Author Archives: nandan

Temporary guide licence finally received

Posted on by
1

I finally received my tour guide license after a year of complications. My advocate was exceptional in handling the case; he took legal action against the Ministry of Tourism in Delhi High Court, which resulted in the court ordering the Ministry to issue temporary licenses to all applicants until the final results are declared. My advocate advised me to go to Delhi to collect my license from the Tourism Office.

When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised not to be asked for a bribe, which was unusual for a government office. They issued me a temporary license valid for one month, which I will need to renew monthly at the same office in Delhi. This license allows me to work as a tour guide for foreigners anywhere in North India. The office issued similar licenses to over 200 people, but this is still far from sufficient; we need at least 2,000 more guides.

My advocate mentioned that if the government doesn’t finalize the results by the time I need to renew my license three times, he plans to sue the government again for a permanent license. According to the law, after working as a temporary employee for 90 days, one can sue for permanent employment. Given the current backlog of four cases in Indian courts, I anticipate it will take at least 30 renewals before a final result is declared.

While I could easily find a job with any travel agency now, I’m not ready to start working as a tour guide just yet. I plan to focus on studying first and then work as a freelance guide. I often receive inquiries about tours in Varanasi and tour guides, and previously advised contacting UP Tourism for assistance. Now, I have the option to work with them directly.

End of life – Sadhus and Sanyasis

Posted on by
153

According to Hindu Dharma, there are four stages of life known as Ashrams: Brahmcharya, Grihastha, Vanaprastha, and Sannyasa. The Brahmcharya Ashram represents the student phase, which ideally ends by the age of 25. While one can continue to study beyond this age, marriage is generally expected to follow. The Grihastha Ashram begins at 26 and lasts until around 50, during which individuals are expected to marry and build a family. Vanaprastha, the stage from 50 to 75, is a time for preparing for the final stage of life, Sannyasa.

During Vanaprastha, individuals are expected to fulfill their familial responsibilities, such as marrying off their daughters and helping their sons become self-sufficient. They should also start preparing for Sannyasa by engaging in meditation and rituals. Sannyasa, which starts at around 76 and continues until death, involves renouncing worldly attachments and living a life of asceticism. Sannyasis, or renunciates, do not stay at home but reside in monasteries, which are available in every Indian city, where they live free of cost.

To become a Sannyasi, individuals must perform various rituals, the most significant being the symbolic renunciation of their physical body. They often stand naked in the river while reciting mantras, symbolically discarding their worldly self. Though they remain physically alive, they perform all the rites usually done posthumously, signifying their detachment from earthly life. Consequently, Sannyasis’ bodies are never cremated; instead, they are submerged in the river. Once they have entered Sannyasa, they are bound by strict rules.

These include prohibitions against handling money, dealing with fire, cooking, and consuming flavorful food. They must beg for their sustenance, purify their food by washing it, and repeat the name of Lord Ram 21,000 times daily. They traditionally wear orange clothing, symbolizing their devotion to Hinduism. Brahmin Sannyasis carry a staff, which is also submerged with their body upon death; no other caste members receive this staff. Sannyasis typically reside in monasteries with other Sannyasis, dedicating most of their time to repeating the name of Lord Ram.

They might receive occasional visits from their families, but generally lead solitary lives. During my work with researchers, I met numerous Sannyasis, and their stories were consistently surprising. Most expressed a profound eagerness for death, often stating that they hope to meet their end soon. I once spoke with a 70-year-old woman who had lived in a monastery for 30 years, waiting for death. She was the first female Sannyasi I had encountered. She explained that while females do not undergo the same rigorous rituals as males, they follow similar rules and live in separate sections of the monasteries.

She came to Varanasi with her husband, who had tuberculosis. After his death, she continued to live in the monastery, awaiting her own. Despite the unconventional nature of her life, she was deeply content and looked forward to her final moment. In contrast, I also spoke with a male Sannyasi, around 70 years old, who had embraced Sannyasa at 35 due to personal tragedies. Though he appeared quite ill, he too was happy discussing his impending death. I found it intriguing how people could be so content discussing their end.

