‘India should take up Baha’is’ concerns with Iran’

‘India should take up Baha’is’ concerns with Iran’
9 Jun 2008, 0057 hrs ISTThe five and half million-strong Baha’i community across the world is extremely disturbed over the arrest of their top leadership in Iran. Bani Dugal, principal representative of the Baha’i International Community to the United Nations, spoke to Ketan Tanna:

Q: Why is the Baha’i community rattled over the arrest of six Baha’i leaders in Iran?

We have not received any information about where they are being held, nor have they been given access to legal counsel. Their only crime is their practice of the Baha’i faith. These arrests are reminiscent of the previous occasions when the national leadership of the Iranian Baha’i community was arrested in 1980-81 which led to the execution of 17 individuals at that time.

Q: Iranian government says the arrested persons were spies.

Accusations that Baha’is are spies are not new. Such accusations are an effort by the government to stir up suspicion and ill will against the Baha’is within the larger Iranian population. Since the Baha’i faith, through an accident of history, has its headquarters in Israel, the Iranian government often charges Iranian Baha’is with being Zionists and spies.

Baha’is are told they will be released if they agree to recant their faith demonstrating clearly that the real issue is their religious beliefs and practice, the right which is theirs under Article 18 of the International Covenant Civil and Political Rights, to which the govern-ment of Iran is itself a signatory.

Q: What kind of persecution does Baha’i community face in Iran and why?

The 3,00,000-member Iranian Baha’i community is the largest religious minority, and the govern-ment has since 1979 undertaken a systematic persecution against them, solely because of their religious belief. Iranian Baha’is face daily the threat of arbitrary arrest and imprisonment. Their young people are denied the right to higher education and the right to make a living. Baha’i homes and properties have been unlawfully seized. And, above all else, they are not free to practise their religion. And the fact that more than 200 Baha’is were killed or executed by the government between 1979 and 1998 keeps Baha’is under a state of constant threat.

Q: India has good relations with Iran. On the other hand, it also has 1.6 million-strong Baha’i community. What can India do in such a situation?

The very fact that India has good relations with Iran and has the largest number of Baha’is gives her a special responsibility to intercede. Given India’s record of upholding the rule of law, religious freedom and affording constitutional protections for all minority religions she is an example that Iran could emulate. The Indian government could take this matter up bilaterally with Iran.

She equips these special ‘kids’ with vocational skills

She equips these special ‘kids’ with vocational skills
22 Jun 2008, 0533 hrs IST, Ketan Tanna,TNNMUMBAI: The incident happened last week. Fifty-one-year-old Bhandup housewife Lata Das was travelling with 27-year-old Chetna and her mother in an autorickshaw on a pothole-riddled suburban road. It was raining and the insides of the vehicle were a little cramped. Suddenly the rickshaw lurched, and Lata, who was near the exit, almost lost her balance.

Then, to everyone’s amazement, Chetna put her hand on Lata’s shoulder and held her tight so that she would not fall out.

To those who wonder at the use of the word ‘amazement’, Chetna is mentally- challenged and incapable of carrying out even normal daily functions like taking a bath and using the toilet. It is rare for such people to exhibit emotions. But that day Lata realised that deep within even the mentally- challenged there are latent sentiments that can surface any time. “I was touched that she cared so much for me. I still can’t get over it,” she says.

Chetna may not be able to articulate it, but evidently stores a deep recess of love and gratitude for Lata, a volunteer at the MBA Foundation School in Powai. For over three years, Lata has been volunteering here; she teaches vocational skills to the mentally-challenged, spastics, autistic and even the physically-challenged.

She teaches thrice a week for three hours and has almost become a family member at the school—so much so that on the day she does not go, the inmates of the school feel incomplete, says Robert Aranha, assistant administrator of the school.

The ‘children’ that Lata cares for are not children in the strict sense. Most of them are grown up and anywhere between 18 and 45 years of age. But most appear much younger. “When I first entered the school I could not believe that some of them were my children’s age,” says Lata who has two grown-up sons.

Lata entered the field of voluntary work after her children grew up and she found herself with a lot of time on her hands. She wanted to teach children but with age not on her side, finding a volunteer slot for this was difficult. She then approached SOSVA, an NGO that places various volunteers across different organisations depending on their skill-sets and the requirements of the job. SOSVA asked her if she was willing to teach the special ‘children’ of the MBA Foundation School at Powai.

