Unconventional Conservationist

Vishal handlinh a captured monocellate cobra

The snake with glossy green back and yellowish white bottom looks spectacular as it lies curled inside the plastic box. But just as soon as its handler Vishal Satra waves a dead rat the ‘sleeping beauty’ raises its head and snaps the rodent at an electric speed. Within seconds, it catches hold of the rats head and injects the venom at a furious pace. Then it slowly gorges on the rat. “It’s bamboo pit viper (Trimeresurus gramineus), beautiful but an extremely venomous snake. It strikes with an open mouth,” says Satra while closing the lid of the box and wrapping it with thick clothes.

Keeping the box on the rack he pulled out another plastic box, and reached for the bucket filled with half a dozen dead rats. It was time to feed other snakes in his snakehouse. For the last 13 years, Satra has been relentlessly working with snakes and has built a snake rescue centre in Shimultala, a village in Hooghly, about 60 km from Kolkata. “In the last six years Vishal has rescued, treated and handed over to us thousands of snakes and also saved many other local animals such as monkeys, palm civets and jackals. Vishal along with his team are a great service for the wildlife”, informs Chittaranjan Pramanik, the range officer of Hoogly. In addition to his conservation work, Vishal is studying for a Masters degree in environmental science from Rabindra Bharati University, Kolkata. He says, “From my childhood I was fascinated by snakes. It’s my dream to be a herpetologist and a wildlife conservationist, “says Vishal.

From his very childhood, when Vishal’s family lived in Imphal, Manipur, he was involved in wildlife conservation. Unaware of the definition of conservation he and his friends used to buy rabbits, porcupines and other animals from tribal women and release them in the forest close his home. His childish acts were driven by pure sympathy for those “poor creatures”. “Later when I grew up I bought the animals and handed them over to the Imphal Zoo authority. This lasted till we shifted to Hoogly with my family for higher studies”, says Vishal.

He missed the wilderness of Imphal in Shimultala, but in no time was able build a rapport with local Snake charmers. “During the vacations I roamed around with these snake charmers from a village to another. Slowly I developed a bond with these people”, says Vishal while feeding a poisonous Russell’s viper (Daboia russelii), capable of killing an adult human within an hour. Vishal also noticed that local people killed snakes driven by sheer apprehension and fear. “Even though I didn’t have any formal training in handling snakes I started catching the hapless reptiles with a stick or a polythene bag, whenever I was informed about a snake sighting. Fortunately I still remain unbitten by a snake,” says Vishal with a big smile.

Russell Viper

Vishal soon realized the need of a formal training in snake handling, but he couldn’t find anybody who could teach him. “Then I came to know of some snake charmers at Baruipur. To meet them I’d often bunk school. At first they refused to teach me anything, but finally they gave in to my persistent appeal,” he adds. Gradually he learnt how these uneducated charmers skilfully handled the reptiles. “I was astounded to see how they could read a snake’s movement by examining just a few grains of sand in front of the snake’s hole”, he says. Then he met with Kajal Mal, an expert charmer, who trained him the techniques of handling cobras.

From 2005 Vishal felt the urge to form a group of conservationists with like-minded people. Eventually in 2006 he formed a group named ‘Shimultala Conservationists’. Says Prashanta Bagal, an active member of the group, “Whenever we heard about a snake sighting we rushed there to rescue it.” Adds Vishal, “During the rescue we’d often come across crowds of curious local people. We used the opportunity to promote our activities and spread the message of snake conservation among them.”

Says Prasanta, “People come to us to learn how to handle snakes, but most of them want to get a thrill out of it. It’s kind of a macho act for the youth. Vishal sends them to Kajal Mal to learn the nuances so that the old man can earn some money from the training sessions.” Kajal Mal, 52, has been working with Shimultala Conservationists for nine years. After 1991 when snake charming was banned, the snake charmers were left jobless. “Snake charming was the only way of earning my daily bread. If Vishal wouldn’t have helped, and I’d have starved to death along with my family,” said Kajal Mal.

