The Girl who Broke the Masculine wall Of Fire

Julia Singh

In the early hours of December 9 th 2011 the killer inferno snuffed out nearly 100 livesthe of posh AMRI Hospital . Most of the victims were patients, some of them immobile in Intensive Care Units.  At 11th December, Sunday many Kolkatans went to of the burnt hospital building with candles in their hand to show respect to the dead and also to protest against the corrupt health sector of the state of West Bengal. Many more deaths could have occurred, many more candles would have lit, if the youths at Panchanantala slum, just behind the hospital, didn't jump into the fray to rescue stranded patients in the chamber of death. The ‘untrained’ rescuers scaled walls, climbed pipes and bamboo scaffolding without thinking anything about their own safety, at a moment when the hospital staff failed to respond, leaving the patients to succumb to death. They shattered the glass panes of the blazing building and saved over 70 lives. A few of these saviours are fighting for their lives when I am writing this.

Being a journalist I too went to the burnt hospital and to the slum of Panchanantala to gather news for our news portal, where I happened to meet a young woman named Julia Singh who was the only girl among the saviours. The slum’s champion ‘tomboy’ Julia –she’s a regular member of football and cricket games—worked hand in hand with men and boys in the blaze to rescue patients. The 21 year old Julia owns a small cigarette shop at the slum, whose father Babu Singh is taxi driver. This story will always be one of my favorites; not only I cracked it first, and it became an ‘exclusive’ but for the opportunity to meet Julia. who refused to be ' Just another girl to get married'.

 AMRI, being one of the most expensive health care system in Kolkata, has always refused to admit any patient from the slum for obvious monetary reasons. And for that, the hospital has always been a target of hatred for the slum people. But when disaster broke out, these slum people acted with utmost bravery rather than the loyal staffs of the hospital. I have no answer for this peculiar behavior though…

 with other boys of the slum Julia too entered the building that night with the hope of saving few lives as she happens to be a trained disaster management personnel who attended a course offered by The State Government one year ago. Probably she was the only rescuer among the slum-dwellers with a proper training. Here's a blow-by-blow account of brave Julia:

1.30 AM: I and my sister, Papia Singh, had just gone to sleep after finishing the day’s work. For some reason the halogens of AMRI compound was turned off and I was quiet happy for that. The bright light always disrupts my sleep. It pierces through the tiny holes of our closed door. But suddenly I felt something wrong; smell of something burning woke me up. Initially I thought somebody burning tyres and junk, but then I heard a commotion and screams. Then, someone started knocking on the door frenetically and shouting, 'Fire...fire'. As soon as I came out I found the whole slum engulfed in smoke.

The Hole In The wall She dug

1.45 AM: Then we noticed everyone running towards the front side of AMRI Hospital’s Annex Building. I felt a sudden relief that it wasn’t my dukan (her cigarette shop). Amidst the pandemonium I decided to follow the crowd towards the main gate of the hospital, but found it locked from inside. Thick black smoke engulfed the building and made us cough and choke.

2.00 AM: I along with my sister and a few local boys ran to the back side of the building. But the wall (almost 15 feet high) and the barbwire was too high to be scaled. While standing helplessly under the long wall, we heard a shrill cry of a child and someone wailing. Something terrible was going on inside the dark building.

2.15 AM: We decided to dig a hole at the bottom of the wall. Papia got hold of a shovel and we took iron rods or whatever we could lay hands on, to dig a hole big enough for us to get inside the hospital compound.

2.30 AM: It was completely dark inside. The first thing we noticed amidst the choking fume on the upper floors were tiny dots of lights moving frantically across the dark glass panes. We were puzzled. We had to reach there, but how? Sooty fumes were coming out from the gaps of big basement door and the scorching smoke burnt our eyes and nose. We needed a ladder, or at least a rope to reach the upper floors. Then Nitai spotted a bamboo ladder, part of the scaffold used by painters employed by the hospital. As I climbed up near the darkened glass pane we spotted the patients in hospital clothes; what appeared tiny dots of light were screens of mobile phones. The patients were using these as signals to attract our attention! We didn't notice any staff; and there were no lights. The darkness and the billowing fumes made our job nearly impossible.