Another Sannyasi I met had turned to Sannyasa to escape legal consequences. Accused of multiple murders, he sought refuge in Varanasi and became a Sannyasi to evade the authorities. He continued to live a relatively comfortable life, with family visits and monetary support, which was contrary to the austere image of Sannyasa. My experiences with various Sannyasis revealed a wide range of motivations and circumstances. Many seemed to view Sannyasa as a form of penance or a path to liberation. Despite a recent decline in the number of Sannyasis, Varanasi remains a unique destination where people come to conclude their earthly journeys.

Case Against Ministry of Tourism

Posted on by
Reply

After a year of waiting for the results of the tour guide examination, a group of us applicants decided to take legal action against the Ministry of Tourism for not declaring the results. I learned about this development from my elder brother and went to Delhi to meet with the advocate handling the case in the Delhi High Court. The advocate requested my birth certificate and a copy of the admit card for the examination. At the advocate’s office, I met over 20 other applicants who were also part of this case. Most of them were from Rajasthan and Agra; I believe I was the only one from Varanasi.

The advocate mentioned that the case would be resolved within a maximum of 10 days, which seemed optimistic given the vast number of pending cases in India—approximately 40 million, meaning one in three people is involved in some kind of legal matter. This lawsuit was the fourth case concerning this exam, and it’s unclear why the government hasn’t acted. They should issue licenses to everyone and let the market determine who is competent. There are very few government guides, and they often lack proper interviews or evaluations. As a result, they are hired without assessing their actual knowledge or skills.

In many cases, travel agencies hire both a licensed government guide and a private, unlicensed guide. The private guide typically interacts with clients while the government guide’s role is minimal—often just to act as a backup or to handle any potential police inquiries. Government guides are often seen chewing betel leaves (paan) and remaining passive, with their primary function being to support the private guide and deal with any legal issues that arise.

Who are Aghoris

Posted on by
Reply

I first learned about the Aghori society while working with MTV Italy as a local assistant. My role was to find unique characters and schedule interviews for the crew. They were particularly interested in unconventional Sadhus and Aghoris—those with dreadlocks, beards, and unconventional appearances. I had just three days to arrange five days of shooting, so I had to work quickly. I visited numerous monasteries and met many babas, sadhus, and Aghoris across Varanasi.

I went to major Aghor monasteries such as Kina Ram Aghor Peeth, Bhagwan Avdhoot Ram Ashram, Baba Harihar Ram Ashram, and Baba Anil Ram Ashram, among others. I also visited both of Varanasi’s cremation grounds, Manikarnika Ghat and Harishchandra Ghat, in search of Aghoris, which proved successful. Through this, I encountered some fascinating Aghoris and gained insight into their society. Aghori society is part of the Hindu tradition but follows a distinct philosophy. They worship the same deities as other Hindus, though their rituals can be quite different.

For instance, while most Hindus celebrate Diwali by worshipping Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth), cleaning their homes, and lighting lamps, Aghoris may instead spend the night at cremation grounds. They meditate there, seeking to enhance their mantras, gain supernatural powers, or make contact with spirits, which they believe will assist them in the future. This stark contrast highlights how Aghoris and mainstream Hindus differ in their practices. Aghoris have a deep connection to cremation grounds at every level of their religious practice.

In their monasteries, you will always find a place where wood from funeral pyres is continually burned. Genuine Aghoris apply the ash from these fires to their foreheads and navels, believing it provides protection and helps heal diseases. When I spoke to Aghoris about the significance of this ash, they told me it’s largely a matter of faith. They believe that if one has faith in the ash, it can be more effective than medicine. However, if someone lacks belief, it could cause worry and even illness due to the association with cremation. The Aghoris I met had a profound faith in the ash. They applied it daily and carried some with them when traveling. One person shared that when he had a  mysterious illness that doctors couldn’t cure, applying the ash helped him recover.

Unfortunately, some fake Aghoris exploit this practice to attract followers or intimidate others, using the ash to create a sense of fear or awe.

AIDS survey in Mehdiganj, Varanasi

Posted on by
Reply

Lok Samiti organized a group wedding for 30 couples in Mehdiganj, expecting over ten thousand attendees. I saw this as a great opportunity to kick off Sanjeevni Booti’s work. I discussed the plan with Lane, and we decided to conduct a survey on HIV awareness and distribute pamphlets about basic knowledge of AIDS. Lane prepared the content for the pamphlets and created questions for the survey. I had 2,000 pamphlets and 200 survey sheets printed.  I needed additional help with the survey, so I asked my friends Raju, Sonu, and Bablu—who are also members of Sanjeevni Booti. Sonu agreed immediately, but Raju and Bablu were initially busy with other work.

