Category Archives: Civil rights

Caste system in India

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Casteism in Modern India: A Personal Reflection

Casteism has always been a big issue in India. Originally, the caste system was designed as a way to organize society, based on profession rather than birth. It wasn’t meant to divide people permanently. In fact, in the past, caste was flexible — if someone changed their profession, their caste also changed. But over time, people with power altered the system for their own benefit, and now a person’s caste is decided entirely by the caste of their parents. Once you are born a Brahmin, you remain a Brahmin forever, no matter your work or life choices.

Traditionally, different castes had specific roles: Kshatriyas were warriors and rulers, Brahmins were scholars and priests, Vaishyas were traders, and Shudras worked in service professions and farming. In the earliest system, this arrangement was functional and not necessarily oppressive. But the distortion began when kings and higher-caste elites realized that if their children chose different professions, they could lose their social power. To protect their dominance, they declared that caste would be hereditary — fixed by birth. This was the beginning of the rigid, unequal caste hierarchy that continues today.

I was born a Brahmin, but my profession is completely different. By the original rules, I should not be treated as a Brahmin at all — yet society still labels me that way. Honestly, it doesn’t offend me; in fact, I sometimes enjoy the benefits of belonging to a higher caste. But when I think of those born into lower castes, I feel disturbed. Even today, many people who have transformed their lives through education or good jobs are still judged by their caste rather than their achievements.

The reality is harsh: wealth can often protect lower-caste individuals from discrimination, but poverty leaves them exposed to the worst of caste-based cruelty. For example, the former Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, a Dalit woman, rose to power and commanded respect from people who would never dare to mistreat her publicly. Yet at the village level, Dalits still face exclusion from public services, discrimination in schools, and social humiliation.

One group I learned about deeply is the Doam community, whose traditional role is helping with cremations. I worked with them three years ago and saw firsthand how badly they are treated. They are considered “untouchable” in society — denied access to common wells, pumps, and even schools. Nobody will accept food or water touched by them. But when I studied Hindu traditions more closely, I realized this stigma is a complete distortion. Hinduism does describe temporary ritual impurity — for example, anyone who attends a funeral becomes untouchable until they bathe. I have experienced this myself many times. But by that logic, Doms should only be untouchable while performing cremation duties — not permanently. Society has twisted this practice into something cruel and irrational.

The cruelty sometimes reaches shocking levels. On 24 September 2010, I read an article in Amar Ujala about a Dalit woman who offered a roti to a dog. The dog’s owner, a Yadav man, became furious and declared his dog “untouchable” because it had eaten food from a Dalit’s hand. A Panchayat meeting was called, and unbelievably, they ruled that the woman had to take ownership of the dog and pay a fine of ₹15,000 to the owner. How could a poor woman afford that? And how could a Panchayat — a government-recognized body with legal power — make such a decision in the first place?

Even worse, when the woman went to file a complaint at the police station, the officers refused to register it and instead scolded her for feeding the dog. She went to the DIG and again her complaint was ignored. Only when she approached the SC/ST DSP office was the case registered — and I am almost certain no real action will be taken. At best, they might hush it up because the media got involved.

Incidents like this shake me. Are we really living in the 21st century India we are so proud of? Is this the same India we call the world’s fastest-growing economy, a rising superpower? Is this the same land of Lord Rama, who lovingly ate food offered by Sabari, a woman from an “untouchable” caste, or bowed to a boatman from a so-called lower community?

Sometimes, it feels like we are stuck in two worlds — one that dreams of becoming a global power, and another that refuses to let go of ancient prejudices.

Times of India also reported this news.

Scanned article of Amar Ujala Hindi newspaper. 24/09/10

Pending cases at Indian Judicial courts

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The Never-Ending Wait in Indian Courts

Many Indians often talk about our lazy and corrupt court system — and I count myself among them. Personally, I hate getting involved in any kind of court activity. Sadly, it is not just a feeling; the numbers prove it. India has the highest number of pending legal cases in the world — more than 30 million cases are stuck in our courts. To make things worse, the average time to resolve a case is about 15 years, and sometimes even longer.

Think about it: a generation can pass before a verdict comes. Families break apart, people die waiting for justice, and in the end, the judgment often doesn’t serve much purpose because the damage is already done. The saying “Justice delayed is justice denied” could not be truer than in India. Many poor people simply give up because they cannot afford the endless lawyer fees and court dates. And for those who keep fighting, the system itself drains them — emotionally, financially, and mentally.