3:00 AM: We decided to break the window panes first. But those were so thick. Then I asked Papia

3:30 AM: But I knew there were more patients waiting to be rescued. There was so much soot in the air that I took a curtain to cover my face. Then I ran towards a patient standing like a ghost in his white hospital robes. He was acting like a living puppet as I held his hand tight and pulled him towards me. He seemed to obey me like a child, as I guided him towards the broken window. He was safe at last.

3.35 AM: Suddenly I remembered about the crying child. Even amidst the hellish clamour, the sound of the shrill cry was ringing in my ear. But for that I had to go to the balcony, opening the door. Once again I went to the window and took a deep gulp of air. I had to save the child! As I stepped into the balcony, I found darkness and fumes. It was difficult to see. Then I heard the cry again. I heard other voices too. I followed the sound blindly and saw three shadowy figures of children at the far side of the balcony. But I could not spot the children when I went there.

The Way She Tried to Climb the at First 

4.05 AM: Then I could hear loud shouts and sound of breaking glasses from various rooms. “May be help is coming,” I thought. “May be more people from my slum have entered the building… but where are those children have gone?” Thick smoke almost blinded me and my cheeks were burning in the scorching heat.

4.30 AM: I took the stairs looking for those children, and for the first time I spotted some men in uniform. The firefighters have arrived at last! They were trying to rescue patients along with some local youths. One of them spotted me and asked me to get out of the building. But I had to find the children! Then I saw an old woman climbing down the stairs, blood dripping from her injured head. The sight reminded me of a personal tragedy. A couple of years ago, once my mother fell in the toilet and injured her skull badly. We’d rushed her to AMRI Hospitals, only to be turned away just because we were poor people from the slum. We had to take her to a government hospital four kilometres away from our house. The memory slowed my pace. Suddenly a man in uniform grabbed my hand and ordered me get out.

5.15 AM: I was feeling drowsy and asphyxiated. The fumes had got into my lungs. I was causing a heavy breathing problem. I couldn’t climb down the stairs to go outside. I needed some fresh air immediately. I ran towards the room where we’d first entered, where my friends were waiting but couldn’t find it in the smoke. It seemed that I have lost the way to the room among numerous balconies and the rooms of the big building. Finally I spotted a room with glass panes broken. I rushed to the window and took a big gulp of fresh air. I had to get down. I grabbed the curtain and some bed sheet, knotted them together to make a rope out of it. I remembered the lessons learnt during the 17- day Civil Defense class I’d attended last year. We were taught how to make strong knots, how to enter a burning building and rescue the victims. But I never thought I could put my training to use in such a circumstance.

6.00 AM: Finally I touched the ground climbing down the rope. Some of my neighbours were standing there. I leaned on them for support. My entire body was aching, my face was burning, my eyes inflamed. I thought I was choking to death…suddenly everything turned dark.

9.00 AM: I found myself lying on my bed. Slowly I regained conscious and remembered everything in a flash. I recalled the dark smoke-filled interiors of the hospital, the cry, the patients…. My hands were aching, there were deep cuts and I needed medicine. Yet I rushed back to the hospital’s main gate. The scenario was completely different. It was chock-a-block with thousands of people. At least 50 fire brigade engines were there. Police, firemen, TV cameras, journalists, VIPs so many people. And a lot of them were interviewing my friends at our slum. Our slum became the centre of attraction for the world! But the cloud of smoke still engulfed the hospital was still there. Now no one will need us there in the rich man’s hospital. We are unwanted inside the towering glasses. Standing alone in the crowd, tears rolled down my face. I was happy that I helped the hospital that refused to admit my mother just because we were poor. But there’s a regret, because I couldn’t rescue those children…

The children Julia failed to rescue couldn’t be traced. The government authorities however countered that there were no such children in the annexe building of the hospital. Meanwhile the state government decided to felicitate 36 rescuers from the Panchanantala slums. But Julia’s name is not in the list, for some ‘mysterious’ reason. “Julia’s father has affiliation with the ‘wrong’ political party,” said a senior resident from the slum on condition of anonymity. 

Bahurupi: One Art, Varied Faces

one of the faces

You are at Poush Mela in Shantiniketan, wandering amongst the crowd, the winter sun on your back. You happen to glance right and find Lord Krishna – blue skinned, yellow robed and peacock feather in hair – walking alongside. Or maybe Shiva, fully attired in tiger skin, snake around neck and trident in hand. You smile and walk on, your feet scarcely pausing on the red earth. The "Bahurupi" too carries on and is soon lost in the crowd. It's not an uncommon sight in Shantiniketan at that time.