To encourage them to help, I offered them a day’s salary. Raju agreed to this offer, but Bablu did not. Lane covered all expenses, including the pamphlets, survey sheets, and travel costs. I also needed some female volunteers to survey other women, but I couldn’t find any.  I asked Nandlal if any of Lok Samiti’s female members could assist with surveying women for Sanjeevni Booti. Nandlal agreed to send two females, but unfortunately, they were occupied with wedding preparations when we arrived. As a result, we could not conduct surveys with any women.

We ended up surveying over 80 people and distributed 1,000 pamphlets. I was shocked by the villagers’ responses about AIDS. It seemed they had little understanding of the disease. Some believed AIDS could spread through the air, others thought it could result from having more than five sexual partners a day, and some thought it could be easily treated with medication. None of them were aware that AIDS could spread through shared razors or needles. When asked if any other NGOs had educated them about AIDS, none said yes, indicating they had not been informed by anyone with accurate knowledge. India has a high number of AIDS cases, and the rate is increasing rapidly due to changing sexual practices as the economy grows.

The rise in sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) is likely to continue. The government needs to take action to prevent this issue from escalating further. Given that Indians are generally open to new ideas and the use of condoms has not been a major issue, we can control the spread of this disease with proper education. Lane compiled the survey results into a report, which was published on Sanjeevni Booti’s website.

Group Wedding in Varanasi

Posted on by
Reply

Lok Samiti organized a group wedding for 30 impoverished couples in Varanasi with the aim of providing security for the brides and promoting dowry-free marriages. All the couples were so poor that they could not afford a wedding on their own. Typically, the groom’s side demands dowry, but in this event, no dowry was allowed. Instead, all gifts for the brides and grooms were provided by Lok Samiti and other donors. I was invited by Nandlal Master and asked to contribute. Seeing the event as an excellent opportunity for my NGO, Sanjeevni Booti, I decided to participate.

With around 10,000 people expected to attend, I discussed with Lane about contributing gifts and conducting a survey on AIDS awareness among the villagers. We decided to give clocks as gifts because they are long-lasting and frequently seen. Lane had initial concerns about the ethics of giving clocks but eventually agreed with the idea. Lane covered all the expenses, including the clocks, pamphlets, survey sheets, and travel costs. I bought 30 clocks and had Sanjeevni Booti’s name printed on each one. We packed them with a pamphlet about AIDS in each packet. I asked Raju and Sonu, fellow members of Sanjeevni Booti, to assist with the event. Raju, who was busy with his job, agreed to help for a day’s pay, while Bablu could not be persuaded.

On the day of the wedding, Raju, Sonu, and I arrived at the venue. Lok Samiti members were busy decorating the stage, arranging chairs, and preparing flowers. They had also organized food for over 10,000 people. The preparations had been ongoing for a month, with chefs preparing sweets for a week. Numerous political leaders, social workers, and donors were present. The wife of Mehndiganj’s block representative contributed 30 Benaresi sarees for the brides. Lok Samiti invited the grooms and brides onto the stage. Although 30 couples were scheduled to marry, two were unable to attend, so 28 couples participated.

They exchanged garlands, completing the marriage formalities. Nandlal Master then presented a document for the couples to sign—many were uneducated and simply thumb-printed the paper. Nandlal read the document aloud, stating that the couples pledged never to fight, to live together, and that no dowry would be demanded. Any breach would result in legal action by Lok Samiti. Afterward, the couples proceeded to a nearby Shiva temple for the final rites. Traditionally, Hindu weddings involve walking around a sacred fire, but in this case, the couples circled the Shiva temple instead, with Shiva standing as witness to the marriage.

The wedding concluded with the distribution of gifts. I handed out the clocks with Raju, Sonu, and our driver. Other gifts included sarees, watches, pots, and additional items. Lok Samiti provided each bride with a sewing machine and each groom with a bicycle, believing these items would help the couples become financially independent in the future. Amanda, my American friend, also contributed a sewing machine and two boxes of refined oil. It was a memorable experience to see 30 couples marry simultaneously on the same stage.

I found it particularly interesting that three of the brides appeared to be sleeping on stage, which seemed unusual for a wedding. Nandlal Master mentioned that Lok Samiti plans to organize similar group weddings in the future, with 51 couples expected next year. I appreciated the way Lok Samiti handled the event, ensuring everything was formalized on paper, which should help prevent dowry demands and ensure the brides’ security.

