is in a mayhem. The police constable arrives at his stall.

(Tears roll out of the three men at Satya’s tea shop, while the tea is simmering) Person 1 : Satya see see! Tea! Tea!!!

Police : Are you crying? Satya : No it’s just the pollution. Police : Oh. Make one tea for me, I’ve heard a great deal about your tea.

The police officer leaves the scene without looking back. Satya is almost dead inside. Never in his

Satya cleaned all the vessels and utensils thoroughly, as if they had done something wrong to him. The streets of Khirkee were preparing to sleep after a laborious day. There were few children running, shopkeepers making accounts, dogs barking, men and women fighting, people drinking liquor. Satya is infuriated with the indifference of the people. The only way to soothe his suffering was his pain killer, Bidi. Looking towards the starless sky, he reads the poem Ashfaque might have written.

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KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

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INVISIBLE WORKFORCE PHOTOGRAPHS: ANKIT CHATTERJEE TEXT: MALINI KOCHUPILLAI

hile most of us go about our lives ensconced in material comforts and air conditioning, the underbelly of the city, at any given time, is teeming with the people that carry out the activities that make our lives livable- building, cleaning, sorting, welding, trading, sweeping, pruning, delivering, cooking, washing…the list goes on. They wake up at the crack of dawn to bring us fresh produce to our doorsteps on heavy carts; they live in dense neighborhoods in tiny rooms, so they can save money to send back to their families; they work in hot, inhumane conditions, so we can have our homes and offices looking shiny and new. The migrant workforce of the city is its pulse, its what keeps the city alive, and thriving.

Ankit Chatterjee’s ongoing portrait series documents the lives and livelihoods of this invisible workforce. He finds that they come from all over the country in order to find gainful employment, and are barely able to eke out a living in our thriving metropolis. He spoke with a few of the labourer’s in Azadpur. Jagdish told him, “The factory owner gives one room for 15-20 of us to stay. it’s a cramped space. We make food, rest and go about our daily lives in this tiny space.” Others spoke of being exploited and pushed around, but having to put up with it all for lack of options. Most are sole breadwinners for extended families back home, and have little time or opportunity for protest or lament. As Ankit documents the lives of the industrial workforce in Azadpur, Mayapuri and GT Karnal road, he has been discovering the often-abysmal conditions they work in, but also find ways to relax in, making the best of what the city has to offer them in their marginalized and ignored existence. His photographs are a small step towards acknowledging the untiring service that they perform for the city and our lives.

1. Suresh works in Asia’s largest scrap market, Mayapuri. He removes small car parts and the car is further dismantled and cut down to make scrap metal. March, 2018. 2. Tapan Das, from Kolkata, has been working in Azadpur Industrial area since 2016. March, 2018 3. Workers taking a nap during lunch break, Azadpur Industrial Area. March 2018 4. Arun flattens an aluminium plate for the next process of making utility pots. April 2018 5. Jagdish runs his own mechanic shop in Azadpur Industrial Area. April 2018 6. Workers relazing after a hard day’s work at the Mayapuri scrap market. March 2018

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Fall Edition 2019 • KHIRKEE VOICE

A STITCH IN TIME

A new Social Enterprise in Khirkee Extension sets an example in turning urban waste into precious bundles of joy, while creating opportunities for those who might have none otherwise.

Upcycled Dolls made with waste fabric which was rescued from being dumped into a Landfill

ilaiWali is a social enterprise that started in Khirkee Extension about eight months ago, manufacturing hand stitched dolls from surplus waste material. There are 12 women in the team, lead by Gunjan. The women working in SilaiWali are Afghani refugees, most of whom reside with their families in the neighborhood. The initiative was founded by Iris Strill and Bishwadeep Moitra, who define the social enterprise as “a business which has profit and is ethical. We care about the environment, the people and the wages.” “A Stitch Against Waste. A Stitch For Freedom” Delhi is a prime location for garment manufacturers, and generates huge amounts of waste fabric. SilaiWali procures some of this waste fabric and upcycles it, preventing it from being dumped into garbage. The Afghani refugee women went through an intensive one month workshop to gain the skills to make the designed products.

The social enterprise attempts to create a happy work atmosphere, inspired by Amartya Sen’s reports on happiness, human development and economy. They work for 7 hours from Monday to Saturday with a 1 hour lunch break, and are paid the minimum wage set by the Delhi Government of Rs 14,000 per month. Iris believes in breaking stereotypes and exploring various dimensions in a design product. The dolls are an attempt to break the ubiquity and hegemony of the light skinned, golden haired doll. The dolls are not specifically Indian or Afghani traditional dolls, they depict various communities and ethnicities from around the world. Every doll is uniquely crafted with different types of clothes. The cost of the dolls cover 55% of the wages of the workers. United Nations has set the costs and norms for the social enterprise. Made 51, UN Agency for Refugees and UNHCR are the marketing associates, Fair Trade Forum India is the implementing partner, and the social enterprise adheres to International Labour Organisation norms. The dolls are

available in various stores in India and worldwide, and have also been exhibited at various fundraising events. Muskan, a 19 year old girl who has taken her first job at SilaiWali, said about the situation in Afghanistan, “One would never know what will happen if they step out of the house in Afghanistan.” In India, refugees face a different set of struggles. “Afghan refugees are considered by people in Delhi to be very rich due to which they ask us for high rental prices.” The community are treated as a rich foreigners due to their fair complexions. They have a hard time finding jobs with appropriate remuneration. Shabnam, a 21 year old girl who has newly joined Silaiwali after three low paying jobs, finds life as a refugee extremely trying. But working at this new job has helped. She tells us about the atmosphere in the SilaiWali studiofull of music and laughter. The women listen to Afghani songspopular music, folklores and marriage ditties, and make jokes and reminisce. There is a ceaseless lament in the lives of refugees, she

adds, in which the music, laughter, togetherness helps to overlook the pain and agony. Bishwadeep tells us about their future plans to expand their production and market, providing more employment for Afghani refugee women. The first group of 12 have further trained 30 more women and are going to produce new upcycled products like animals, home decor, ornaments and keyrings made of waste fabric. Under Bishwadeep’s able guidance, some young girls are even learning photography and designing at the studio.