Bhola Maiti, a 40 years old Tarakeshwar based Bahurupi wakes up every day before sunrise and after taking his makeup and disguise he sets out by 6 o clock. Bhola is working as a Bahurupi for 6 years now. First he roams around the Tarakeshwar temple posing in front of the people, and then goes to nearby towns like Konnagar and Sreerampur. "This is my family tradition and I must continue this. My grandfather took up the profession more than a century ago in British period, and my father too followed him," said Maiti.

Bahurupis have been an integral part of Bengal's rich and vibrant folk culture for more than 200 years now. In literature too, there are numerous examples – Sreenath Bahurupi of Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay being among the first that come to mind. "Today's Bahurupi is the result of evolution of Alkat Nach (Alkat dance- a folk dance of primitive Bengal) No wonder, Bengal's culture is moved by this form of art," says Mr. Sarbananda Chaudhuri, a research scholar at Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, Golpark and Reader of Bengali department of Netaji Nagar College. Mythological characters from the Ramayana, Mahabharata and so on were brought to life by folk artistes in this manner, especially during fairs and festivals.

Bhola Maity

Kaach Nritya (Kaach Dance) is another primeval Bengali folk art; Kaach Nritya literally means 'Dance in disguise'. Small acts, ornamented with dance and song was the sole of this art form, and to make the mythological characters livelier, Kaach artists used various makeups and disguises. Like Bhola says "My ancestors used to perform in groups. They used to dance as well, as dance and acting was an integral part of this art. Now we perform individually."

The term Bahurupi is derived from Sanskrit, "bahu" meaning many and "rupi' meaning form. Through make-up and disguise, folk artistes assumed the forms of several hundred characters, ranging from demons to gods, doctors to holy men, and sometimes even animals. There was a time when Bahurupis used to go from door to door to reach out to people. And in lieu of their act, would be given gifts of food and clothes by the households. This wasn't charity or aid, but gifts in the strict sense of the term, given with great honour by the mistress of the house.

At times, the Bahurupis would also perform, by means of singing, dancing and acting. The acts were meant to entertain, educate and inform the audiences. The artistes took up stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharata, folktales of gods and goddesses, or even concocted tales of animals and birds. Now melas (fairs) are the place they earn their money from. "Durga Puja is the most important season for the people in our profession", commented Bhola.

Now with the arrival of various other forms of entertainment these forms of folk arts are losing the limelight. Modern culture and technological advancement have brought them tough competition.

Bhola- in his Disguise

Poverty, illiteracy are also the reason for vanishing these art forms. But, hope is always present even in the darkest abyss. Shibu Mandal, Bhola's guru (teacher) with his 25 disciples is not only proving the purity of the statement but also saving this art form from dying. "I learned this art from my ancestors but to learn any art you need a proper guru; Shibu Da has acted that part in my life", said Bhola. Ignoring every obstacle on their path people like Bhola and Shibu are fighting to death to preserve this vibrant art form. "I am very poor and what I earn is not enough for my family. I could have worked as a Grade-D worker, to earn more. But in my present profession I earn more honour than any other would have allowed", said Bhola with genuine pride in his voice.

Burdens turned into social assets: A Silent Touch

Bells, balls, stars made of paper pulp for Christmas

Tools and hammers lay scattered on the floor of the workshop. An annoying clang of metal and monotonous groan of chainsaws fill the air. Two artisans are engrossed in work, notwithstanding the deafening din. Their trance gets broken only when we step in. They greet us with a smile and communicate in sign language. Welcome to the silent realm of 'Silence'- an NGO for Deaf and Mutes. Subrata Majumder, Sharmila Bhattacharya and Samir Ray—three administrative workers of the organisation take us to the conference room away from the din. Ray narrates the origin and evolution of Silence.