Research on death in Varanasi

Posted on by
4

A German girl named Sophia reached out to me on Couchsurfing, inquiring about Hindi classes in Varanasi. At the time, I had a tenant named Dave from the US who was learning Hindi with Professor Virendra Singh, so I introduced Sophia to him. Sophia was conducting anthropology research for the University of Berlin and was interested in the lives of people who come to Varanasi to die. I took her to a place where Sadhus come to spend their final days and translated the interview for her. Sophia was thrilled to understand the people, thanks to my translations.

She asked if I could work as her translator for the next few days. I was excited about the opportunity but was concerned about my prior commitment to Amanda, another student from Yale University, who was scheduled to visit Varanasi soon for research related to Coca-Cola. We agreed that I would work with Sophia first, and if Amanda arrived, I would assist her. We visited three monasteries: Machali Bandar Math, Mumukshu Bhavan, and Kashi Labh Mukti Bhavan. All these monasteries are for individuals who come to Varanasi to die, but they differ slightly in their focus.

Machali Bandar Math only permits Sadhus and Sanyasis, Mumukshu Bhavan accommodates both Sadhus and non-Sadhus, including families, and Kashi Mukti Bhavan is a short-stay place for the seriously ill. People at Kashi Mukti Bhavan do not stay long-term. During our visit to Mumukshu Bhavan, we encountered a woman who had been there for 30 years, waiting for her death. She had come to Varanasi with her husband, who died after two years, but she continued to wait. Despite her lengthy wait, she was cheerful and felt that dying in Varanasi was her ultimate wish. She prayed daily for her death to come in Varanasi, believing it was the best possible end.

We also visited two Aghor monasteries: Kina Ram and Bhagwan Avdhoot Ram Ashram. Sophia was particularly interested in the ash used by Aghoris. We learned that they use it for protection against diseases and other issues, believing its efficacy depends on faith. They carry the ash with them during travel to use daily, even when away from the monastery. At Kina Ram Monastery, there is a fire that has been burning continuously for hundreds of years. They use wood from cremation sites for this fire, a practice rooted in religious significance, though I didn’t fully understand why. Cremation sites hold great importance for Aghoris, who perform many rituals there, including special pujas during Diwali.

The second monastery, Bhagwan Avdhoot Ram Ashram, is listed in The Guinness Book of World Records for treating the highest number of leprosy patients. They operate an Ayurvedic hospital for leprosy, a school for street children, a library, a research center, and a press that publishes Aghora books. Founded in 1962 by Aghor guru Bhagwan Avdhoot Ram, the monastery also organizes group weddings to avoid the wastefulness of traditional ceremonies. Attending one of these weddings was enlightening, as Aghor followers’ philosophy differs from mainstream Hinduism, particularly in rejecting casteism.

I was surprised to see a Kshatriya serving as the priest, and when I asked, they explained that anyone who studies religion or Sanskrit can become a Brahmin. I was impressed by their inclusiveness. We also visited Mother Teresa’s home in Varanasi to interview people. The environment was warm and compassionate. Although run by Catholics, the institution allows residents to practice their own religions and provides both vegetarian and non-vegetarian meals. I admired the dedication of the nuns there.

We interviewed some Doams working at the cremation sites. They explained that babies, pregnant women, leprosy patients, Sadhus, and those bitten by snakes are not cremated but are instead immersed in the river. Doams often drink and smoke, and they even asked Sophia to buy them whiskey. They said that drinking helps them cope with the difficulties of their job, as cremating bodies is emotionally taxing. They also shared the belief behind why people come to Varanasi to die.

According to them, when Shiva left Varanasi, he made Vishnu promise to whisper the name of Ram into the ears of those dying in Varanasi. Hearing Ram’s name at the moment of death is believed to lead to liberation. They explained that although Shiva now resides on Kailash, Varanasi remains on his trident, reinforcing its significance. We finally visited Lali Baba, a notable Aghori baba. Sophia was eager to spend time alone at his monastery to observe his daily routine. She was thrilled to meet Lali Baba, remarking that despite his commercial nature, it was a worthwhile experience. I also found Lali Baba fascinating.

Soon after, Amanda arrived, and I had to switch my focus to work with her.