Lata said yes. But on her first day, she found herself depressed. “When I saw the children, I was saddened. I wondered why God is so unfair. But then I shrugged off the feeling and got to work,” she says. Since then, she has been teaching the kids vocational skills like candle-making; at times she also teaches them meditation, painting and even English-language skills.

The MBA Foundation is an NGO working for integrated care services for persons with disabilities, with two care centres in Chembur and Powai. It was started by the parents and relatives of special children, and currently has 45 children, some of whom are boarders. The idea behind setting up the school was to train the mentally and physically challenged in various vocations and help them earn a living. Fourteen-year-old Krishna is one such child who has a muscular degenerative disease but a razor-sharp mind. “He is the boss of the other children and I have seen him guiding them,” says Lata.

Lata’s family has been very supportive of her voluntary work—she regularly chronicles her experiences at the school and emails them to her elder son who is working abroad. As for the future, Lata says she will continue teaching and taking care of the kids till they need her.

ketan.tanna@timesgroup.com

Help for Parsi women to fight infertility

Help for Parsi women to fight infertility 13 Jul 2008, 0623 hrs IST, Ketan Tanna,TNNMUMBAI: It was a casual request from Bombay Parsi Punchayet chief Minoo Shroff that resulted in gynaecologist Dr Anahita Pandole taking on the assignment of helping Parsi couples battling infertility problems. Three years down the line, she has handled 200 cases of whom 80 women have conceived. One woman had triplets while 10 others bore twins. Anahita Hakim, 34, is one such woman; she is the mother of twin girls named Katrina and Karina. “I wanted children for the last five years I even thought of adopting children before I came to Dr Pandole, who helped me have Katrina and Karina,” she said. The fertility treatment did not come cheap and Hakim had to spend between Rs 6 and 7 lakh. The initial consultation was free and the treatment tab was picked by the Bombay Parsi Punchayet. For those who could not pay, large-hearted donors within the community offer ed financial help. Pandole’s project is part of a larger United Nations-backed programme called Parzor, headquartered in Delhi. Since 1999, the Parzor project has undertaken research in various fields, working towards the promotion and preservation of the Parsi heritage. The demography project, under the umbrella of Parzor, has thrown up interesting facts about the declining Parsi population. According to the 2001 census, India’s Parsi population had fallen to 69,601 from 76,382 a decade earlier. According to the 2001 census, the child-woman ratio, a key indicator of fertility, is 578 per 1,000 in India. Among the Parsis, it is 85 per 1,000. Meanwhile,a study on Delhi Parsis concentrated on community members married to Parsis, inter-marriages, unmarried and the youth. The demographic profile of the Parsis in Delhi tends to appear more in favour of the 30-50 working group rather than the ageing picture seen elsewhere. In view of the fairly unique position held by the Delhi Parsis, a study was proposed to inquire into their migratory history, their current situation and record their views and attitudes pertaining to various issues and problems facing the community. According to Shernaz Cama, honourary director at Parzor, it was a qualitative study based on interviews. All those interviewed realised that the community was in flux and that “someone had to do something”. However, few were willing to be that someone, the study rued. (ketan.tanna@timesgroup.com)

Life after near-death

Life after near-death
29 Jun 2008, 0024 hrs IST,TNNTimes Review profiles extraordinary people who refused to let life-altering mishaps get them down

MUMBAI

Earlier this month, a 20-year-old girl showed Mumbai an act of incredible courage. Sneha Kale, on her way home after giving an exam, fell off an overcrowded local train; her right leg, which was crushed under the wheels, had to be amputated immediately. The very next day, the spunky girl went to write her next paper. “And why not?” she asks, “I had prepared, and I was confident of doing well.”

Sneha is casual about her decision to not wallow in self-pity. “My parents are the emotional kind,” she says. “If I am not brave, they’ll break down. In any case, I need to live and to work. And in order to work, I need to get on with life. It is as simple as that.”

—Ketan Tanna

NEW DELHI

Joginder Singh Saluja, aka Bittoo, has won the Mr India national title in body-building and power-lifting pageants for three consecutive years. The fact that his powerful biceps completely obscure his lifeless lower limbs comes as a reassurance to many that nothing is impossible.