Recently, my friend Ravi, who completed his law degree and is now a registered lawyer, sent me a poem about Indian courts. The poem describes exactly what happens in our system — the endless adjournments, the clerks, the long queues, the confusion — and ultimately warns that one should do anything, absolutely anything, but never go to court.

I believe this is true. The poem was written by Mr. Kailash Gautam from Allahabad, and Ravi, as a lawyer himself, resonates deeply with its message. Even those who are supposed to work within the system admit that it is broken. Until we fix the root problems — lack of judges, corruption, outdated processes — justice will remain a dream for millions of Indians.

भले डांट घर में तू बीबी की खाना, भले जैसे -तैसे गिरस्ती चलाना
भले जा के जंगल में धूनी रमाना,मगर मेरे बेटे कचहरी न जाना
कचहरी न जाना- कचहरी न जाना.
कचहरी हमारी तुम्हारी नहीं है,कहीं से कोई रिश्तेदारी नहीं है
अहलमद से भी कोरी यारी नहीं है, तिवारी था पहले तिवारी नहीं है
कचहरी की महिमा निराली है बेटे, कचहरी वकीलों की थाली है बेटे
पुलिस के लिए छोटी साली है बेटे, यहाँ पैरवी अब दलाली है बेटे
कचहरी ही गुंडों की खेती है बेटे, यही जिन्दगी उनको देती है बेटे
खुले आम कातिल यहाँ घूमते हैं, सिपाही दरोगा चरण चुमतें है
कचहरी में सच की बड़ी दुर्दशा है, भला आदमी किस तरह से फंसा है
यहाँ झूठ की ही कमाई है बेटे, यहाँ झूठ का रेट हाई है बेटे
कचहरी का मारा कचहरी में भागे, कचहरी में सोये कचहरी में जागे
मर जी रहा है गवाही में ऐसे, है तांबे का हंडा सुराही में जैसे
लगाते-बुझाते सिखाते मिलेंगे, हथेली पे सरसों उगाते मिलेंगे
कचहरी तो बेवा का तन देखती है, कहाँ से खुलेगा बटन देखती है
कचहरी शरीफों की खातिर नहीं है, उसी की कसम लो जो हाज़िर नहीं है
है बासी मुहं घर से बुलाती कचहरी, बुलाकर के दिन भर रुलाती कचहरी
मुकदमें की फाइल दबाती कचहरी, हमेशा नया गुल खिलाती कचहरी
कचहरी का पानी जहर से भरा है, कचहरी के नल पर मुवक्किल मरा है
मुकदमा बहुत पैसा खाता है बेटे, मेरे जैसा कैसे निभाता है बेटे
दलालों नें घेरा सुझाया -बुझाया, वकीलों नें हाकिम से सटकर दिखाया
धनुष हो गया हूँ मैं टूटा नहीं हूँ, मैं मुट्ठी हूँ केवल अंगूंठा नहीं हूँ
नहीं कर सका मैं मुकदमें का सौदा, जहाँ था करौदा वहीं है करौदा
कचहरी का पानी कचहरी का दाना, तुम्हे लग न जाये तू बचना बचाना
भले और कोई मुसीबत बुलाना, कचहरी की नौबत कभी घर न लाना
कभी भूल कर भी न आँखें उठाना, न आँखें उठाना न गर्दन फसाना
जहाँ पांडवों को नरक है कचहरी, वहीं कौरवों को सरग है कचहरी ||

 

Quran Burning in United States

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Quran burning has been in the news worldwide lately, and I was genuinely concerned about the potential consequences. I strongly oppose such acts. While I recognize that there are serious issues within the Quran, including instructions that promote violence against non-believers, these cannot be tolerated in a civilized society. Instead of burning the book, I believe people should engage in open debates and discussions. If anything is found to be problematic, it should be either removed or the book should be banned altogether. Burning it will not lead to any positive outcomes. Anyway, I came across a hilarious remix video about the issue that relieved my tension and brought me some joy. 🙂

Women in Nepal and India

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I noticed that there were more working women in Nepal than in India. Most of the shops were run by women, and Nepali women seemed to be in better condition than Indian women. Nepal appeared to be more progressive in terms of women’s rights compared to India. Women were traveling alone, going to offices, running shops, and even driving auto rickshaws. They seemed more friendly with men, which looked really cool to me. I was happy to see it. I saw many alcohol shops run by women. I had never seen anything like that anywhere in India. Once, I came across an alcohol shop with a woman owner, and I decided to talk to her. I began by asking about the alcohol, and once we became friendly, I asked her about her life.