Vishal treating a cobra with Kajol Mal

Vishal tries to help several other snake charmers to survive with limited fund and personal resources. If he gets adequate support from the state government he has a dream to rehabilitate the snake charmers of Bengal in a co-operative. Herpetologist Romulus Whitaker’s Chennai Snake Park Trust serves as a model for him. The park was conceived in 1972 to rehabilitate the Irula tribe who are known for their expertise in catching snakes. Says Vishal, “Whatever I know about snake handling is from these people. Every village of our country is filled with these traditional experts but they never get due respect. If our government appoints a snake charmer for each village, lots of life could be saved, both snakes and human”. Nearly 50,000 people die from snakebite in India. Most victims live in rural, often very poor, areas. This remoteness means that even doctors in the major cities of these regions don't see the issue as an immediate threat to public health.

Right now Vishal has got associated with Dr. Anthony Gomes, a leading researcher of Pharmacology & Toxicology of Venoms and Toxins at Calcutta University to hone his expertise on snake. But his ultimate aim is to rehabilitate the ‘traditional scientists” (snake charmers) and help them join the mainstream.

The ‘Silent’ Winners

Rupam Banerjee

 It’s the peak hour on a weekend evening at a multinational fast food outlet in the City Centre in Rajarhat. There is such a huge rush that people have queued up outside the glistening doors of the popular joint. Employees are under a tremendous pressure as customers are getting impatient at yet-to-be cleared tables. Quite unmoved, one of the customer service team members, is totally engrossed in his job. Sprightly as he is, the 20 something employee, cleans up the mess fast—even the extremely noisy ambience can’t affect his concentration.

That this smiling team member is exceptional—and is differently-abled—becomes obvious when a customer asks the price of an item. He smartly informs the cost through his fluent hand-and-body gesture that can be understood by anybody. Meet the vivacious, and one of the most popular customer service members of the store, Rupam Banerjee. This Sodepur-based worker’s speaking and hearing disability couldn’t stop him from working in a job which needs constant interaction with customers.    

“He wasn’t like this from birth” says Rupam’s mother Soma Banerjee. “When he was two years old, during the Diwali, I’d first notice that Rupam is not responding to the loudening burst of crackers”. This observation lead to a series of medical tests until the Banerjees learned that their son is unable to hear. It turned out that, on an earlier occasion, when a doctor prescribed an antibiotic to treat his ear infection, the high dose of the drug had mistakenly damaged his internal auditory nerves. Crestfallen, Rupam’s parents had to admit Rupam to the The Regional Centre of Ali Yavar Jung National Institute of Hearing Handicapped at Bonhooghly, at the age of four. Being a diligent student, he acquired sign language very fast. And after 18 years of education, he joined ‘Silence’, a Kolkata-based non-governmental organisation, to get a special training. The six-month training program helped Rupam gain entry to the multinational fast food joint. “We never expected that Rupam will get a job and earn such a handsome amount,” said Rupam’s uncle Pranab Kar. “He is a living testimony what hard work and passion can achieve, notwithstanding any sort of obstacle.”

Kar recalled an anecdote after Rupam joined his new job. “We’d visited Siliguri to his sister’s home to attend a wedding ceremony. We returned home after having spent two sleepless nights there. Even though rest of us were dog tired looking for some rest, Rupam didn’t miss his night shift work at the joint.” Such is his dedication that his boss recently remarked that Rupam is capable of handling workload of 10 people.

Deafness or hearing impairment occurs due to various reasons. If someone is hard of hearing from early childhood, he or she becomes speech impaired by default because a child picks up a language after she gets to hear other people speaking. When an infant babbles, it is nothing but his or her experiment with language acquisition. “If she fails to hear anything, naturally she can’t perform the basic experiment of communication,” said Samir Ray, the former director of All India Federation of Deaf (Delhi) and one of the founders of ‘Silence’. 

According to Ray, if these people are trained properly they can do almost anything. Especially they are very good at doing ‘repetitive works,’ such as designing jewellery or data entry in any office.  More or less, most jobs tend to be drudgery to most so-called able-bodied people but not for the ‘disabled.  ‘A normal person, who is equipped with basic linguistics, speaks or writes using his or her linguistic reflex. But these people work or write with the help of visual reflex and that is why they are faster and more accurate, doing repetitive works,” added Ray. This is why these people are now aptly called ‘differently-abled’. “Even in the corporate world, these people have plenty of chances to work and perform better than others,” he adds.