When he was barely ten months old, Bittoo contracted polio which left both his legs damaged. “I underwent 10 operations till the age of 14, after which I hit the gym,” he says. “People made fun of me when I held the dumbbells for the first time. The more they laughed, the more motivated I felt. I can now lift about 150 kg bench-press. Assi ta cheetein haan, kise toh nahi darde (I am as tough as a cheetah. I fear nothing). Just try really hard, and you can get what you want in life,” says Bittoo who now wants to set up a gym for the physically handicapped.

—Neha Pushkarna

BANGALORE

On September 3, 1996, 22-year-old Rathi Menon was thrown off a long-distance train when she was washing her face at the basin near the door. “I tried to grab the iron railings but my hands slipped. I fell right under the wheels,” she recounts.

Rathi’s spinal cord was ruptured when the wheels of the train ran over her right arm, severing it from her shoulder. And as she lay there unable to move, she saw another train approaching on the same track. “Unable to move, I couldn’t do a thing even as I saw it running over my leg,” she says. After the train passed, another train driver shunting an engine spotted her and shifted her to hospital.

“I had just finished writing my income-tax exams then. The doctors had given up hope, and said I would remain bedridden all my life. I don’t know if you can call it a miracle, but a few months after the surgery I actually recovered and began to live like everybody else.”

Menon acquired an artificial leg, and switched to using her left hand. Initially it was difficult, but she overcame every difficulty with her sheer grit—she wrote three exams after the accident, topped in all and went on to become inspector of income-tax.
—Prashant G N

BANGALORE

Shruti has had to undergo 39 operations in the last six years. All because she rejected the advances of a ‘suitor’ called Rajesh.

The day is still etched vividly in the 22-year-old’s memory. “It happened on August 12, 2002,” she says. “Rajesh was my neighbour and I had rejected his advances. I was on my way to school when he threw acid on me. It burnt my face, head and chest. I lost my eye and ear in the attack.” The expense of Shruti’s surgeries almost crippled her father, a tailor, but they got by with funds from NGOs. She then worked with a bank as a telemarketer for a while but is now looking for a job.

Shruthi discontinued her studies because of her medical problems but managed to pass her tenth-standard exam with the help of her parents. “Initially I found it tough and used to be very upset but thanks to my family I have managed to deal with whatever came my way. Now I feel I am normal. All I can say is one should live in the present,” she says.

—Ketan Tanna

MUMBAI

Forty-year-old Iva Athavia lost both her arms in an accident while attempting to cross a railway track on her way to college in Jharkand. She moped for a while, but her brother’s threat to deposit her in an ashram worked. With the help of prosthetic arms, Eva went on to do her post-graduation and a Masters in Social Work from TISS when she moved to Mumbai. Despite her physical limitations, Eva joined the Cancer Patients Aid Association (CPAA) in 1995, opened CPAA counselling centres and a network with eight city hospitals. She trains volunteers and coordinates all counselling-related work for cancer-afflicted patients.

“I remember when I was wheeled into the operation theatre I was hoping I wouldn’t come out alive,” she says. “I just didn’t want to live. But God had other plans for me.”

Dance of the Melancholy Ladies

Dance of the Melancholy Ladies

In this series, we cover unusual groups. This week,
Ketan Tanna
discovers a fellowship that knows how to cheer up women

