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Remembering Mujtaba Hussain, Our Abba

Renowned Urdu writer and satirist Mujtaba Hussain, who returned the Padma Shri award to the Union government last year, passed away last month.

One of the most memorable bedtime stories that Abba (our grandfather) used to tell us goes something like this:

I was travelling the lands on my trusted horse, when the devil suddenly started pelting stones at us. We fell. The horse cried, “Mujhe bachaa lo, Mujtaba! (save me Mujtaba!)”. We were in great danger, and the horse was very scared. “God is great!,” I shouted, making the devil run away. I saved the horse and carried it on my back for the rest of the journey. The end.

We never knew if he had thought of these stories beforehand, or he was just making them up, but they were always fun and laced with his signature wit. Abba’s creativity, wit and sense of humour were always with him, lighting up the room with his comments and anecdotes. He loved telling stories and we, the kids, loved hearing them from him.

Ammi (his wife, our grandmother) made many appearances in his work – their interactions, some real, some imaginary, made for some memorable passages in his stories. In reality too, they have been rather interesting and most sweet. Many of their discussions happened when Ammi would be annoyed at Abba’s general restlessness, or when Abba sneakily smoked that cigarette he carefully hid among his file folders.

Also read: Why Urdu Isn’t Just a ‘Muslim’ Language

Abba was a perfectionist – and he never just ignored it when things weren’t right. Abba used to drop us at the bus stop and wait till we boarded the school bus. This one time, the driver arrived early by a few minutes and was rushing to leave, making us almost run behind the bus. We would have missed it if we hadn’t arrived before time. An angry Abba boarded the school bus with us, looked the surprised driver in the eye and said, “Dekhte kya ho? Chalo, school chalo! Complain karna hai.” (What are you looking at? Let’s go! I will lodge a complaint at the school)”. He did accompany us to school that day and made that complaint against the driver, who never tried to leave before time after that day.

“The women in my family will be contributing members of society,” Abba would say.

He never differentiated between boys and girls and believed that everybody must strive to make a mark for themselves. He inspired us to achieve more – be it engineering, medicine, art, or just our school exams. As kids, we used to get disappointed about getting poor marks, but Abba could never see his children sad. He used to congratulate us and give us little treats, with chips and chocolates, to celebrate even poor results. Such was our Abba.

When he left the world, we soon realised that we were not alone in our grief. We were deeply touched by the condolences and help by Abba’s friends and admirers. We felt that we were a part of a much larger family. We sincerely thank you all.

In ‘Apni yaad mein‘, a humorous obituary to himself, Abba wrote that his death wouldn’t matter and that no one would be crying over him. You were wrong about this, Abba! The world will never be the same without you.

Rest in peace, Mujtaba Hussain. Rest in peace, dear Abba.

– The family of Mujtaba Hussain

Hina Hussain is the granddaughter of Mujtaba Hussain and she has written this obituary on behalf of the family of Mujtaba Hussain.

Featured image: Mujtaba Hussain with his grandchildren, New Delhi, 1996.

The Rooftop News Channel

In this story, translated from Hindi to English, the author narrates how the highlight of her day comes at 5 pm when a group of women step onto their roofs to broadcast the day’s news and gossip.

The 25 x 35 foot apartment has two rooms. In one room, there’s a shrine and a little bed; the other room has a closet and a single bed. Most of the time, my family sits outside.

Nowadays, during the lockdown, we have been getting bored of the constantly playing Videocon television that sits on our table. Everyone in the house – my brother, sister, mom and dad – half-heartedly keep changing the channel to what they like.

Once they get bored of watching TV, each person grabs a corner to sit in and chooses some friends to call. Or, they rifle through the fridge, turning it upside-down. And, on not finding anything, begin washing the dirty dishes in the tiny kitchen.

But this is the surprising thing: before today, no one ever showed this much interest in the refrigerator or the television. But now, we can think of this as a kind of desperation – everyone is trying to find ways to keep their mind occupied.

While I read a book, I keep an eye on the small and big black hands of the round clock, hanging on a wall painted green and pink. Normally, I rarely look at the clock, but as this lockdown has progressed, the clock and I have become friends. When the clock moves towards 5 pm every day, I feel my gaze being pulled towards it.