The SilaiWali studio buzzing with activity

photos: sunita singh

Steven S George & Sunita Singh

Shabnam ends the conversation by saying “We are safe here but we still miss our homes”, They are tired of the exhorbitant rent, having no rights, and living in a state of statelessness. Amidst the turmoil, SilaiWali has become a ray of hope and sustainable income for these women, helping them cope with life in a foreign country. The bridge is an extraordinary attempt in utilizing the waste of India, to upcycle both fabric, and the lives of refugees, even as they are persistently accused of robbing the citizens of a country of their resources. Uncertainty is a constant element in the lives of the refugeesefforts by organisations like Silaiwali are an attempt to bring some confidence and normalcy into their lives.

KHIRKEE VOICE • Fall Edition 2019

TRANSCENDING GENDER BINARIES Pavel Sagolsem identifies as a gender fluid, non-conforming, nonbinary, transperson. Ze spoke with Khirkee Voice about her journey of self understanding and acceptance, and the hopes and dreams that keeps her going. Mahavir Singh Bisht & VedikaSinghania Vedika: Hi Pavel! We love your name, its quite unusual, what does it mean? Pavel: Thank you! My mom gave me my name- its a common Russian name meaning ‘the little one’. My mom loves to read, she named me after a working class activist character in a Maxim Gorky novel. I joke with her saying that she sealed my fate with that name! Mahavir: Tell us about your life growing up. P: I grew up in Manipur, in a large joint family. My mom is a fierce woman, and my dad is

very critical, I really admired him because he is an honest and sincere person. But my favourites were my grandmothers- who were always supportive of me, even after I came out. My whole life, they never said a word against my effeminacy. I loved my family, but was never close to them- my effeminate nature made them feel embarrased of me. I decided that I didn’t want to be sad about this non-acceptance, so instead, found myself a supportive, non-judgemental group of friends who became like my adopted family. It helped that I was always good in my studies, Manipur is not a place that is very academically oriented, so I stood out in a good way.

Pavel with her maternal grandmother at their home in Manipur

opportunity to take on a leadership role. Seniors would tell others to be more like me. It was a good feeling to be popular in college, it gave me the confidence to be myself. M: How did your personal life change in Baroda? P: As a child, I thought everybody was queer, I thought sex is something which every gender does with each other. It was only in school that I learned that homosexual sex is tabboo, and became shy about approaching men. In Baroda, I became infatuated with someone in college, and we fell in love. It was amazing to imagine life with another man rather than a woman. M: When did you start to understand queerness and its expressions? P: Most of my understanding about queerness started on social media. I joined many communities that shared in experiences like mine, it was like finding myself elsewhere. When I moved to Hyderabad for my masters, I finally had an opportunity to perform the identity I was born with, without any fear. We had a lot of International students on the campus, who were queer and that gave me a lot of confidence to be

myself. V: What pronouns do you use? P: I like the pronoun ‘Ze’, which is a mixup of He and She. I relate to it the most as I identify as a trans person, but not a trans woman. I am a gender non-conforming, nonbinary and gender fluid person wanting to be both masculine and feminine. I feel the feminine is my instinct and the masculine is what I learnt for survival. I want the woman in me to blossom, but don’t want the man in me to go away. V: Now that our archaic laws are changing, are you planning to transition surgically as well? P: I would try hormones, but I don’t want to go for sex reassignment surgery. Its taken me along time to understand and accept my own queerness, and I have decided that I will not feel guilty for the way I was born. So, I am very clear that I do not want a full-fledged woman’s body. My transition has been a gradual process. First I started with putting on jewelry and then started putting on make-up. I have always had trouble speaking in public and had social anxiety, but all of it goes away now when I wear a saree! I’m not afraid anymore, and feel a sense of power when wearing a saree.

. BUNKERS . B

KERS ON

BANKE R

A portrait of Pavel as ze goes through her transition

V: Tell us more about your grandmothers- they sound so progressive! P: I think their love for me helped them transcend any feelings of ‘otherness’. I believe the only reason people are abusive or dismissive of someone’s gender or personality is because they want power over how other people live. But my grandmothers are free sprited and compassionate, and made me feel a sense of belonging. M&V: What was your experience around Gender when you were growing up? P: When I was growing up, a lot of my friends and family assumed I would grow up to be ‘Homo’, which is a word for Trans people in Manipur. But I was always very conflicted about the idea of gender. I would keep masculine markers like a beard and mustache, and loved playing sports like football and go for tournaments- smashing people’s assumptions about my effeminacy. M: Tell us about your experience of leaving your home to see the world. P: I moved to Baroda for my studies, which was an eye opener for me. It was the first time I saw that gender performativity is different in diverse cultures. I found that Gujarati masculinity is quite soft, so my own queerness and softness was not strange to them. M: How was life in college? P: In college I had an advantage as I was smarter than most other Manipuris people there. I was studying linguistics and our HOD encouraged us to organise events and discussions to popularise the department, this gave me an

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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