   The women meet every Monday afternoon near a psychiatrist’s clinic. They have been doing this for the last five years. Asha Anjali, they call themselves. They are survivors of depression, illness and suicide attempts. The goal of the Monday meetings is simple—pursuit of happiness. “This group has given me hope. But more than than, it has given me my life back,” says 43-year-old Susan.
   She is dressed in jeans and a cotton top. And she looks stern. She has been suffering from depression for nearly 10 years. After losing her mother at a young age she had to take care of her father and three sisters. She often sought refuge in sleep. Sometimes she would walk out of her house, and keep walking for kilometres. Once she walked from Andheri to Mahim, lost in her depression. “The walks were my last refuge. I was alone with my thoughts. I would compose poems. I composed a poem for Jesus too which was shortlisted by an internet site for an award. Since I did not have $50 to pay the entrance fee, I did not enter the contest even though I was shortlisted,” says Susan. “Susan, let’s hear your poem,” says Madhu, the coordinator of the group. Susan converts her poem into a song—“You are a star when Jesus is not far/ He loves and cares for you/ He knows you by your name, years before you came/ You think that he is not there and that gives you a scare/ But he is always there.”
   As Susan wipes her tears and bows her head after reciting the poem, the other women in the group nod. Some clap. They wait for the sadness to pass. In one corner of the room, 56-yearold Madhuri sits with a benign smile on her pretty face. Madhuri’s husband expired two years ago. “I don’t think I fell ill after that but my daughters felt so. I am alright now,” says Madhuri. “My husband used to pamper me a lot. Without him, I was lost.”
   The women are sitting on thick mattresses. In the breeze that animates the wind chimes, the women, about a dozen of them, chat about their lives and times.
   They meditate, and celebrate too. Last week, they danced to Mauja Hi Mauja from Jab We Met. Sometimes the group has cooking competitions.
   Presently, they are absorbed in a contest that challenges them to prepare low calorie and nutritious food. Some days, they have fancy dress competitions too.
   “I was dressed as Saira Banu in one of the fancy dress competitions,” says Meena, a 46-year-old woman who belongs to an upper middle class Gujarati family.
   Meena is not comfortable discussing her depression or her personal problems. It has been over two years since she became a member of the group. She has been under medication for “a few years,” and says that the lesson she learnt from the group is that when a problem arises, one should not run away.
   “I was a coward. I would flee when a problem arose. But I realised that the problem is in me and I need to address it,” she says.
   The door opens, and a pretty woman enters. Dressed in a black Punjabi suit, 37-year-old Neetu Ghosh stands out here. Her life could have been part of an Ekta Kapoor tear jerker—two children and an abusive husband before she turned 22.
   A divorce followed but that did not hurt her as much as the attitude of an enamoured distant relative who declared that he loved her, wanted to marry her and then kept her hanging for three years before he finally said that his mother would not accept a divorcee.
   That is when Neetu had a breakdown. But she soon found joy when an acquaintance fell in love with her, and married her. Her four and a half years with Sujoy Ghosh, who accepted her and her two children with open arms, were the best period of her life. Then Sujoy passed away due to food poisoning. As her life crumbled again, this group resurrected her. “Now I live for others because I realised when you help others, some of the happiness comes back to you. I truly believe this and am not mouthing any platitude,” she says.
   The group has both the young and the aging. Tina, a shy 20-yearold says, “I get depressed if I don’t attend this meeting. I attempted suicide when a relationship went wrong.” Another woman says, “I am Reema and I am 46-years-old. I suffer from anxiety attacks. Earlier, I could not bear the shrill noise made by my pressure cooker and I would feel that it would burst. I am fine now though I still have panic attacks when I wash my hair. I have all sorts of negative thoughts. My family has been supportive and this group is my lifeline. I telephone them when I have such attacks,” she says, smiling for the first time during the meeting. TNN

When thoughts become your enemy

When thoughts become your enemy

In this column we profile unusual groups. This week, Ketan Tanna meets a group of people who meet to collectively combat a sapping mental disorder