The influence of the clock is so great that these days, 5 pm is always spent on the roof. In normal times, people might make one or two rounds to their roofs – I would usually go to the roof to hang clothes out to dry. But these days, 5 pm comes and I am neither hanging clothes nor watering the flower pots.

Also read: Lockdown in a Toxic Household

When the clock strikes five, I feel like I am being released. I grab my necessities – most importantly, my phone – open the door, and hurry up the three or four steps to the roof. Once I’m on the roof, I don’t have the feeling of being under lockdown as much because I am rarely able to meet everyone anyway.

But these days, I get to meet everyone daily on the rooftop. When I look at the sky from the roof, I feel like I’ve never seen such beautiful clouds with my naked eyes. The birds fly overhead – I’ve never watched their flight and games as closely as I do now. I keep taking pictures of the different shapes that they make in the sky. Seeing me do this, the kids also insist that I take photos of them. They are on another roof. I zoom in on them and click their photo.

As the evening begins to set in, the roof assumes a different colour altogether. From the rooftop, the houses look like zigzagging lines. And on those zigzag lines, the clothes hanging out to dry look like colourful ribbon decorations.

In the evening, it’s as if there’s a festival happening on everyone’s rooftop. Someone dances on their roof; another person spreads out a sheet to do namaz; somewhere else, someone puts incense and diyas (oil lamps) under their Tulsi plants, spreading light and sweet fragrances.

In the distance, you can see a few kites made out of newspapers. Amidst all these activities, our neighbourhood aunties – the ones whose age one can’t really be certain of – put on their saris or suits, place their dupattas around their necks, and become local news channels, each broadcasting from their own respective roof.

They sit on their roof and tell everyone the daily news, like this one from today: “Arre, I’ve heard that the patient count keeps rising.” (That’s our Sharma aunty, who must be at least 35, speaking as she adjusts her chunni.)

Also read: Family Distancing: The Missing Notion of Privacy at Home

Right then, another aunty jumps in, covering her mouth with the pallu of her sari, and says: “Well, the people who are still going outside will find out soon enough when they get tested and a pipe is put in their mouth, am I right or not?”

And in this way, the aunties mocked those being called ‘corona spreaders’. “They are all doing this deliberately… did you see the news yesterday bhabhi ji, yesterday the Prime Minister said that on April 5 at 9 pm everyone should take diyas, candles and, what’s it called, torches and go on their balconies for nine minutes.”

“Yes, but we don’t have any diyas in my house.”

“Let’s just light some old candles then.” (That’s Rani aunty speaking, whose beautiful saris are always the talk of the neighbourhood. She must be at least 45 by now, but even today she doesn’t look a day older than 30.)

“Okay…”

When the news broadcast will end, nobody knows, but the people dotted on the rooftops are oblivious. Leaving behind what is happening in the world, they become engrossed in the playful banter of their own small worlds, discussing and deliberating amongst themselves. They share a familiarity with each other. They stroll on their roofs for a few minutes and then return to continue their yacking.

After all, how long can they keep making faces? Everyone knows that it is uncertain how long the lockdown will continue yet we all have live together.

Every evening, the roof radiates a different colour and the people, soaking in all of the colours, become colourful themselves. I, too, keep taking pictures of this colourful tapestry, as I look at the sky.

I wonder what will happen when it gets hot and we are still under lockdown. Will the rooftops still be decorated with people? One rooftop aunty blurts out: “So what, we will just have to cool down by washing ourselves with water.”

“And brother, where else can we go…if we stay in the house, we will suffocate…please just let this plague leave us soon!”

Deepali Tonk is 22 and lives in a neighbourhood called Sunder Nagri. She is a writer at an alternative education NGO called Ankur, which runs creative writing centres in marginalised neighbourhoods of Delhi. Deepali is studying to be social worker at Ambedkar College in Delhi. She has published her writing in several newspapers.

This text was translated by Thalia Gigerenzer.

Training and Gear, Not Lathi-Charges, Would Help the Police Fight COVID-19

Brutality, aside from being illegal, is simply counterproductive. It will alienate people from being part of joint effort between the state and citizens to halt the spread of this virus.

In order to enforce the nationwide lockdown to prevent the outbreak of COVID-19, Maharashtra deputy chief minister Ajit Pawar reportedly said that the police “have been given a free hand to deal with the situation”.