I asked her if she felt safe sitting alone at an alcohol shop and dealing with male customers who might be drunk. She told me that managing the business was just like any other male member of her family managing a business; there was no difference, so it wasn’t a problem for her. I inquired whether people in society minded women working at alcohol shops, and she said that Nepali society is very progressive regarding equal rights for women. When I asked if she had ever been to India, she replied that she had never visited but had seen India on TV. In reality, she didn’t seem excited about visiting India.

I told her that it was nearly impossible to find women selling alcohol in India and that there was a lower percentage of working women there. She said she was very well aware of the situation for women in India. She mentioned that many Indian families live in Nepal and do not allow their women to work. When I asked her what Nepali people thought of this situation, she candidly said that they think Indians are backward. I was surprised to hear this, but it is true that we are much more backward than Nepal in terms of women’s rights and equality.

The nature in Nepal was stunning. One could easily see that it is still untouched. There were beautiful thick jungles, clear rivers, fewer industries, fewer people, less traffic, and many mountains—it was just amazing. I really enjoyed the natural beauty in Nepal. I also noticed that I saw only five large factories during my entire bus ride from Sonauli to Kathmandu. In fact, two of them were Indian factories, which is nice because it means less pollution. However, this also means fewer jobs and more poverty.

Poverty in Nepal was striking. There were so many family houses along the Sonauli-Kathmandu highway, and I saw people just sitting or talking, seemingly without any work. I had never seen so many young people just hanging around and passing time. Many kids were selling water bottles and snacks on the road. Nepal has been suffering from political instability for years, which seems to be the main reason for the poverty. I don’t know if there are other reasons, but Nepalis do not seem happy with their political system.

Finally, we arrived in Kathmandu by 8 PM, and it was still raining. I had read about a neighborhood called Thamel, which is full of hotels. I wanted to stay there. I asked Babu to ask some locals for directions, but he said Nepali people are often not helpful and might not give the right directions. He suggested that I go to any shop run by an Indian and ask for directions to Thamel. We went to a paan shop, bought a few things, and fortunately, the owner was kind enough to give us the correct directions. It took us about 10 minutes of walking, and after asking a few more people, we finally arrived.

We reached Thamel, which was bustling with hotels; in fact, it is the most popular neighborhood in Nepal for backpackers. We checked several hotels, but their prices seemed too steep. Babu mentioned that we could easily find a hotel room for 500 NR, but none of them wanted to charge us less than 1000 NR. Eventually, we found a place called Annapurna Hotel, where they initially wanted to charge us 800 NR per night. I told them that I was a government-approved tour guide in India and usually receive discounts. They agreed to give me a room for 500 NR.

The hotel seemed nice at first, but later we realized that the pillow covers and bed sheets were used, the cable connection wasn’t working properly, and the telephone was dead. We complained and were promised that everything would be fixed by the next morning, but that morning never came before we left. In any case, I wasn’t there to enjoy luxury, watch TV, or make phone calls, so I didn’t mind too much. We went out for dinner, but most of the shops were closed by 8:30 PM. We finally found an open restaurant and had our dinner there.

I had read several articles about nightlife in Nepal, including dance bars and massage centers. Many articles claimed that the nightlife was safe, while others described it as crazy and dangerous. Several articles mentioned how people spent a few hours at a nightclub, had a few beers and dinner, and ended up paying Rs. 40,000-50,000 for misbehavior. Some articles talked about how 14-15-year-olds are involved in the sex industry and work as pimps. I was curious about what was going on and decided we should visit at least one nightclub while in Kathmandu.

While wandering in Thamel, I noticed many massage parlors. As we passed one shop with a sign for massage services, I pointed it out to Babu. Suddenly, a boy who looked about 15 approached me and asked what I was looking at. I told him I was just observing the advertisements, but he insisted I was looking for something else, something special. I assured him I was just browsing. He asked again if I needed a special service, and I replied that I did not.

We walked away, but the boy kept following us, asking if we needed a girl. He offered young, beautiful girls at very low prices. He wasn’t alone; there were many pimps around watching tourists. Nevertheless, I managed to return to my hotel safely. The next day, we worked for a while, explored, and did some shopping. It was a nice experience, although I really missed vegetarian Indian food since it seemed to be meat everywhere. On the plus side, drinks were readily available, so I enjoyed trying different kinds of alcohol.