The same view is shared by the Vice Chancellor of West Bengal State University, Prof. Ashoke Ranjan Thakur, who believes these people should be added to the mainstream of the society for better results in all walks of life. He says, “Their advantage is that, while working, they don’t hear anything. Naturally they don’t get distracted easily and the final output of the job is always better.” Among the six non-teaching employees at Barasat State University, three of them are verbally challenged. Prof Thakur thinks that isolation or social ostracization deteriorates their disability. “One should never forget that they have a unique diligence. They don’t need charity”.

Suman Mukherjee, Srila Mukherjee and Mital Sarkar-- three deaf-mute employees of Barasat State University are now happy citizens of India. Just like Rupam’s parents, their near and dear ones never thought they would work and contribute to the society some day. And now they are not only working, but performing better than the rest. Even Suman and Srila recently got married. And Rupam also has a soft corner for a girl he met at his elder sister’s weddding. However marriage is not a priority for 21-year old Rupam, “I’m not thinking of marriage now, and my work is everything for me at the moment. My next goal is to be wealthy and famous”, he says shyly in a passionate ‘voice’ of sign language.

Small Things Of God....

 It is fascinating to observe that, how big beauties exist in relatively small, sometime even tiny forms in nature. The beauty attracted me so much and created such enthusiasm in me, that I borrowed my friend's 105mm Macro lens  and wander around the fast disappearing  green, wild bushes of Kolkata to capture life. Small, beautiful lives, either we simply overlook or kill with a blow of rolled magazine with our utmost annoyance. Here are some moments that I saw through that 105 Macro...

       

Wrestle to Survive

After 500 push-ups, 600 sit-ups and a workout with the Gada (Indian club) it is time to face his disciples at the akhara (ring of wrestling). After two hours of tireless kushti (wrestling) with his students, Pal Babu gets a soothing massage from his disciples. Mahendar Pandit (48 years), alias Pal Babu, adopted this routine only for last 10 years at the Shree ‘Swami Gyan Yoganand Parimath’ at 126 Cotton Street, which has been a wrestling venue for the last 95 years. The ashram is at the end of a dark, narrow lane near Burrabazar in Kolkata, India. Those who enter the lane have no idea what is coming at the end of the damp and dark alley. However, it surely gives a feeling of nostalgia, as hundred-year-old buildings stand side by side forming those very narrow lanes. This feeling intensifies as one enters the ashram, where the disciples of the late Swami Gyan Yoganand, the founder of the ashram, run a full-fledged akhara.

Unfortunately, akharas face the risk of extinction today. “Most teenagers in the city, who are conscious about their physique, prefer a modern gymnasium to an akhara,” says Manoj Sonkar, one of the present gurus of the ashram, “and those who come to learn are constrained by their economic conditions to learn it properly”. Any physical exercise needs proper diet that these students can hardly afford. “For Pahalwani milk is essential, which many of the disciples cannot buy,” says Mahendar Pandit, one of the present gurus of the ashram who works in a Papad (Indian flat crispy bread) factory for a living.

The scenario was not like this even 40 years back, when akharas used to be the only place for bodybuilding. With the advent of hi-tech gyms and various steroid-stuffed capsules, the akharas have lost their former glory and importance. “When I first came here 10 years ago, this akhara used to be full of people from Bihar or UP who had migrated to Kolkata for their living. But nowadays the number of these migrants has reduced,” says Pandit. Echoing Pandit’s feelings Ashok Kumar Agarwal, the 65-year-old trustee of the Ashram says, “I used to come here in my childhood. At that time, I still remember, the place used to be chock-a-block with people, but as time passed the crowd became thinner.” However, the akhara has managed to survive with more than 30 devoted members. In return for their commitment to the ashram, they receive lessons on wrestling from their gurus.

