New Delhi: “I had my daughter in one arm and a rolling pin in the other hand,” said 26-year-old Zaibunisa, recalling the days immediately after the communal violence in North-East Delhi in February 2020, when mobs of armed men attacked Muslims and vandalised their homes and businesses.
Shaken when she learned how many Muslim families were left homeless, jobless and financially distressed in the aftermath of the violence, Zaibunisa quit the several odd jobs she had been doing to earn her family’s living and cooked all day to keep the riot victims fed.
“I cooked from dawn till late at night so that food could be distributed among the victims and nothing has felt more satisfactory than this responsibility,” said Zaibunisa. “It was not easy to give up my work because my family must eat too. But who would have served the riot victims if not us?”
In the aftermath of the riots, several Muslim women in North-East Delhi, many of them victims of the riots themselves, put away their usual jobs and began to work for the people of their violence-affected neighbourhoods. Already battered physically and emotionally by the brutality they both experienced and witnessed, their efforts to help the worst-affected amongst their community were severely limited less than a month later by the lockdown that was imposed to prevent the spread of the novel coronavirus.
Sudha, 38, a relief worker by day and a vegetable vendor in the evenings, has surveyed more than 500 homes since the riots last February. “I just had to help,” said the Hindu woman. “If one is born a human and doesn’t engage in good deeds, then it was useless to have been born human. I have never been clearer about anything in my life than I have been about being a relief worker.”
Last February and March, Sudha began going from house to house, distributing rations and noting down the losses of the families and their immediate needs. But during the lockdown, she could only visit five homes a day, leaving their rations at their doorsteps to avoid contact.
“I felt very bad when I saw how scared the children were,” said Sudha. “Their elders developed enmities, but the children were deeply traumatised.”
Violent memories
Women like Zaibunisa and Sudha have stark memories of the violence as it unfolded last February. Farhana, a tailor, still shudders as she recalls watching tempos packed with armed men arriving in her Shiv Vihar neighbourhood, ready to attack anyone they saw coming their way. Farhana even remembers her scared 21-year-old son, Imran, saying: “Ammi, Shiv Vihar nahi bachega (Mother, Shiv Vihar won’t survive).”
When the violence finally stopped, Farhana, who had suffered major financial damages when the rioters vandalised and looted her home, began mobilising support for other riot victims via a non-governmental organisation (NGO).
“During the violence, I saw shops and enterprises with Muslim names on the boards being targeted, as well as homes that appeared ‘Islamic’ in lanes that identifiably held more Muslims than other communities,” Farhana remembers. “One of my neighbours had his face burnt with acid. This place hasn’t felt like home since then. Many Muslims now feel as though they had been done a favour when they were left alive.”For single mother Chandi Bi, a relief worker associated with Seva Bharat, the violence that was visited upon her neighbourhood was terrifying. “There were bhagwa (saffron) flags fluttering and swords being waved. Petrol bombs and stones were pelted from every direction,” she said. “It was very scary. May Allah never show this sight to anyone again.”
When the violence died down, Chandi Bi began distributing rations and blankets to the victims and surveying them about their compensation woes. During the lockdown, she actively engaged in distributing masks and sensitising families about the virus. “But my foremost task was to provide children with milk and women with their sanitary needs, because children and women suffer the most during any riots,” she said.
Chand Bi on a ration distribution task in North East Delhi. Photo: Tarushi Aswani
Broken bonds
Stepping out of her home to help the riot victims gave 35-year-old Saina Bano a mission in life. The mother of two began distributing rations when the violence ebbed and as months passed, she also distributed sewing machines to help financially empower the victims’ families and set up a small tailoring unit herself to add funds to the cause.“The riots strongly damaged the gender bond that had existed between women of different communities,” said Saina. “When we went around the neighbourhood distributing relief, the people asked our names to make sure we were from ‘their’ community. When we listed their names for compensation, they were hesitant to talk about their backgrounds.”
This is something that Tabassum, a freelance beautician, mourns as well. Tabassum remembers being very friendly with the women in her neighbourhood, but now says her identity as a Muslim has become her basic insecurity. “It’s been a year since the riots and we have relocated, but there is still no peace of mind,” she said.
During the violence, Tabassum’s home was vandalised and looted and her six-year-old daughter was tear-gassed, but she the moment she could participate in relief work, she did. Her desire to help began when her daughter was admitted to a hospital after being tear-gassed and she saw other riot victims battered and bruised. During the lockdown, she assisted the NGO she works with in taking care of pregnant women widowed by the riots.“Being a woman has never been easy but now coupled with my Muslim identity, it’s twice as difficult,” she said. “And when my daughter asks questions about the violence, what should I tell her about the people who tear-gassed her? That they hated the religion she barely understands?”
New Delhi: “I had my daughter in one arm and a rolling pin in the other hand,” said 26-year-old Zaibunisa, recalling the days immediately after the communal violence in North-East Delhi in February 2020, when mobs of armed men attacked Muslims and vandalised their homes and businesses.