I wanted to use an ATM in Kathmandu but was concerned about international transaction fees. However, Babu informed me that a few Indian banks, like the State Bank of India and Punjab National Bank, have ATMs in Kathmandu. I found a State Bank of India ATM near Darbar Square, used it, and didn’t pay any transaction fees. I would recommend anyone with an Indian bank card to look for Indian bank ATMs in Kathmandu. Phone calls to India were also very cheap; I paid only Rs. 1 per minute.

Since we were interested in visiting a nightclub in Kathmandu, we gathered information online. Fortunately, I met a guy at the NGO where I was supposed to work who was a male prostitute. Who could provide better information about nightlife than him? I asked him about it, and he advised against visiting nightclubs in Kathmandu, stating they are not safe for tourists. He echoed what I had read online, so we decided not to visit any nightclubs.

We visited a few temples, markets, and participated in Kathmandu Gay Pride. Eventually, my time in Kathmandu came to an end, and we needed to head home. Babu informed me that there were overnight buses from Kathmandu to Sonauli until 10 PM. We arrived at the bus station around 8 PM, but all the buses had already left. They told us the last bus was at 7 PM. So we had dinner, stayed at a hotel near the bus station, and took an early morning bus to Sonauli, followed by another bus from Sonauli to Varanasi. It was a successful journey full of learning, and I plan to return to Kathmandu sometime for a longer stay.

Kolkata Gay Pride 2010

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Beginning of the Parade

I had the opportunity to attend Kolkata Gay Pride on the 2nd of July. I arrived in Kolkata on the 1st, after attending Chennai Pride and spending a few days in Bangalore. My friend Sourendra from Mumbai introduced me to Mr. Rajshree Chakrobarty, Secretary of the Dum Dum Society and one of the organizers of Kolkata Pride. I knew that Kolkata was the first city in India to host a pride march, so I expected it to be the biggest one this year as well. But when I reached the parade venue, I was shocked to see that there were hardly 50 people present.

Begining of the parade

Mr. Chakrobarty Explains

Before I could even ask, Mr. Chakrobarty told me why the turnout was so low. He explained that most of the organizations working on gay rights in Kolkata had boycotted the parade due to internal politics. As a result, only the Dum Dum Society and another group called Anandam organized the event this year. I was surprised to hear this but also glad that at least someone took the initiative to keep the parade alive.

Mr. Chakrobarty

The Parade

The parade began at Jatin Das Park near Hazra Crossing and ended at the Academy of Fine Arts. It started with around 40–50 participants but was lively and full of energy. Having attended several pride parades in India over the past year, I found Kolkata’s to be the most liberal and open. Nobody wore masks to hide their identity. An auto rickshaw with loudspeakers led the march while participants sang songs about human rights, equality, and gender justice. They also distributed pamphlets about LGBT rights.

Good message

Growing Numbers

It rained for most of the march, but that didn’t stop people from joining. By the time we reached the Academy of Fine Arts, the crowd had grown to over 100 participants. The most inspiring moment for me was seeing so many young lesbian couples join towards the end. I had never seen so many lesbians at a pride event in India—not in Mumbai, Delhi, or Chennai. What struck me most was their age: they were very young, unlike the older women I had usually seen. These young women knew their families would find out if they marched publicly, but they still chose to participate. That level of openness and courage really impressed me.

Very colorful event

Speeches and Performances

At the Academy, the parade concluded with speeches by Mr. Ranjeet Sinha, Mr. Rajshree Chakrobarty, and other social activists. Later, I joined Mr. Chakrobarty for a cultural program organized by Saathi, which provided a platform for the LGBT community to showcase their talents. The program included dance performances, fashion shows featuring designs created by LGBT members, and traditional Kolkata songs. I was amazed by the quality of the performances. The municipality chairman attended as the chief guest, and the event drew a crowd of nearly 500 people—much larger than the parade itself.

Cultural dance performance

Learning from Kolkata

During my time there, I interviewed Mr. Chakrobarty, Mr. Ranjeet Sinha, and several others from the community. Mr. Chakrobarty told me that gay activism in Kolkata began as early as 1989, making it one of the first cities in India to do so. Today, there are about six or seven organizations working on LGBT rights in the city. He explained that conditions for LGBT people in the city are better than in suburban or rural areas, largely due to greater media presence and more active organizations. However, compared to Mumbai and Delhi, life in Kolkata is still more difficult, as it is the poorest metropolitan city in India.

the most important message

Discrimination and Social Challenges

Mr. Chakrobarty also pointed out that transgender people face the harshest discrimination because their identities are more visible. He emphasized that while all LGBT individuals face discrimination, trans people often bear the brunt of it. We also discussed the common misconception in India that homosexuality is a disease or a temporary fashion—something that can be “cured” by marriage or yoga, as suggested by figures like Baba Ramdev. Like others I have interviewed, he firmly said this is impossible: sexuality cannot be changed. Many gay men marry under family pressure but continue same-sex relationships, proving that marriage is not a solution.