The state government also issued a five-page notification which said that “no suit or legal proceedings shall lie against any person for anything done or intended to be done in good faith under these regulations”, a worrying statement given that police is a word that spells fear for the innocent, accused and guilty alike. At a time when what is needed is sensitivity by the state and its foot soldiers, we instead are seeing too many reports speaking of how the police is using violence against people.

All of us need to remind ourselves that this is an unprecedented situation for everyone – the people and police are all in it together. Everyone is scared. But the public looks to the state in the form of the field level police for protection, assistance and advice. They must see and be able to rely on a compassionate and facilitating state. Brutality, aside from being illegal, is simply counterproductive. It will alienate people from being part of joint effort between the state and citizens to halt the spread of this virus.

Cooperation on the part of the public is key for the government’s disaster management plans to function smoothly. Highhandedness must not hinder this. The police must recognise that they are not being asked to arrest people for violating a lock down but to arrest the spread of the virus.

Without going into a detailed deconstruction of the reasons for police’s behaviour, what we need to understand is that even in normal circumstances, personnel shortages test the entire system. However as we witness on a daily basis, in a pandemic, the situation is exacerbated by overworked, ill-trained and insensitive policemen.

While this is the time to criticise the police and hold it accountable, it is also a time to take stock of their own situation. According to the India Justice Report, according to figures from 2017, the police is understaffed by nearly 25%. A deeper dive into states reveals an altogether more worrisome picture: Uttar Pradesh, India’s most populous state, was functioning with less than 50% of the required constabulary and less than 40% of its required officers.

Other states didn’t much fare better – Gujarat and Jharkhand, for instance, had constabulary vacancies of at least 30%. The latest BPR&D report shows slight improvements. But West Bengal, for example, still has the highest constabulary vacancies of about 42%, while Bihar’s officer vacancies stand at 53%.

Also read: Let Poor People Die. Only You Should Survive

Any critique of the police must take into account the conditions that they themselves work in. A recent report by Common Cause highlights that the police already work 14 hours a day on average – often without a weekly off. The added task of ensuring the lockdown is going to increase the pressure on them.

Add to this the growing number of coronavirus-related transgressions: thefts of medical supplies, manufacturing of unsafe masks, hoarding, cyber crimes, etc. Further, the same report also highlights the lack of training these personnel have received. Over the last five years, on average, only 6.4% of the police force has been provided in-service training.

Articles from around the world point towards the very real possibility of personnel leading the fight against the virus, whether doctors, nurses or police persons, falling ill, sometimes fatally. In New York alone, more than 500 officers in the police department (11% of the force) have been infected, with three deaths reported. In India too, at least one policeman has tested positive in Maharashtra, the state with the highest number of COVID-19 positive cases.

Delhi police distributing relief food material on April 1, 2020. Photo: PTI

But besides ad hoc measures, presently there is little publicly available information on the situation here in regard to ensuring the safety of police personnel themselves. The Delhi traffic police, for instance, has claimed that its personnel have been provided enough extra masks and hand gloves. In Bihar, however, the police association has pointed out that personnel are on the street without masks and sanitisers.

Online photos and videos from across the country affirm that police have to interact with people on the streets without either. One could also not find guidelines for police personnel interacting with those who may have contracted the virus, or guarding quarantined patients on whether they or their families are being tested or not. The safety of the police, in addition to medical and sanitation workers, must be seen as essential.

Niyati Singh is lead researcher, India Justice Report.

Featured image: Police personnel in Mathura stop commuters during a nationwide lockdown in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic in Mathura, April 3, 2020. Photo: PTI

Watching ‘Masterchef India’ – the Family Way

Read on for a wholesome and a perfect escape.

In a particularly tense moment of episode seven of MasterChef India, as one of the teams struggle to finish their Punjabi cuisine dish on time, the quietest member of my family, my nani, yells out “Yeh toh gaye!” with a passion so unlike her that the rest of my family can’t help but break into peals of laughter.

My nani urgently gestures us to stop laughing considering the urgency at hand.

An ad break follows.

We discuss the contestants, their individual approach towards the competition and the judges’ personalities.

As I rave about fashion the judges bring to the show, the conversation shifts towards my mother as she recounts a childhood story. The story cannot be called a “food story”, but she insists on calling it that. Soon enough, we’re all swapping old family tales that are, in some way or another, related to Indian food and culture.