Mahendar Pandit, Manoj Sonkar and Suresh Yadav are the gurus who work tirelessly to keep alive this ancient art and tradition of self-defence. “Whoever comes to learn kushti in the ashram is trained for toughness with the help of various exercises. Once we are satisfied with his physical strength, we start teaching them different techniques of Pahalwani,” says Pandit. Achieving physical strength is the biggest challenge for every student. “We still do physical exercise every day like free-hand exercises and weightlifting and only after that we practice wrestling in the akhara,” says Sonkar. He further adds, “The flexibility and fitness that one acquires from a session at the akhara are extremely long lasting compared to a gym. You do not lose or gain weight after quitting kushti”.

 

The levels of physical strength and fitness that can be achieved from kushti were visible when 27-year-old Vickey Pataniya started working out by swinging a couple of 20-kilo Gadas in two hands. A regular at the akhara for the last 10 years, Vicky with his robust chest and huge muscular body recalls, “I used to be very thin and weak in school, and students from senior classes used to bully me a lot. That was the reason I joined kushti at first, but as time passed I gained much physical strength and slowly fell in love with the art”. Another student of the ashram, 17-year-old Vijay Yadav, has just completed training and started learning techniques of wrestling.

Pahalwani is not only about bodybuilding or a muscular body to impress the opposite gender, but also about being equipped for self-defence. “The various techniques of kushti are specially created for fighting in the battlefield. Rajas and Maharajas used to learn these in their times,” says Suresh Yadav. Techniques like Dhak, Nikas, Dhobi Pachad or Kanpheri are specially designed to defeat the opponent in freehand combat. “Like Kanpheri, which happens to be Pal Babu’s speciality, is about pulling the opponent by holding his neck, while he automatically pulls himself back, and then giving him a sudden push that he falls on his back,” says Pal Babu by rubbing his face with the specially made clay of the akhara.

“The clay is made by mixing various ingredients like sandal dust, Multani Mitti (Fuller’s Earth), Neem leaf, Mustard oil, various flower petals and clay from the Ganges. These help to fight back various skin diseases,” says Pal Babu. “You see, Pahalwani is not only for physical health but for mental health as well. It needs strong will power and an attitude to give up many worldly pleasures; for that a Pahalwan should avoid the company of a woman, and that is the only way to learn the core of Pahalwani and Sanskriti (culture),” adds Pal Babu.

When asked about the sanskriti, Manoj Sonkar points towards an old man, clad in a red dhoti, sweeping the ashram premises with the utmost concentration. “His name is Dhonilal Sonkar and he is 75-years- old. He has achieved everything in his life a common man can dream of, yet he comes here every day to sweep the floor. It is not his devotion to God but a habit of many years that drives him to perform this chore. It has become a part of his culture that tells him that sweeping the floor is his duty. He has been doing this for years ever since he started practice in the akhara. The culture of Pahalwani taught him the virtues of hard work and devotion”.

Freedom Movement

Alokananda Roy performing with Nigel Akkara

"Ever since Ma came into my life, I have been a changed person," says Sanjoy Patra, 37, an ex inmate of Presidency Jail, Kolkata. Patra is referring to Odissi dancer Alokananda Roy, who has been regularly visiting jails in West Bengal, helping the prisoners to freely express their minds and bodies through dance.

The danseuse and her students call it dance therapy. And therapeutic it is. "It has been an exercise in self-realization," explains Patra. "It gave us the strength to believe in ourselves, to realize the happiness of living in the present." Not surprisingly, the prisoners who have partaken of Roy’s lessons refer to her as "Ma".

Roy visited the Presidency Jail l for the first time on 8 March, 2007, on an invitation to celebrate International Women’s Day with the female prisoners. "I still remember as if it were yesterday,” smiles Roy. “They presented a dance recital for us, and with their make-up and costumes, they seemed just like the students in my regular classes."

Roy wanted to do something for them. Her wish turned into reality when Banshidhar Sharma, IG (Correctional Services), approached her in this regard. Besides her dance school, Chandanaloke, Roy also runs an NGO called Inspiration Foundation, a centre of performing arts for underprivileged youth.