   All the time I wanted to be clean. My obsession with cleanliness went to such an extreme that not only did I bathe innumerable times a day, I began using washing powder to do it. I’d brush my teeth with it as well. I refused to touch anyone in my house, including my mother,’’ says Nagma. Ten others in the room look on agape as the 20-year-old candidly recounts how her Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) almost cost her her sanity.
   In a room on the first floor of a building near Lalbaug police chowki, Mumbai’s first OCD support group is in session. Victims of the disorder meet on the first Saturday of every month and share their experiences and progress reports.
   Nagma was labelled mad by her family who could not understand her obsessive need to be clean. Her illness brought the Khajuraho denizen to Mumbai in search of a solution. Doing the rounds of the psychiatry units of public hospitals did not really help, but a chance meeting with someone who knew of the OCD support group has brought a semblance of hope into her life. Though she acknowledges that she still has a problem, it is under control. “Now I wash myself only three to four times a day,” she says cheerfully.
As Nagma talks, the others nod in agreement, and then embark on their own OCD tales. Twenty-two-year-old Vishal, a serious-looking bespectacled youngster from a small town in Maharashtra, reveals unhesitantly that his OCD revolves around masturbation and sexual thoughts that almost ruined his life. “My OCD started acting up when I enrolled in engineering college,’’ he says. “My parents could not comprehend what was happening to me. Both, my studies and my health suffered.’’ It was only after Vishal came to Mumbai, consulted doctors and enrolled in the OCD support group that things began to change. It’s been a few months since he has begun dealing with his OCD, and there has been a decline in the potency of the medicines he takes.
   Vishal’s problem evokes much sympathy from the parents of 15-year-old Justin D’souza. For over two years, this Borivili resident was a bundle of nerves, prone to vomiting and crying at the drop of the hat. Justin hated travelling by bus and train because he believed that touching something or someone would give him germs. His thought process was tortured. “I’d imagine that I would not be able to give exams or flunk because I could not concentrate. I would then envision myself being thrown out of school and not being able to fulfil my dream of becoming a software engineer,’’ says Justin, explaining how his mind played tricks on him, impairing his judgment. His parents initially thought it was just stress but a friend of Justin, who also had OCD, realised that there was more to Justin’s emotional problems.
   Justin’s parents say they were fortunate enough to realise that their son suffered from an illness. “There’s a very thin line between being obsessed with something and suffering from OCD. In Justin’s case, his tension and obsession overwhelmed his personality. He would suddenly burst into tears and it was difficult for him to even finish his exams,’’ says his father. Things have improved, however, and despite not completing a portion of his board exam papers, Justin scored 70 per cent.
   While doctors are the ones who can diagnose and treat OCD, a support group is invaluable. As ‘Obsessive-Compulsive Disorders’, a book edited by Eric Hollander and Dan J Stein explains, those suffering from OCD often have a fear that others will discover their secret obsessions or observe their rituals and label them mad. As a result of this, they have poor social networks, and OCD support groups are a good vehicle for decreasing the social isolation they feel.
   Often, as evidenced by this particular group in Mumbai, a support group serves as the doorway to treatment and the starting point on the path to recovery. Hollander and Stein explain that the dooropening function is extremely important because it is estimated that less than 20 per cent of those suffering from neurobiological disorders such as OCD are in treatment. In India, that figure would be even less.
   The Mumbai group comprises people from a spectrum of backgrounds. Ali Akbar, a 20-year-old youngster from the powerloom town of Bhiwandi, who for years had imagined that he was mentally and physically weak, went through a series of tests, medicines and doctors before he finally realised that he suffered from OCD. Shekhar Kulkarni, a 33-year-old graphic artist sits quietly even though he is supposed to be the most vocal one in the group. But he lights up when the group talks of its experiences in combating the illness.
   Shekhar’s problem was that he simply could not travel alone in a bus or train, and often felt claustrophobic in enclosed spaces. Once when he was on his way from Pune to Mumbai in a bus, he started getting panic attacks midway. “My stomach started hurting and I felt it would burst and I would collapse. I just got off the bus.’’ His aging mother did travel with him for a while but that could not carry on. The OCD support group has helped him, says Shekhar, and his dependency on people has lessened.
   Shirin Mistry, who started suffering from a cleanliness OCD after her marriage, went through endless rounds of drugs and treatment. Her husband, Rohinton, who often accompanies her to the OCD meetings says that very often general physicians or family doctors are unable to diagnose the disorder and often give symptomatic medicines without realising the gravity of the problem.
   There are bizarre cases of OCD as well. A man attended some of the meetings wearing dark glasses which he wouldn’t remove for a second. He refused to remove them because he believed that those around him would be able to look into his eyes and read his mind.
   The OCD group is free for all those seeking help, and runs under the aegis of the Samaritans. Dr Fabian Almeida, who supervises the meetings, says the classic symptoms of OCD are that thoughts are intrusive, automatic and seem to be out of one’s control.
   “Diagnosing the disorder helps to outline specific treatment and involves a combination of behaviour therapy techniques as well as pharmacotherapy and a host of self-help methods,’’ he says. And then sums up the motto of the group in three succinct words: “Thinking without sinking.’’ TNN

FORCE OF HABIT: Members of the OCD support group look towards a more hopeful future