Approximately two hours of watching this show, every week, is nothing but pure bliss. You huddle up together with people you have grown up with to watch a competitive reality show about the culinary arts. It sounds cheesy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way!

As MasterChef India Season 6 broadcasts in India, it won’t be wrong to say that this is one of the few Indian reality TV shows which actively brings people together and starts conversations.

The show’s format hasn’t changed a lot since its inception in 2010, the themes starkly stand out in the popular Indian reality TV landscape. The central idea of the show is a healthy competition, which is solely based on showcasing different cuisines, contestants’ own culinary talents and various managerial skills required for working in a professional kitchen.

The contestants use their culinary skills to make the perfect dish, which encourages the show’s viewers at home to talk about the cultural diversity in the Indian cuisine.

At home, since I come from an army background, these conversations take an especially interesting route as the intimate understanding of different cultures brings a whole new flavour to my personal viewing experience.

Also read: A Tribute to George, Matt and Gary: MasterChef Australia Fans Bid Adieu

But watching MasterChef during this massive cultural shift has been a unique experience on its own. The show, against the real-life backdrop of national chaos, is able to offer a “reality” which seems ideal, something worth striving for. Watching different contestants trying to make the perfect dish in a limited set of time, failing half-way through only to persevere at the end is gratifying.

In a video titled How RuPaul’s Drag Race Turned Parody Into Hit TV, pop culture and media critic Sarah Z argues, “Watching people compete, watching them get into manufactured drama, seeing the stuff people create with limited resources; it’s genuinely enjoyable. And the fact that it isn’t exactly reality is kind of the point when folks are looking for an escape from reality.”

Even though the context for this statement was RuPaul’s Drag Race, a show very different from our subject here, it can be perfectly applied to my experience of watching MasterChef India as well.

Between the ongoing anti-Citizenship Amendment Act movement and the recent violence in northeast Delhi, watching MasterChef India – where a (somewhat) diverse group of contestants were trying their hardest to make the flawless dish – has made for a joyful, wholesome and perfect escape.

Shivani Yadav is a fashion and film writer.

Featured image credit: Unsplash (representative image)

It’s Complicated – Why Some Grief Takes Much Longer to Heal

The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is only partially correct.

It’s a tragic fact of life that most of us will experience the loss of a loved one. Approximately 50 to 55 million people die worldwide each year, and it is estimated that each death leaves an average of five bereaved individuals. The experience of loss usually causes a range of psychosocial reactions, such as withdrawal from social activities, deep sadness, confusion about one’s role in life, and bursts of loneliness. In the acute phase of bereavement, these types of grief reactions are often all-consuming, excruciatingly painful, and highly impairing. It can feel as if the love directed towards the deceased person suddenly loses its tangible object, leaving the bereaved individual with an intense emptiness.

Thankfully, over the longer term, most people, most of the time, have sufficient resources to adjust to their new life without the person they’ve lost. They don’t necessarily ‘get over’ their loss, but they learn to cope. Sadly though, this isn’t true for everyone. Accumulating research within psychiatry and psychology has shown that a significant minority of people – approximately one in 10 – do not recover from grief. Instead, the acute reaction persists over the longer term, leading to trouble thriving socially, mentally and physically.

The distinction between the typical and the more problematic version of grief can be illustrated through an analogy. Much like a physical wound usually heals on its own, even if it is painful and slow, most people recover from their grief without any specialised help. However, occasionally, a physical wound becomes inflamed, and we use ointments, creams and patches to aid the healing process. Similarly, complications can sometimes arise in the grief process, and extra help is then necessary to treat the ‘inflamed’ grief.

Also read: What ‘The Lion King’ Teaches Us About Children’s Grief

An intricate mix of individual and contextual factors can lead to the development of complicated grief reactions. Imagine Amy, a 50something woman living a quiet life with her husband and two teenage sons. While out for a jog, her husband has a sudden heart attack and falls to the ground. He receives cardiac massage from a passerby but is declared dead at the local hospital hours later. This hypothetical experience could initiate very different paths of grief for Amy.