She was very active

He also reminded me that homosexuality has always existed in Indian culture, citing references in Hindu scriptures, temple carvings, and even stories from the Ramayana. He noted that Section 377 was a colonial law imposed by the British, and that the Delhi High Court’s judgment to strike it down was a step toward justice.

Meeting Mr. Ranjeet Sinha

I also had the privilege of meeting Mr. Ranjeet Sinha, a transgender activist working in Kolkata and surrounding districts. He shared the struggles trans people face, including the lack of recognition in official documents like passports and voter IDs. He spoke about the humiliation trans people often face in public toilets and demanded separate facilities. He also told me about a transgender activist friend with AIDS who was forced by doctors to dress as a man before being admitted to the hospital. Mr. Sinha criticized NGOs for focusing solely on HIV/AIDS and neglecting broader issues affecting the transgender community. He praised South Indian states, especially Chennai, for making more progress on transgender rights.

Good slogan

Final Thoughts

Kolkata Pride may have been smaller this year, but it taught me so much. I was deeply inspired by the courage of the young participants, the dedication of people like Mr. Chakrobarty and Mr. Sinha, and the resilience of the community despite internal challenges. I sincerely hope that next year, all organizations will put aside their differences and come together to make Kolkata Pride as strong and vibrant as it deserves to be—a true celebration of equal rights for all.

He had a lot of fun

Chennai Gay Pride 2010

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Chennai Gay Pride – June 27

It was Chennai Gay Pride yesterday, on the 27th of June, and I went to attend the festival. The event wasn’t as large as I had expected, but it was still significant enough to attract attention from the local community and raise awareness about LGBTQ+ issues. I was expecting at least 1,000–2,000 participants, but the turnout was closer to 400–500. The parade began near the Labor Statue at Marina Beach at 5 PM and lasted for over an hour. It was organized with the support of several organizations working for LGBTQ+ rights in Chennai, with Shakti Center being one of the most prominent names involved.

Foreign participants

The Parade Atmosphere

The participants seemed genuinely happy and energetic, especially those from the LGBTQ+ community. Unlike the Delhi and Mumbai Pride parades, which had loud music and people dancing, Chennai Pride didn’t feature music. Still, participants sang songs in Tamil (which I couldn’t understand), laughed, danced, and hugged each other with joy. I noticed that there were fewer lesbian couples compared to Delhi and Mumbai, and overall the atmosphere felt a little less open. In Delhi and Mumbai, many participants walked hand in hand with their partners, making their relationships visible. In Chennai, however, most people seemed more reserved, perhaps reflecting the city’s more conservative, religious outlook.

People from the organizing committee

Conversations with Organizers

I spoke with one of the organizers who told me that last year’s parade had more people, but many were outside supporters. This year, though the crowd was smaller, more members of the community itself participated—which he considered an important step forward. Since the parade took place at Marina Beach, a popular weekend spot, thousands of locals watched. I handed out pamphlets and masks to curious onlookers. Interestingly, the use of masks was much higher here compared to Delhi and Mumbai. Some participants even wore two or three masks at once to completely cover their faces. When I asked them why, they explained that Chennai is still very conservative, and they didn’t want to risk being recognized.

There were families also

Attitudes and Challenges

Many participants expressed concern about how society perceives them. Some said, “If people see us in the parade, they’ll think we’re gay too.” This showed how stigma and fear of judgment still run deep here. I also spoke to Mr. Annirudhan Vasudevan, one of the parade organizers. He admitted that while the Delhi High Court’s decision to decriminalize same-sex relations had brought some change, it wasn’t enough to transform society. He said, “At least people are talking about it now. They know that something called the LGBTQ community exists and that we too have rights.”

I also think so

Annirudhan stressed that discrimination is widespread across India, and the community needs legal protection, medical care, and equal rights. He also highlighted the tragic case of Prof. Srinivas Siras from Aligarh Muslim University, who was suspended after being filmed in a private moment with a same-sex partner. The humiliation pushed him to take his own life, despite homosexuality being legal. This conversation made me realize how much more progress is needed—not just in laws, but in changing public attitudes.