Stupid Coca-Cola manager

Posted on by
Reply

While working on a project related to Coca-Cola, we were passing by the Coke plant in Mehndiganj, Varanasi when we noticed a house right next to it. My researcher friend was keen on interviewing someone nearby, so she asked me to find people who might agree to an interview. As I got out of the taxi in front of the Coke plant, I noticed a few security guards at the plant gate. They observed me and then went inside the plant, though I initially didn’t think much of it.

I found an elderly man in the house who was willing to be interviewed, as he was facing significant difficulties. I called my friend, and as she approached, I saw the same security guards watching us from the roof of the plant. When they saw the white girl coming towards me, they quickly descended from the roof. I assumed they were simply curious about our activities. A few minutes later, a well-dressed man arrived with several security guards. He introduced himself as a regional manager from Amar Ujala, a leading Indian newspaper, and claimed to be researching the Coke issue for an upcoming article.

He showed me an ID card issued by Amar Ujala, which confirmed his affiliation. He expressed interest in collaborating with my friend and was thrilled to find another researcher working on the same topic. They exchanged contact details. Meanwhile, the interviewee was vocal about his grievances with Coca-Cola. He claimed that he had been a landlord before Coke’s arrival but had struggled to grow enough crops since the company’s operations began. The Amar Ujala representative, however, argued that Coke provided many local jobs, a point the interviewee disputed.

The representative then gave the interviewee a written note, advising him to take it to the Coke manager to help his unemployed son find a job, claiming the manager was his good friend. The interviewee was hopeful that this would secure employment for his son. After the interview, we left, and I contacted Mr. Nandlal Master to update him. To my shock, Mr. Nandlal Master revealed that the Amar Ujala representative was actually Coca-Cola’s area manager, Mr. Amit Sinha. He had previously worked for Amar Ujala but left a few months ago to join Coke. The ID card he showed was from his time at Amar Ujala, which he had not returned.

Later that evening, Mr. Sinha called my friend, asking to meet her the next day. He called again that night, and his behavior became increasingly inappropriate. He suggested she stay with him at his place, which she declined, preferring to meet in a public setting. Despite her refusal, he persisted with suggestive comments and invitations. When she mentioned she was married, he rudely suggested that her husband wouldn’t know, which prompted her to angrily hang up the phone. She was deeply disturbed by this encounter, an unexpected behavior from a Coca-Cola manager.

The incident led to significant pressure from everyone involved to lodge a formal complaint. My friend was reluctant due to concerns about her privacy and the potential for public exposure. Mr. Nandlal Master also reached out to Amar Ujala, who were also interested in pursuing a case against Mr. Sinha for misusing their name but needed a written complaint from my friend, which she was unwilling to provide. A few days later, we visited the Coke plant with special permission from Coke US. I confirmed Mr. Sinha’s employment with Coke, and the company made efforts to appease my friend, showing her their nearby rainwater harvesting sites.

However, these sites were not close to the plant, the nearest being about 8 kilometers away. In the days that followed, Mr. Sinha attempted to settle the issue by offering money through Mr. Nandlal Master, which was firmly rejected. The situation continued for over 15 days, with persistent pressure on me to convince my friend to file a complaint, but she refused. Eventually, she left India, hoping that Mr. Sinha would be held accountable in the future, although he remains Coca-Cola’s area manager to this day.

For privacy reasons, I have not disclosed her name in any related posts.

Conference on Coca-Cola, Mehdiganj, Varanasi

Posted on by
Reply

It was the last day of the conference (30/03/2008) and also a day of protest in Mehndiganj, and we aimed to cover it comprehensively. As we approached the conference venue, I noticed more than ten police officers stationed there. Recalling the 2006 protest videos where the police had harshly beaten protesters, I felt a bit apprehensive. However, I knew that with everything being covered on camera, the police were unlikely to repeat such actions, as they would be held accountable in court.

We were particularly interested in interviewing out-of-town participants. Amanda was keen on speaking with activists from Kaladera, Rajasthan, where another Coca-Cola plant has created similar problems as in Mehndiganj. We interviewed Mr. Kudi ji, a prominent activist leading the movement against Coca-Cola in Kaladera. He was a genuinely kind and honest individual. Mr. Kudi ji described the issues in Kaladera, explaining that the water quality, once excellent, had deteriorated significantly since Coca-Cola’s arrival. The water now had a sour taste and a foul smell.