Shaken when she learned how many Muslim families were left homeless, jobless and financially distressed in the aftermath of the violence, Zaibunisa quit the several odd jobs she had been doing to earn her family’s living and cooked all day to keep the riot victims fed.
“I cooked from dawn till late at night so that food could be distributed among the victims and nothing has felt more satisfactory than this responsibility,” said Zaibunisa. “It was not easy to give up my work because my family must eat too. But who would have served the riot victims if not us?”
In the aftermath of the riots, several Muslim women in North-East Delhi, many of them victims of the riots themselves, put away their usual jobs and began to work for the people of their violence-affected neighbourhoods. Already battered physically and emotionally by the brutality they both experienced and witnessed, their efforts to help the worst-affected amongst their community were severely limited less than a month later by the lockdown that was imposed to prevent the spread of the novel coronavirus.
Sudha, 38, a relief worker by day and a vegetable vendor in the evenings, has surveyed more than 500 homes since the riots last February. “I just had to help,” said the Hindu woman. “If one is born a human and doesn’t engage in good deeds, then it was useless to have been born human. I have never been clearer about anything in my life than I have been about being a relief worker.”
Also read: Fear, Insecurity Push North-East Delhi’s Muslim Children to Leave School, Join Madrasas Instead
Last February and March, Sudha began going from house to house, distributing rations and noting down the losses of the families and their immediate needs. But during the lockdown, she could only visit five homes a day, leaving their rations at their doorsteps to avoid contact.
“I felt very bad when I saw how scared the children were,” said Sudha. “Their elders developed enmities, but the children were deeply traumatised.”
Violent memories
Women like Zaibunisa and Sudha have stark memories of the violence as it unfolded last February. Farhana, a tailor, still shudders as she recalls watching tempos packed with armed men arriving in her Shiv Vihar neighbourhood, ready to attack anyone they saw coming their way. Farhana even remembers her scared 21-year-old son, Imran, saying: “Ammi, Shiv Vihar nahi bachega (Mother, Shiv Vihar won’t survive).”
When the violence finally stopped, Farhana, who had suffered major financial damages when the rioters vandalised and looted her home, began mobilising support for other riot victims via a non-governmental organisation (NGO).
“During the violence, I saw shops and enterprises with Muslim names on the boards being targeted, as well as homes that appeared ‘Islamic’ in lanes that identifiably held more Muslims than other communities,” Farhana remembers. “One of my neighbours had his face burnt with acid. This place hasn’t felt like home since then. Many Muslims now feel as though they had been done a favour when they were left alive.”
For single mother Chandi Bi, a relief worker associated with Seva Bharat, the violence that was visited upon her neighbourhood was terrifying. “There were bhagwa (saffron) flags fluttering and swords being waved. Petrol bombs and stones were pelted from every direction,” she said. “It was very scary. May Allah never show this sight to anyone again.”
Also read: Many Delhi Riot Victims Get Paltry Sums in Compensation As Govt Aid Remains Arbitrary
When the violence died down, Chandi Bi began distributing rations and blankets to the victims and surveying them about their compensation woes. During the lockdown, she actively engaged in distributing masks and sensitising families about the virus. “But my foremost task was to provide children with milk and women with their sanitary needs, because children and women suffer the most during any riots,” she said.
Chand Bi on a ration distribution task in North East Delhi. Photo: Tarushi Aswani
Broken bonds
Stepping out of her home to help the riot victims gave 35-year-old Saina Bano a mission in life. The mother of two began distributing rations when the violence ebbed and as months passed, she also distributed sewing machines to help financially empower the victims’ families and set up a small tailoring unit herself to add funds to the cause.
“The riots strongly damaged the gender bond that had existed between women of different communities,” said Saina. “When we went around the neighbourhood distributing relief, the people asked our names to make sure we were from ‘their’ community. When we listed their names for compensation, they were hesitant to talk about their backgrounds.”
This is something that Tabassum, a freelance beautician, mourns as well. Tabassum remembers being very friendly with the women in her neighbourhood, but now says her identity as a Muslim has become her basic insecurity. “It’s been a year since the riots and we have relocated, but there is still no peace of mind,” she said.
During the violence, Tabassum’s home was vandalised and looted and her six-year-old daughter was tear-gassed, but she the moment she could participate in relief work, she did. Her desire to help began when her daughter was admitted to a hospital after being tear-gassed and she saw other riot victims battered and bruised. During the lockdown, she assisted the NGO she works with in taking care of pregnant women widowed by the riots.
“Being a woman has never been easy but now coupled with my Muslim identity, it’s twice as difficult,” she said. “And when my daughter asks questions about the violence, what should I tell her about the people who tear-gassed her? That they hated the religion she barely understands?”
Tarushi Aswani is a freelance journalist based in Delhi. She tweets at @tarushi_aswani.
SOURCE ; THE WIRE
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