Mr. Annirudh

The Pride Party

The night before the parade, there was a party at a four-star boutique hotel, Le Waterina, at Kotivakkam Beach. It was the most expensive Pride party I’d attended in India. Entry in Delhi was free, and in Mumbai it was ₹500 with reasonably priced drinks. In Chennai, the entry was ₹500, but drinks were very costly. At the party, I met locals who didn’t even know about the parade but had been invited to the event via SMS. Some hesitated to talk about the parade, reflecting again how cautious people are about revealing their identity. Still, I saw many of them at the parade the next day. One highlight of the party was a male go-go dancer—a first for me. Dressed in shorts and later removing his T-shirt, he performed for over an hour, and the crowd went wild. His presence added a new level of excitement to the celebration.

Go-Go dancer at teh party

Final Thoughts

Despite the challenges, I was glad to be part of Chennai Pride. The event showed both the struggles and the resilience of the community here. I hope that with time, Chennai Pride will grow larger, attract more supporters, and become more open—just like in Delhi and Mumbai. One thing is clear: LGBTQ+ rights will not advance without support from allies. It is our responsibility, as straight people, to stand with the community and help create a more equal world.

My friends and I

More Pics:

https://photos.app.goo.gl/wHjjzmTWsTcVn2xVA

Coca-Cola Varanasi

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I worked with a journalist named Bart Spellers from the Netherlands, who was writing an article about the Coca-Cola controversy in India. He wanted to visit the disputed Coke sites across the country, including Mehdiganj near Varanasi. I assisted him in Varanasi as his local guide and translator. I was also eager for an opportunity to visit Mehdiganj again and speak directly with the people affected by Coca-Cola’s presence, so I was glad to take this job. I accompanied Bart to Mehdiganj and arranged interviews with Nandlal Master, a few plant employees, the union leader, several women, and local farmers.

Bart wasn’t interested in conducting too many interviews—he preferred speaking to a smaller group of the right people, since he had limited time in Varanasi. I was honestly surprised to learn how little time he had allocated for this work. Given that his article was on such a controversial subject, I felt he should have spent more time in Benares to gain a deeper understanding. Still, I think he did a good job overall, because he focused on meaningful conversations with key voices.

Although I was already familiar with the issue, I was still taken aback when I spoke with the people of Mehdiganj. I had hoped the situation might have improved over the past few years, but I quickly realized it was just as bad as when I first visited four years ago. The anger against Coca-Cola and the government was still intense. Residents told us that Coca-Cola was directly responsible for the depletion of groundwater in the area, while the government continued to turn a blind eye.

They said the situation had been deteriorating year by year. Last year, rainfall was below average, yet Coca-Cola’s market share in India had grown—naturally putting even more pressure on already scarce groundwater. Nandlal Master explained that a committee formed by the Prime Minister’s Office had completed a study of the issue and submitted its report, but the findings had not been made public. This seemed strange to me.

Why not release the report if the study is already finished? According to Nandlal, he had filed an RTI request to obtain a copy. The concerned department replied that the district magistrate had been instructed to provide him with the report. That is fine, but it still raises questions: why hide it in the first place? Why wasn’t the media informed? This silence from both the government and Coca-Cola only adds to the suspicion surrounding the issue.

For now, nothing has changed. People continue to struggle, and we are left with unanswered questions. Hopefully, one day, transparency and accountability will prevail—but when, no one can say.

Finally, Bart’s article was published here:
Coca-Cola zuigt de grond leeg

Menstrual cycle

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I recently learned something really interesting — the religious idea behind women having their menstrual cycle. I started exploring it because I often hear people say that women are considered “impure” during this time, and there are so many unusual beliefs associated with it. The religious explanation I found has a fascinating story, and although I’m not sure I believe it, I thought it was worth sharing here.

Two Incidents That Made Me Curious

A few weeks ago, two things happened that made me think more deeply about this subject.

The first was about an old Neem tree in my neighborhood that died. I was very sad about it, as it was the only tree in the entire area. While talking about it with friends, one of them told me something shocking: he said a girl whose menstrual cycle was going on had touched the tree, and that was what killed it. I asked him how that could be possible, and he replied that since women are considered extremely impure during their periods, if they touch a plant, it dies.