SILVER LINING

SILVER LINING

More sex please, we’re seniors

Older Indians are busy spicing up their sex lives, discovers
Ketan Tanna

   There’s a recent study on the sex life of older people in Sweden that surveyed over 1,500 septuagenarians. Its conclusion: the number of men and women continuing to have sexual intercourse into old age had increased from 52 per cent to 68 per cent among married men and 38 per cent to 56 per cent among married women.
   In the India of a couple of decades ago, this news would most likely have been received with arched eyebrows and distaste. No longer, however. Although statistics on the number
of senior citizens visiting sex therapists and counsellors in India have not been compiled, the phenomenon is most certainly on the rise, say professionals. “It’s a fallacy that sex after 60 is only a western obsession,’’ says consulting sex therapist Rajan Bhonsle. “In the last five years, my clientele in the 50-to-80 age group has more than doubled. And there’s no coyness—most seniors are upfront about their sexual problems.’’
   Last month, a leading 81-yearold Mumbai industrialist walked into Dr Bhonsle’s clinic and unhesitantly declared that he was having performance problems. “I get tired easily and I am not able to sustain the act. My partner is not satisfied,’’ he confided. The partner turned out to be his paramour. After psychological counselling and medicine, the industrialist was able to keep both his wife and paramour happy. In another case, the elderly wife of another industrialist contacted the doctor, saying she was under treatment for Parkinson’s. But that wasn’t the issue. She needed help, as her need for physical relations with her husband had suddenly increased. Apparently her Parkinson drugs were increasing her libido.
   According to 84-year-old Mahinder Watsa, who has been a consultant on sexual and reproductive health for the past 35 years, sex among older Indians is more visible now because people talk about it openly, at least in the media. “I would say that 65 per cent of my patients are in the 50-to-80 age bracket,’’ he says. “But even as far back as the 1980s, seniors weren’t exact celibate. I remember doing a study then with the geriatric community, and a large number of people had problems and queries on sex.’’
   With the passage of time, pensioners are no longer inhibited about admitting their continuing desire to get between the sheets. “I had this patient who was very depressed about his sex life after his wife’s death,’’ says Dr Watsa. “He casually told me that he needed a woman with special needs as his partner. It turned out that he was into sado-machoism. His late wife used to beat him with a broom and it was only then that he felt arousal.’’ The post-script: the senior later put an ad in the papers asking for a life partner with ‘special needs’.
   Cardiologist Dr Sandeep Rane affirms that a large number of senior citizens whom he operates on are worried about whether they can continue with their sex life post-cardiac surgery. “One of them was 81,’’ he says. Ahmedabad-based sexologist Paras Shah confirms that he has many elderly patients too, and relates the case of an 89-year old man who, worried about his flagging desire, sought an appointment. “And that’s perfectly valid,’’ says Dr Shah. “The perception that sexual desire abates with age is wrong. Indeed, the post-50 phase is the golden age for couples, since their kids have grown up and their social responsibilities are over. Viagra is reviving bedroom lives, and often it is the women who push their husbands to consult a sexologist.’’
   What part has the post-liberalisation media, with its near-obsession with sex, played in the Great Awakening? Psychologist Anjali Chhabria believes it is a definite influence. “The openness with which the print and electronic media discuss sexual issues has encouraged senior citizens to look after themselves and their personal life,’’ she says. “The healthy and happy old age concept has caught on, and senior citizens are increasingly seeking solutions to their sexual problems. I am not saying the earlier sense of shame has gone away totally. But it has certainly lessened, and sex is no longer taboo for senior citizens.’’
   Virumandi, 94, is a great example of this. This Chennai resident walked into the clinic of sexologist D Narayana Reddy a few years ago with an erectile dysfunction problem. The doctor wasn’t surprised, having seen many patients in the above-60 age group, but he couldn’t prescribe Viagra since Virumandi was a diabetic, hypertensive and a heart patient. He explained the situation to him, and Virumandi left. Two years later, he called the doctor to tell him that he had bought the pills on his own and had been leading a rocking life. “He was willing to die of a heart attack but said that he could not abstain from carnal pleasures in the last stage of his life,’’ chuckles Dr Reddy. Evidently, the sex life of the Indian senior has arrived. TNN
(With inputs from Ashish Vashi in Ahmedabad and Pushpa Narayan in Chennai)