In one scenario, we see an Amy who is profoundly affected by the loss in the acute period of grief. She uses an immense amount of time and energy to prepare the funeral, sort her deceased husband’s belongings, and adjust to life as a widow. Her workplace is very understanding of her situation as both her colleagues and supervisor support her and put arrangements in place to manage her absence. She works hard at getting her life back on track to give her children a happy childhood. Five years after her loss, she is highly engaged in an organisation working with the prevention of heart diseases. She still misses her husband tremendously, but she is grateful for the years they spent together.

Conversely, the shock and the trauma of her husband’s death could send Amy on a different path: she struggles with accepting the permanence of the loss and, even years after his death, keeps all her husband’s belongings untouched; her employers are unsympathetic, and she loses her job due to too many sick days and decreased work performance; and her continued low mood and lack of energy lead her friends and relatives to withdraw. In this scenario, Amy is unable to meet the demands of her sons, provoking loneliness, frustration and self-loathing; she shows no interest in the outside world, and is overwhelmed by an intense sadness that doesn’t decrease over time.

These contrasting hypothetical scenarios illustrate how susceptibility towards grief-related complications can vary depending on key factors (eg, level of social support, personal coping style, attainment of new interests after one’s loss). If a person experiencing complicated grief doesn’t receive appropriate support, further adverse consequences can develop, such as heightened risk of serious health conditions, impaired quality of life, and lower general functioning.

Research attesting to the distinctiveness of persistent grief and its associated adverse effects led the World Health Organization (WHO) in 2018 to decide to include a grief-specific diagnosis in their classification guidelines for mental disorders, known as the ICD-11 (International Classification of Diseases, 11th revision), which will be fully implemented in healthcare systems by 2022. The new diagnosis, termed ‘prolonged grief disorder’, is characterised by an intense longing for, or a persistent preoccupation with, the deceased, accompanied by intense emotional distress (such as blame, denial, anger, difficulty accepting the death, feeling one has lost a part of one’s self) and significant impaired functioning that persists beyond half a year after the loss.

As the ICD-11 begins to be implemented in the coming years, there is a need to disseminate information on the diagnostic criteria of prolonged grief disorder to healthcare professionals who are in contact with bereaved individuals at hospitals, hospices, intensive care units, and to general practitioners, to help them identify and offer appropriate support to those who need it.

Unfortunately, media headlines about the new ‘grief-diagnosis’ can imply that prolonged grief disorder considers all kinds of grief reactions as pathological. This is rather unfortunate as it might cause some individuals to hide or avoid their grief in an attempt not to receive a diagnosis. Also, preventive interventions directed toward normative grief reactions can be both ineffective and even contraindicated, making it vital that prolonged, complicated grief is not overdiagnosed.

The diagnostic guidelines developed by WHO are used by psychiatrists and psychologists throughout most of the world, and the addition of prolonged grief as an official mental disorder has several practical implications. Earlier, symptoms of prolonged grief disorder were often interpreted as signs of depression and treated by antidepressants, but these types of drugs have shown minimal effect in ameliorating grief symptoms. The recognition of prolonged grief disorder as a distinct phenomenon will hopefully ensure the appropriate allocation of effective psychosocial treatments.

Also read: Sometimes, Conforming Is the Best Way to Deal With Depression

Such approaches include an element of psychoeducation: informing the client of the healthy and more pathological versions of grief, and discussing therapeutic goals. People experiencing complicated grief often avoid people, situations or objects that remind them of the permanence of their loss, so some version of exposure is often used. Exposure might include retelling the story of the loss or identifying particularly disturbing memories that the person tends to avoid, and then gradually revisiting these memories within and between treatment sessions.

The final stages of therapy are often future-focused, working towards resumption of life without the deceased. This element emphasises establishing and maintaining a healthy bond to the deceased, including an acceptance that life continues, and targeted help to reengage in meaningful relationships.

The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is only partially correct because, for severely inflamed wounds, time is not the solution. It is necessary to see a doctor and receive specialised treatment to aid the healing process. Bereaved individuals experiencing complications in their grief process often describe their situation as extremely numbing, overwhelming and debilitating. As shown in the case of Amy, one’s social network is a crucial factor.

While an understanding and supportive network can act as a protective factor against prolonged grief disorder, withdrawal from friends and family can create social isolation and increase feelings of meaninglessness, contributing to the development of prolonged grief disorder. It is essential to know that professional help is available. If you read this and recognise the symptoms of prolonged grief disorder in someone you know – or perhaps in yourself – seek out professional support because time does not heal all grief.