The dancer reveals how her very first visit to the Presidency Jail changed her idea about a jail. Contrary to what she expected, the place presented a clean and tranquil environment. The warmth of the inmates touched her. Seeing young male prisoners "walking aimlessly", she thought "one of them could very well have been by own son". And that’s how she conceived of dance therapy for them.

Convincing the male prisoners, however, was not an easy task. "Initially, we were wary. I thought ‘who is this crazy woman trying to teach us dance?’” recalls Nigel Akkara, who served nine years as an under trial for 18 cases of murder, extortion and kidnapping. "To be honest, I did not like her.”

So at first, there were only 10 students who went to Roy’s class, much against their wishes. "But slowly, they began to open up. And soon, we had more than 40 inmates in our class," says Roy.

"They had their doubts, but Mrs Roy’s love and affection overcame such obstacles,” says Sharma. Of course, it took time. “When I came to know that a lady has come to teach us dance, I thought it was gimmick of another of those fame-hungry social workers, to whom we were actually untouchables. And when they asked me to sign up for the class, I told Ma that gundas do not wear ghungroos,” laughs Akkara. “But my outlook changed when I saw her interact with the prisoners, touching them while teaching as if they were like any other.”

Roy now takes classes separately for men and women, at least three times a week. "The segregation between the genders is very strict. Male and female prisoners are not allowed to interact in the jail," she explains.

Initially, Roy didn’t have any huge plans, such as of trying to integrate them into the mainstream of society. Her classes were more like constructive recreation. Little did she imagine that her instruction would gradually become the road to peace for the troubled souls. "We are born with rhythm and beat; a life without these would lead to destruction. By interacting with these men and women, I realized that somehow they had lost the rhythm of life, and that perhaps it could be re-established through music and dance,” reasons Roy.

Jail in the Indian context entails indescribable mental agony. About 70 per cent of the inmates are just awaiting trial. “That means you are putting a person behind bars without knowing if he or she is guilty,” says Sharma. In order to transform them, they should be engaged in some kind of constructive activity, believes the jail authority. And what could be better than music and dance?

The dance classes worked wonders for the prisoners of Alipore Central Jail. Besides putting up small shows within the premises, they were invited to participate in the Uday Shankar Dance Festival 2007 at the prestigious Ravindra Sadan auditorium. "It was perhaps for the first time in the world that prisoners came out in the open and presented such a recital. They performed so well that the audience gave a standing ovation and, overwhelmed, most of the prisoners ended up in tears," recalls the force behind all this.

After this, there was no looking back. In the last five years, they have done more than 35 shows all over the country. And the revenue generated from these events is donated to the West Bengal Prisoners Welfare Fund. The inmates not only chose a completely different way of life, but also became devoted music lovers, says Sharma happily.

What is of utmost importance is that none of those people, who underwent dance therapy, have committed any crime. “And they never will,” adds Sharma in a matter-of-fact tone. Sharma says that he is not merely hypothesizing, and that it’s his conviction based on his entire career as a prison authority.

Roy too feels strongly about it. "They wouldn’t do anything that would embarrass me. Many times they had opportunities to flee, but none did so,” she says.

Roy’s devotion and hard work paid her rich dividends too. Within a few days of her classes, she became “Ma’ from “Madam”. "I cannot describe in words what have I gained from them. Their unconditional love cannot be compared with any treasure in this world,” she says, her eyes moistening.

So strong became the bonding that the teacher couldn’t afford to miss a class. If she did, she had to face grumpy faces the next day! On her part, she played the role of a mother, full of affection but also scolding them whenever necessary. “If they made mistakes deliberately, missed a class or were lazy, I would tell them off,” Roy smiles.

Thanks to her guidance, the prisoners turned into veritable stars. Their first performance of “Balmiki Prativa” outside the wall in 2007 was not only a huge success, but also a life-changing experience for them. "After the show, most of them were crying, as if they were reborn,” says Roy.

Sanjoy Patra sums it all up. "We have realized that the only thing that overcomes hard luck is hard work and love for others. If Ma had come into my life earlier, it would have been a completely different story."

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.