Outsmarting Big Brother

Outsmarting Big Brother

Indians could take some lessons from US citizens who are fierce about their right to cyber privacy, says Ketan Tanna

   An annual event called Computers, Freedom and Privacy (CFP) in the United States has had its share of drama in the past. In the early 1990s, one of the attendees was John Draper, a legendary hacker who was arrested in 1972 for popularising a system of making illegal telephone calls by dint of a whistle. (Draper had begun his endeavour with a free whistle found in a Captain Crunch cereal box, which accounted for his later hacker handle ‘Captain Crunch’.) In CFP 2002, there was the mock arrest of Edward Felten, a Princeton computer scientist, for presenting a paper that focussed on a way around a technology used to protect digital copyrights.
   Such theatrics were missing at the May 2008 CFP held at a hotel in Connecticut, adjacent to the charming Yale University campus. The crowd was eclectic: geeks, lawyers, Hollywood scriptwriters, forensic science auditors, and earnest Indian professors teaching at American universities. The central theme of the conference was the need to find a common thread on government data collection, network neutrality, intellectual property and patents.
   India did figure in the discussion, albeit in a not-so-positive light. When Rob Faris, research director at the Berkman Center at Harvard, invited questions from the audience after his presentation on the state of internet freedom, a man asked him what he felt about the Indian government’s move to pressurise BlackBerry makers to provide Indian security agencies with a way around encrypted data. Faris smiled and dodged the question: the Indian government’s demand was a policy matter, he demurred, and not related to the internet. But the question evoked many murmurs among the who’s who of the internet world. Did the Indian government really want to intercept the data of mobile users and monitor the internet, asked another member of the audience wonderingly.
   The concept of mobile and computer privacy is something the western world takes very seriously. In India, on the other hand, anything goes, and the government is known to have intruded into almost every sphere of the communication world.
   For the better part of May 2008, Indian home ministry officials continued to put pressure on Research in Motion (RIM), the Canadian wireless device company that makes BlackBerry, to provide security agencies with a way around its encryption.
   The mandarins are demanding that RIM set up servers that can be monitored by Indian security agencies or give them a master key into data and e-mails sent from the company’s BlackBerry devices. The officials’ defence is that they are concerned that because these e-mails cannot be intercepted, militants could be using BlackBerry services to coordinate terrorist attacks. With BlackBerry categorically asserting that they are not the only one using the encrypted technology, matters are coming to a head.
   Unlike many countries in Europe and in Scandinavia, the Indian Constitution does not expressly recognise the right to privacy, although Article 21 does state that no person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to procedure established by the law. According to the Privacy and Human Rights manual published by the Electronic Privacy Information Center, Section 69 of India’s Information Technology Act, 2000, allows for the interception of any information transmitted through computer resources and requires that users disclose encryption keys or face a jail sentence of up to seven years. Section 44 imposes stiff penalties on anyone who fails to provide information to authorities. Section 80 allows a deputy superintendent of police to conduct searches and seize suspects in public spaces without a warrant.
   There’s more. The Act provides for censoring information on the internet on grounds of public morality and also imposes strict penalties for involvement in electronic publishing of material deemed ‘obscene’ by the government. It’s another matter that the Bangalore-based techie, Lakshmana Kailash K, who spent 50 days behind bars last year for allegedly uploading obscene material on Shivaji had no clue what he was being held for and charged with.
   Contrast this with the American spirit. At CFP ‘08, there were sessions where representatives of Barack Obama and John McCain were grilled on their stands with regard to the internet, freedom and security (Hillary Clinton’s rep didn’t make it). Although both the Obama and McCain reps made pious statements about how McCain and Obama were committed to protecting internet privacy in the USA, a question on Yahoo and Google (both American companies) sharing information with the Chinese government had them stumped and quickly mouthing platitudes on how there was “a need for dialogue’’.
   India, though, can seek some comfort from the fact that China came in for harsh criticism for its sledgehammer tactics to curtail internet freedom. Indeed, India is miles behind China when it comes to containing internet freedom. “Even as China grappled with the massive earthquake that killed more than 55,000 people, the Chinese government’s internet censors were on the job,’’ said Robert Dietz, the Asia programme coordinator for the US-based Committee to Protect Journalists. “The central propaganda department never stopped handing down directives, never stopped telling people how much to report.’’
   Indeed, the number of nations monitoring their citizens is steadily growing. According to Faris, there were only two governments filtering the net in 2002—the number has gone up to two dozen in a matter of six years. His presentation had a map that showed how social filtering—for pornography, gambling—is far more widespread than political filtering. However, an overlapping diagram of who filters what showed a lot of ‘mission creep’, a term that refers to the expansion of a project or mission beyond its original goals. TNN