He says, "It all began in 1975 when I was working at Geological Survey of India located beside the Indian Museum near Chowringhee. My nephew, a verbally challenged boy, had been studying in Government Art College, close to my office. He'd often drop in to meet me at the office along with a friend called Amal Bera, another mute artist of the college." Bera had formed an interesting group with other mute artists at his college. The strange group of talented young artists used to craft beautiful greetings cards as well as other artefacts. One day Ray happened to see those and was quite impressed by their artistry. silence made candles An enthused Bera requested Samir Ray to help them sell the artefacts. Then Ray requested one of his friends, Sujay Sreemal, a successful businessman to take over the project. "They were excellent artists but they'd no sense of marketing", reminisced Ray. As soon as Sreemal lent his marketing acumen multinational companies like ITC and Union Carbide started buying the artefacts in bulk. Since the companies had a policy not pay the artists individually they were asked to form an entity or organisation. They named themselves 'Silence' and were able to open a commercial bank account. Thus 'Silence' was born on April 11, 1979. In 1981, Samir Ray left the job at Geological Survey and joined 'Silence' as a full-time worker. "In those days I was paid a monthly salary of Rs500," said Ray. Now Silence has its handicraft shop at the porch of Dakshinapan market in southern Kolkata. They showcase their products such as greeting cards, scented candles. Now, after three decades the organisation earns nearly Rs 2 crore per year. "After keeping aside 10 per cent of the income for administrative purpose, we distribute the rest among the members of our organization", said Sharmila Bhattacharya. "Silence, is perhaps the only NGO in Kolkata, whose actual mission is to include the deaf-mute in the mainstream of the society; we don't want them to live out of charity". Today, various products made by these people, are exported all over the world. Now they also make furniture, jewellery and other mementos which are sold at a premium price. "Since packaging and designing is an important aspect of marketing, we have opened a separate packaging division", added Bhattyacharya. The sound of a ringing bell broke our discussion in the conference room. It was lunchtime at the Silence workshop. We could hear footsteps moving towards the cafetaria at the top floor. "It's lunch hour; we provide our students and workers a free meal", said Subroto Majumder. At the top floor, workers of started queuing in front of the food stall. The simple food, consisting of rice, dal (lentil soup) and vegetable curry were collected by the workers on their plates. The simple and fresh food was relished by these workers. workers of Silence "Unknowingly, what many people buy from various gift shops in Kolkata at a steep price is manufactured by these silent workers", added Chanchal Sengupta, coordinator of 'Silence' at the lunch table. "First we train them to perform various works like making candles, graphic designing, carpentry or jewellery making. After that we employ them in the production unit," he says. According to him, as their world of the deaf mute is devoid of sound, the ability to concentrate is better than 'normal' people. "They are good at doing repetitive work, and actually are more skilful than able-bodied workers", said Samir Ray. This is why what they produce through hard work is usually flawless. That Ray was not exaggerating became evident when we visited the 'product exhibition' room. The white, dull walls were reflecting bright vibrant colours of various beautiful creations. Candles, cards, Christmas trees, jewellery and other showpieces created the ambience of Christmas. 'Silence' exports these good all over the world. International buyers are very strict about quality, and even a tiny error can lead to the cancellation of a whole shipment. Hence we have to be doubly cautious while working on the export-quality goods", said Sengupta. No one ever expected that these people can work and sustain themselves. They were treated like burden in the society. But Silence has turned these 80 people from burden to assets of the society.

Kolkata: The Untold History.

The Howrah Bridge

The ancient house, rather the oldest compilation of bricks of kolkata, is still there where it was hundreds of years ago, with its mossy walls. It is not just a mere structure, but also a living document of the original history of our beloved city. It tends to defy and challenge the traditional story of foundation of the then Kolkatah by a European named Job Charnock

The Translaled Firmaan

Devarshi Roychowdhury a historian and the joint secretary of Saborno RoyChowdhury Paribar Parishad (SRPP) was sitting in his drawing room of his ancestors old ‘Aatchala’ house( a house with eight roofs) at Behala, when he took us for a ride of old Kolkata. Early monsoon has already hit the city, and the damp, thick air was compounded with more damp but warm interior of the house.

The building screams to tell the story of our root, which has been forgotten and hidden. “But, you actually cannot hide the truth for eternity”- said Mr. Roychowdhury.

The popular myth, rather history, says that there were three villages named Sutaluti, Govindopur and Kolkatah by the side of Hoogly River. A British named Job Charnock, came here in the year 1690 and turned these three villages, into an urban city, and named it Calcutta. “But Calcutta was always there, where its now even the birth of Charnock”-Roychowdhury added.