The second incident happened when I went to an ashram with a girl I was working with. The ashram was run entirely by women, and we went there to schedule interviews. They asked us to return the next day, but as we were leaving, one of the women suddenly asked my colleague if she was on her menstrual cycle. Coincidentally, she was, so she said yes. Immediately, the woman told her not to come back until her cycle was over.

This upset my colleague, and she told me that now she would have to bathe because she had spoken to and touched someone on her period. I found this perspective very strange and didn’t know what to say. Later, I discussed it with a well-educated woman who had deep knowledge of Hinduism, and she shared a story that really caught my attention.

The Story of Indra and the Sin

She explained that once Lord Indra, the king of the gods, committed the grave sin of killing two Brahmins. Because of this sin, Indra lost all of his divine powers. To hide himself, he went into a river and stayed underwater. His guru, Brihaspati, searched for him, eventually found him, and asked why he was hiding. Indra explained everything and begged for a way to be freed from his sin.

Brihaspati told him the only way was to share his sin with others. Indra approached many beings, but none agreed — until finally, four did: a mountain, a tree, a river, and women. Since they accepted part of Indra’s sin, all four were cursed to experience cycles of impurity.

  • Mountains: Parts of them turn reddish once a year, said to symbolize their cycle.

  • Trees: Some trees release a sticky gum or resin at certain times, representing their cycle. This resin is even used in foods for pregnant women.

  • Rivers: Every year, for two months, rivers foam heavily and their currents become stronger. This is considered their cycle, and bathing in rivers during this time is prohibited in Hinduism — except for the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati, which are always pure.

  • Women: Their menstrual cycle is seen as the same curse, which is why they are traditionally considered impure for a few days each month.

Traditions Still Followed

Even today, many families in India follow certain rules during women’s menstrual cycles. Women may not enter the kitchen, touch elders, or sleep on the bed with their husbands. Some do not bathe for the first three days. Among Marwari families, the customs are stricter — women are kept in a separate room and may not come out until the fourth day, after bathing. The utensils they use are purified by passing them through fire, as fire is considered the purest element in Hinduism. Only then are the utensils allowed back in the kitchen.

The woman I spoke with said women should respect these rules and avoid going out or doing heavy physical work during this time. She even criticized modern sanitary pad advertisements for encouraging women to work and play sports during periods. When I asked what happens to women who cannot take leave every month, she paused and said that these rules were made thousands of years ago, when sanitary products did not exist, and working during periods was much harder. She agreed that today, since many women cannot stop working, they should continue — but avoid strenuous labor like lifting weights, jumping, or playing physically demanding sports.

She also said that science supports the idea of rest during menstruation, and that women should treat these days as “God-gifted vacations” every month. But I wondered — how can someone enjoy a vacation if they are not even allowed to leave their room or speak to others? Her final point was that if women do not respect these rules, they may face illness later in life.

My Reflection

I don’t know how much truth there is in these stories, but I find it fascinating that such explanations exist in Hindu texts written thousands of years ago. The imagination and storytelling ability of those writers was truly extraordinary. Whether one believes in them or not, I can’t help but admire their creativity. Hats off to the writers of our sacred texts!

Widows in Vrindavan

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I worked again with Irene, a graduate student from Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, whose research topic was Hindu widows. I had already assisted her in October 2009 in Varanasi, but this time she wanted to visit Vrindavan. She had heard a lot about the widows from Bengal who live there, and about the city’s importance for Hindu widows. Since I did not know much about Vrindavan myself, I contacted my friend Yashu, who lives there, and he kindly promised to help. In fact, he arranged everything for us — hotel, food, and even many interviews.

Irene had already heard about the Bhajan Ashrams (ashrams where chanting sessions are organized) and wanted to visit them to see if it was possible to interview the women there. I had also heard about widows working in these ashrams, but I had no idea how many there were or how large they could be. To my surprise, there seemed to be at least one in every alley, and some were extremely large, housing three to four thousand widows under the same roof. These ashrams are generally run by wealthy religious people. Each widow who chants for three hours receives Rs. 2, along with a small portion of rice and lentils.

The ashrams usually run two or three shifts a day — the first beginning around 8:00 a.m. and the last ending around 6:00 p.m. However, not just any widow can join. They must first register with the ashram, after which their chanting time is scheduled. There are thousands of widows in Vrindavan, most of them — over 90% — from Bengal. Many do not speak Hindi. Some live in government ashrams, some in private ones, some rent small rooms, while others sleep on the streets or along the Yamuna River. Over 95% make a living by working in Bhajan Ashrams and begging. Most widows chant during the day and then beg in the mornings and evenings, when pilgrims are on their way to temples.