He mentioned that the Tata Energy Research Institute (TERI) had also advised Coca-Cola to leave Kaladera. Accompanying Mr. Kudi ji were two other activists dressed in traditional Rajasthani turbans. I had heard a lot about the impressive length of Rajasthani turbans and was eager to see one for myself. I had heard they could be as long as 15 meters, so I asked them to show us their turbans. To my amazement, the turban of one of the activists measured 11 meters long. Both Amanda and I were astonished by the length.

After finishing our interview with Mr. Kudi ji, we spoke with a representative from a laboratory in Chandauli district. This lab had conducted research on Coca-Cola’s rainwater harvesting sites. The representative reported that several of these sites were not functioning properly, with many water filter systems being filled with bricks rather than the necessary components. He pointed out that Coca-Cola’s claims about balancing groundwater through rainwater harvesting seemed dubious, especially given the lack of rain in recent years. His perspective was that planting a significant number of trees might be a more effective way to address the rainfall deficit and improve water availability.

Mehdiganj Conference 29/03/08

Posted on by
Reply

On the 29th, we arrived in Mehndiganj around noon, brimming with excitement for Medha Patkar’s visit. To my surprise, the Regional Pollution Control Officer was giving a speech when we got there. This was shocking because he was known to be an opponent of Lok Samiti. I had interviewed him several times with other researchers, and he had always been quite rude. I distinctly remember him once angrily telling me not to return to his office. Yet, here he was, delivering a speech in support of Lok Samiti, claiming, “I am here because I care about the environment, and I am thrilled to see others who share this concern.

Although I am usually very busy, I couldn’t resist coming when Nandlal invited me.” I was skeptical and believed his words were insincere. I asked Nandlal how he managed to get the officer to attend. Nandlal explained that he initially refused, but Nandlal threatened him with unspecified consequences if he didn’t show up. It was rather amusing. During this time, Medha Patkar arrived at the conference and took a seat next to me. Her attire was simple, yet dignified. The Regional Pollution Control Officer, eager to meet her, arranged through Nandlal to make his introduction.

Upon meeting Patkar, he touched her feet in a gesture of respect. Patkar inquired about the water and pollution conditions in Mehndiganj. The officer stated, “The water level in Mehndiganj is decreasing.” When Patkar asked why, he attributed it to “less rain.” Patkar then questioned whether Coca-Cola was contributing to the problem, to which the officer responded with a firm “NO.” Hearing this was quite amusing, as it was widely known that the lack of rain was a major issue, but Coca-Cola’s activities were also a significant factor. While rain was beyond control, Coca-Cola’s impact was not.

As Patkar spoke with him, other social activists joined in, questioning the officer about pollution levels. He was visibly sweating and appeared overwhelmed, like a goat surrounded by lions. The officer had brought some official documents, including a letter from Coca-Cola to the State Pollution Control Board in Lucknow, requesting the renewal of their waste disposal license. This letter was dated July of the previous year. The officer claimed that the government had not yet renewed the license. This revelation sparked outrage among the social activists, as Coca-Cola was not supposed to operate without a valid license.

Despite operating multiple times since July, Coca-Cola had not been penalized. The activists demanded a copy of the document, but the officer was reluctant to provide it. Nandlal managed to get a xerox copy while I also obtained copies of the documents. The officer extended an invitation to Nandlal and the social workers to his office in Varanasi for further discussion and promised to assist them as much as possible. However, I remained doubtful of his willingness to genuinely support their cause. After the officer left, we went for lunch. Post-lunch, it was Medha Patkar’s turn to speak. She was impressive—strong, pragmatic, and able to command attention.

Her speech was captivating, and she discussed the issues not only in Mehndiganj but also in other states. She criticized not just harmful companies but also government policies. She shared a concerning story from Chhattisgarh, where the state government had sold a section of a river to a private bottling company. The company had cordoned off the river with ropes and put up a sign declaring it their property, forbidding individuals from using the water without permission. This had created significant problems for the local population, and Patkar continued to fight against this issue.

The 29th was an extraordinary day in Mehndiganj. We witnessed Medha Patkar’s powerful address, saw the Regional Pollution Control Officer struggling under scrutiny, and Amanda had productive conversations with Sandeep Pandey, Medha Patkar, and Amit Srivastava. It was a memorable and impactful day.