This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.

Featured image credit: Naqi Shahid/Unsplash

This Young Woman Created 784 Paintings While Hiding From the Nazis

Charlotte Salomon’s dizzying work of hope and creativity amid destruction and despair, is a moving early example of the contemporary graphic novel.

Between 1940 and 1942 Charlotte Salomon, a young German-Jewish artist, created a sequence of 784 paintings while hiding from the Nazi authorities. She gave the sequence a single title: Leben? oder Theater? (Life? or Theatre?). Viewed in the 21st century, Salomon’s artwork could be considered a precursor to the contemporary graphic novel, creating a complex web of narratives through words and images.

Together these sequential images tell a family history, focussing on a central character called Charlotte Kann, a semi-autobiographical version of Salomon herself. They document Charlotte’s development as an artist, her struggles against madness and her first love affair, all painted against a backdrop of increasingly violent Nazi rule. As a new exhibit of Salomon’s work opens at the Jewish Museum in London audiences have a rare opportunity to view this unique masterpiece.

Words and images

Many of the early paintings in the sequence are divided into tight grids and panels, their structure and arrangement highly reminiscent of comics. Tiny figures stride across the divided paintings cutting scenes and structuring the narrative’s flow.

At the heart of Life? or Theatre? is the question of whether to commit an act of self-destruction. In the early scenes, we are introduced to Charlotte’s parents, Albert and Franziska, through brief glimpses of their wedding night, the joyful announcement of Charlotte’s birth, and Franziska’s rapid descent into depression.

Despite medical intervention, Franziska ends her life. Although the news is initially hidden from a young Charlotte, she later discovers the true circumstances of Franziska’s death, as well as a long history of mental illness within her family. Over 40 paintings later, after witnessing her grandmother’s suicide, Charlotte sits beside an open window in a scene of fiery colours and pleads: “dear God, please don’t let me go mad”.

It’s not just the narrative use of imagery which connect Life? or Theatre? to modern comics. Salomon taped semi-transparent overlays covered in writing on more than 200 of her paintings. Combining text and image, the pieces become a graphic narrative, telling the intertwining stories of many lives.

Although the overlays themselves are too fragile to display, the Jewish Museum recreates these painted words on the gallery walls to great effect.

The spaces between

The spaces between the images are also important, as is the case in modern comics. This is most clearly seen in three of the paintings that depict Franziska’s suicide.

The first painting contains a sequence of images on a single page, showing Franziska’s intense depression and her family’s mounting concern.

Franziska is subsequently kept under “the strict observation of a nurse”. But in the next the nurse fatally “… for one moment – which is utilised by Franziska to throw herself out the window – leaves the room”. She commits suicide in the space between dashes. She uses the break in the sentence – represented in the painting as a brief lapse in the nurse’s attention – to make her exit out of the window.

This second painting is a vital one within the exhibition. It highlights how we not only connect the sequence of images and captions but how we also project meaning into the gaps between paintings. Because this single image is divided into multiple panels, we watch Franziska get up and open the window. In the bottom left-hand corner of the image, her feet disappear off the page.

The third image within the sequence is a full-page spread of Franziska’s body – a pool of scarlet seeping from beneath her crumpled arms suggesting fatal damage.

We work out what takes place in the spaces between the scenes. We imagine Franziska stepping onto the ledge, leaping into the darkness and crashing onto the pavement below. As cartoonist and comics theorist Scott McCloud explains in Understanding Comics: we read between the gaps of graphic narratives, connecting images into a sequence, creating a story.

As the Jewish Museum’s exhibition makes clear, Life? or Theatre? is not just about death and despair. At the heart of these paintings is the story of hope and creativity in the darkest of times. Charlotte is faced with the choice to follow her mother and grandmother over the windowsill, or to “create her world anew” in a radical act of self-representation. She chooses life, despite the likelihood of her own destruction.

Salomon’s death in Auschwitz, aged 26, almost ensured her historical erasure. Shortly before her death, Salomon entrusted the paintings to a friend, asking that they hide the artwork from the authorities. Now Life? or Theatre? is part of a broader revival of academic and public interest in Salomon’s work, securing her place within the history of 20th century art.