Recent findings reveals that Job Charnock came to India’s St Fort George (now Chennai) in the year 1655 and allegedly took a free ride from England to India without buying a ticket, as no name has been found in the Master Roll. During 1680s, he was appointed as a chief of British Naval Army of Bay of Bengal.

“In the year 1690, 24th August he escaped from Hooghly district and took refuge at Sutaluti (Sutanuti), as the Mughal army was hunting for him due to some of his illegal and immoral acts.”- said Mr. Devarshi Roy Choudhury, making a matter of fact face.

During his stay in Calcutta, Charnock was involved with various indecent activities, and developed a hostile relationship with the Roychowdhury Family. “we have been the devotee of lord Krishna, for what the Dol Utsav have been very important festival for us, and we used to celebrate that at Laldighi”- said Roychowdhury, in 1691 while celebrating the festival of colors, Charnock’s soldiers demanded to see the bathing of native girls at a lake named Laldighi. This was unacceptable and disrespectful for the honorable family, so the personal family guards attacked the British soldiers. “The most astonishing part was that the  British army were defeated by Bengali Stick fighters, and it was headed by another outsider named Charles Firingi, who was an employee of Roychowdhury family . Later Charles was beaten up and punished by British soldiers.

The Farsi firman

After 28 months, Charnock died on 10 January 1693. Six years after the death of Charnock, his son-in -law Charles Eyre fetched a firmaan from the Mughal court, which asked the then zamindar Vidyadhar Roy Choudhury to give the three villages of Sutaluti, Govindapur and Kalkatah to the British. But the then governor Azim-us-maan advised Vidyadhar to make the transfer of the three villages of Kalkatah, Sutaluti,and Govindapur to the British but through an invalid dalil.  Then only these three villages came under the control, as a trading centre to the British. Though after 1757 , the entire land of Bengal was captured by them.

Roychowdhury added excitedly “So, Charnock was no where when the firmaan was fetched. It was his son in law who took the initiative for the lease of three villages, six years after Charnock’s death. It is quiet absurd to claim that Charnock was the founder of the then Calcutta, because it existed much earlier than Charnock.

Man Singh granted the land of eight parganas (from Halishahar to Lakhhikantapur) to the Laksmikanta Gangopadhyay in 1608. He was also conferred the titles of "Ray" and "Choudhury". Only after this, his descendants came to be known as members of Sabarna Roy Choudhury family. Much of the land of this region was uninhabited jungle and uncultivable waste, what he developed and made usable for cultivation.  When Charnock came, Roychowdhury’s administrative building was already there, Kalighat- an important Hindu religious place was there, and a full-fledged business transaction was running with Armenians and Portuguese. Roychowdhury argued, “A complete civilized urban environment was present, even before Charnock came to India.” However, the history of kolkata dates back to 15^th century, when renowned Bengal Poet Bipradas Piplai in his magnum opus and well-known poetical work Manasa Vijaya, written in 1495 had described the place called Kalikatah, the old name of Kolkata. In addition, the name appeared in Ainee-Akbari written by Abul Fazl in 1596.

Old Dharamtala

“To uncover the truth and to reveal the original history was my childhood dream, and I have achieved it. We have thrown out Charnock’s name into the Bay of Bengal”-said Roychowdhury gleefully.

However, the same cry echoed back from the inner walls of Kolkata High Court, as an order, only then it was heard, obeyed, and made it obligatory to rewrite few pages of history. In May 16, 2003, Kolkata High Court said neither Charnock was the founder of Kolkata, nor 24 August is the birthday of the City. Sabarno Roychowdhury Paribar Parishad (SRPP) filed a Public Interest Litigation in 2001 to officially unearth the truth.

With the order of the High Court of Kolkata, Roychowdhury family got back their glory, what was snatched long ago. While returning from the house, walking on the mismatched modern concrete road, glimpse of that glory could be seen in the eyes of Devarshi Roychowdhury- the proud descendent of Saborno Roychowdhury.

technoloy!!!

The very first thing I learned at office was to unlearn everything I knew. I learned to create things, being within the boundary, set by ‘corporate policies’. Creation is something that does not abide by norms, at least it should not. But still, I have to struggle with reality, as in many ways I am part of it and also take advantages of it. Here I am to create something without thinking about anything else but that creation, to tell you all what I actually think….

  

   I am a working Journalist and a photographer, who wants to share his views through writings and photographs....