Fighting Ekta and the IPL

Fighting Ekta and the IPL

Ketan Tanna
finds out how two housing societies in Mumbai have been surviving without the idiot box for the last 13 years

   Afew kilometres away from Ekta Kapoor’s Balaji Telefilms stand two housing societies whose residents aren’t, like most of India, breathlessly following the convoluted tracks of her daft soaps. In fact, they don’t care about television at all.
   In 1995, the two large colonies—Gulshan Society in Versova and Gujarat Momin Society in Jogeshwari—threw away their television sets. Some of the 1,500 residents of Gulshan did it with the kind of flourish that would have done Balaji proud—they chucked their TVs from their balconies. The decision was triggered not by the poor quality of TV soaps but by a zealous speech delivered at the local masjid by Maulana Abdul Rehman Khorakiwala on the scourge of television.
   Thirteen years later, the two enclaves remain television-less, if one discounts the five or six families in Gulshan Society who have gone back to the habit, citing IPL as the reason. The Gujarat Momin society, however, has been steadfast in its resolve—there is not a single television set among the nearly 10,000 people living there.
   So how do the denizens while away the long hours without the vicarious pleasures of Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi, Indian Idol or IPL? Usmanbhai Sunasara, an office-bearer of Gulshan Society, dismisses the notion that one needs television. “The children are busy with school; we men go out for work; the women are busy with household chores. We have evening classes on the Quran. So where’s the time to watch or miss TV?’’ he asks rhetorically.
   Illyasbhai Borania, secretary of the society when the decision to do away with TV was taken, is distressed about the dissident families who have succumbed again to the temptation.“It’s basically the youngsters who’ve bought the sets, saying they wanted to watch Twenty20 and the World Cup. But we all know that when one has television in the house, one does not stop at watching just cricket or news,’’ he sighs.
   Borania, who is a bit regretful that the managing committee cannot impose unilateral decisions, tries nevertheless to make the youngsters see sense by “explaining to them that TV is nothing short of evil’’. Why? “Have you watched the daily soaps?’’ he asks indignantly. “Have you watched the Hindi movies? Do you think that they are family viewing?’’ His family has not asked once for TV, he says, adding loftily, “It all depends on the values that parents inculcate in their children.’’
   The residents of Gulshan and Gujarat Momin Society are from the Chiliya Muslim community that traces its origins to Palanapur, Sidpur and nearby areas in Gujarat. Both societies have a lifestyle that’s different from other Muslim societies in Mumbai.
There are mosques within the society premises, and the atmosphere is distinctly religious—if one isn’t working, one is praying or just relaxing in small congregations in the evening.
   The societies’ denizens are particularly proud of leading what they claim is a wholesome life without the insidious intrusion of television. New entrants—the girls who marry into families here, for instance—get into the flow of a televisionless life without much ado.Rizwana Borania,daughter-in-law of Illyasbhai, says that when she got married,she was aware that there would be no TV at her husband’s home in Mumbai. “At my mother’s home in Mehsana we did watch TV. But thank god we don’t have it here. TV is evil,’’ she declares vehemently. A Christian girl who married a Gulshan Society resident six months ago also claims she is happy.
   Not that the womenfolk of Gulshan society are clueless about television—they know the alarmingly mutating plots of Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki or Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi, for instance. “Yes, we are aware of serials because people talk about them and they are written about. But there never been any desire to see them,’’reiterates Rizwana.
   To cite the converse situation, there’s 22-year-old Khadija Kojar who grew up in Gulshan Society and moved out after marriage a year and half ago. Her marital home has a TV set, but for Khadija that is irrelevant. “I can watch TV all I want to now,’’ she says. “I did, out of curiosity. But I am not terribly impressed by what I saw.’’
   A lot of regular TV watchers would second that sentiment. TNN
   ketan.tanna@timesgroup.com