In one picture Charlotte’s older lover announces “you know child, some of your pictures are quite excellent”. In the next he speculates that “one day people will be looking at us two”. His patronising prediction is entirely accurate. By assembling a visual narrative, which anticipates contemporary graphic novels, Salomon’s remarkable paintings do indeed demand that we carry on looking, over 70 years after their creation.

Emma Parker, PhD Candidate, School of English, University of Leeds

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Featured image: Charlotte Solamon’s work told a story over 784 paintings that saw words intermingling with pages of beautifully painted pictures. Collection Jewish Historical Museum, Amsterdam/ © Charlotte Salomon Foundation/Charlotte Salomon ®

In Delhi, Protesters Demand Justice for Muzaffarpur Shelter Victims

On July 30, various civil society organisations and political parties gathered in front of Delhi’s Bihar Bhawan to demand Nitish Kumar’s resignation and an audit of all other shelters in Bihar.

“Bahut hui mahilaon par vaar, abki baar Modi sarkar (Enough attacks on women, it’s time to vote in the Modi government). You must have seen the smiling face of Modi on hoardings, to me it seems he is mocking, with this slogan,” Exclaimed CPI national council member Kanhaiya Kumar, at a protest yesterday in New Delhi against the rape of minor girls in Muzaffarpur, Bihar. The rapes took place in a government-funded shelter home called Balika Grih.

On July 30, various civil society organisations and political parties gathered in front of Delhi’s Bihar Bhawan to protest the revelations about the shelter. In the short time since the initial news broke, it has also emerged that the Bihar social welfare department had filed an FIR about the rapes, based on a social audit of the shelter which was conducted by an organisation based in Mumbai. The audit’s report clearly showed that many girls in the home had complained of sexual abuse.

The protesters on Monday evening came from various organisations – from the student and woman wings of the Communist Party of India (CPI), CPIML-Liberation, Jan Adhikar Party (JAP), Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD), Jamaat-e-Islami and a few other civil society organisations. At Bihar Bhawan, they raised slogans against Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Bihar chief minister Nitish Kumar. The state government of Bihar currently comprises a coalition between the BJP and Janata Dal (United). Seeking a fair probe into the incident, they demanded Kumar’s resignation and a court-monitored probe of all such shelter homes in the state. The main demand is speedy justice for the victims.

Ali Anwar Ansari, a former JD(U) MP told Telegraph India, “The culprits are many, the victims are many and the scenes of crime are many, yet there is only one FIR. The result is zero – there is no action on the high and mighty who were involved.” He added, “The CM should resign as Bihar and India have been shamed in the world due to this.”

Also present at the protest was Gargi Chakravarty, the vice president of the National Federation of Indian Women, who said, “It’s taken two months of public pressure for the Bihar government to agree to a CBI probe. The demand for the CM’s resignation may be symbolic but it is needed, as he has to accept responsibility of what is happening in state-funded institutions.” The general secretary of the National Federation, Annie Raja, pointed out that while crores of rupees have been spent on the central Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao (Save the Girl Child, Educate the Girl Child) scheme, the chief minister has failed Bihar.

Theatre group Asmita performs at a protest outside Bihar Bhawan, New Delhi, July 30 2018. Credit: Afreen Khan

Theatre activist group Asmita’s member, Arvind Gaur, who was also present at the protest, believes that although people are now more aware about sexual abuse, the threat of legal punishment has not stopped such crimes from taking place. “The legal process is too slow and implementation of stronger laws are improper. Initially, during the discussion with the audience after our plays, people blamed women and movies for rape. The main change that has come about is that now people are aware and accept that such crimes are happening in our societies,” he told Telegraph India.

People protesting the rape of minor girls in a shelter in Muzaffarpur, Bihar, outside Bihar Bhawan, New Delhi, July 30 2018. Credit: Afreen Khan

Manoj Jha, a Rajya Sabha MP from the RJD, has questioned Modi’s silence on the issue. Speaking in the Rajya Sabha last week, he said “a chilling incident” had taken place in Muzaffarpur, wherein about 40 ‘Nirbhayas‘ had been abused.

Medical reports indicate that over half of the 40 girls at the shelter may have been sexually assaulted at some point, police said. The NGO which ran the shelter has been blacklisted, and the girls have been shifted to homes in Madhubani and Patna. Local police arrested the man who ran the NGO, as well as women staff members of the shelter.

Featured image credit: Afreen Khan