Nangla's Delhi

Everyone is lost in the rhythm of a drum beat today. Someone is busy packing, someone is sitting near the samaan. All around, things are being packed, things are being broken. And things are being chosen and picked up from what has been broken. Children are collecting scrap metal and buying ice-cream in exchange for it.

Aarti @ 30.03.2006 21:03 CEST
Today the ring road was jammed, traffic crawling almost at ants pace. On the left streched the necropolis of Delhi, acres of undulating green land dedicated to the bodies of five great leaders of this nation. A little way down, across the red-light, yellow barricades marked the spot beyond which the road was blocked.

Blue water canons, about 500 policemen kitted out in riot gear, VP Singh standing in the middle, surrounded by a crowd of about 250 people, and everywhere a thrumming noise. As if a beehive is emptying itself.

"They are not letting him come to the basti," a man sitting on a charpai surrounded by what remains of his house is saying. "They know that he stopped the demolitions near noida mod. Not one jhuggi was touched because he lay down in front of the bulldozer and refused to let it pass.They know this and so they wont let him get till the basti."

Groups of people are standing around, talking. To eachother, to us. Sitting in groups people are recounting when they came, what nangla was, how it was made, speculations on what the future holds.

"There were pits of ash everywhere. Huge pits. Pits as high as this wall. Ash would get into everything, into food, into your mouth when the wind blew in the opposite direction." Laughingly, "You didn't need surma, there was so much ash."

Then earth was brought in carts, carried on heads and shoulders, and the pits were filled, and bricks were laid to make the floor, and Nangla was built."

"We came later. After the earth had been already been filled by those who came before".

"I hope you are not staying here too late. Since they cut the electricity three days ago the mosquitoes are terrible and won't let you stand still for a second."

A group of four men are playing cards, their backs leaning against the boundary wall which marks the limits of the locality. A huge assortment of household belongings strech in either direction, piled on top of eachother.

In between the broken houses on both sides, one or two are still standing. They have P-98 marked on their doors. People whose houses have already been broken are using their roofs to store their belongings. A young woman stands near her still erect house. A staircase winds up to the terrace. A woman hurries towards her with two large white sacks on her back. She climbs up and puts the sacks on the roof atop an already large pile of saaman.

A man laughs ironically, as he tells the man standing next to him, "When they began breaking my house, I thought I would run to the Sardar's house. But they had come for his before mine."

A little baby is running along the path, screaming. He is covered in what looks like red paint. His mother catches hold of him, and scolds, telling the woman next to her, "Its the heat that is making him restless. He's had two baths already today, but he's gone and mucked about in the keechad again. There's no water now."

In groups people are speculating whether VP will be able to do much this time. Not really seems to be the general consensus. One man is standing in the middle of the lane, by turns enraged, by turns sarcastic. "What would be the price of Ajay Makhan's kothi do you think?" he asks me. I tell him I don't know. "Well, if nothing else, we can buy it off him. And it doesn't even require all of us, one of us is enough."

There are so many policemen. Some of the policemen themselves look like they must be about 60 yrs old. One of them is sitting and smoking a beedi, kitted out in his riot controll shuttlecock shaped outfit. He is telling the policeman next to him, "They should have at least told them. They should have at least told."

In solidarity with all in CM and Nangla Maachi,
Aarti