Vrindavan, known as the “city of temples,” has nearly 5,000 temples and is considered one of Hinduism’s holiest places. Each year, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims visit. Because of the religious devotion of visitors, donations are common — which makes Vrindavan an unfortunate hub for begging. It was painful to see how many widows depended on it for survival. When we asked the widows why they chose Vrindavan instead of other sacred cities like Varanasi or Haridwar, most said that Vrindavan is particularly popular among Bengalis. However, few knew the reason behind this. One non-widow woman shared a fascinating story:

She said that long ago, two brothers worked as cashiers in a king’s palace. One day, while busy with their work, they ordered water with sugar. By mistake, the servant mixed salt instead of sugar. The brothers drank it without noticing, so absorbed were they in their work. When the servant confessed his mistake, they were astonished that they hadn’t realized the difference. This made them reflect: If they could be so devoted to their worldly duty, why not apply the same devotion to God?

The brothers abandoned material life and came to Vrindavan, then a forest, to meditate. Their devotion was so powerful that even the king came to meet them. When he offered them any reward, they only asked him to repair the broken stones at the ghat where they meditated. To the king’s shock, the ghat was made of precious stones that were rarer than anything in his own palace. Realizing their spiritual greatness, the king then offered them as much land as their eyes could see from one spot — and that land became Vrindavan. This, people say, is why Vrindavan is so popular among Bengalis.

Despite Irene’s efforts, we managed to interview only about ten women. Most did not speak Hindi, which limited communication. We also visited two government-run widow ashrams: one by the central government and one by the state of Uttar Pradesh. The central government ashram was more organized, a new building with 500–600 rooms and about 2,700 widows living there. At first, a government helper allowed us to sit and talk with the women. But soon, another official stopped us, insisting we needed permission from the district magistrate. A similar thing happened at the largest Bhajan Ashram. Finally, when we reached the state-run ashram, a kind security guard let us conduct interviews discreetly. He warned us not to let the officers find out, explaining that both officers there were corrupt.

According to him, officers steal from the widows’ pensions. They first demand Rs. 300 from each widow to issue a pension registration card, which is supposed to be free. Then they claim the pension takes a year to start, when in fact it begins within days. This way, they pocket the widows’ entire first-year pension. Even afterward, they keep half of the monthly pension for themselves. With about 300 widows in the ashram, he estimated that they steal around Rs. 90,000 every month, while also bribing higher officials to remain silent. I was shocked and saddened to hear this. How could anyone exploit poor widows who survive on Rs. 2 and a handful of grains?

It also explained why officials at the central ashram had tried to stop us from interviewing women — they didn’t want their corruption exposed. Because of these obstacles, we shifted focus to interviewing widows who lived independently. Many shared heartbreaking stories. Most were married very young, lost their husbands early, were denied education, and eventually came to Vrindavan. Some left home because their own children neglected them. A few Bengali women told us they stay in Vrindavan for 11 months, save money and grains, and then return home briefly to give everything to their children.

We also noticed cultural differences. Many Bengali widows did not strongly believe that widowhood was punishment for sins in past lives, while most North Indian widows did. Curiously, although North Indians often say Bengal discriminates most against widows, the Bengali women we spoke with did not feel this way. Perhaps, sadly, they have normalized discrimination to the point where they no longer recognize it as injustice. We asked about widow remarriage. Interestingly, older widows (around 70) supported remarriage, while younger widows (40–50) believed it was a sin. Younger widows felt that widowhood was divine punishment, and if they tried to escape it by remarrying, they would be punished further — even becoming widows again in the next life. Perhaps older widows, having faced loneliness, understood the value of companionship more deeply.

Later, we spoke with a Sanskrit scholar and katha speaker to learn what Hindu texts say about widowhood. She explained that scriptures list several causes for widowhood: disrupting another couple’s marriage, engaging in extramarital relationships, or even physical relations during the menstrual cycle. She insisted these rules applied equally to men and women. Interestingly, this also suggests that love marriages were accepted in Hinduism, since forcing someone into an unwanted marriage is condemned.

After spending time in Vrindavan and Varanasi, I reached one strong conclusion: widows who stay with their families and find some work, however small, live far happier lives than those who depend on ashrams or begging. The situation in ashrams is tragic, worsened by corruption and lack of accountability. In my view, the only real solution is education. If women are educated and skilled, they can seek employment, support themselves, and live with dignity. The question is: when will the Indian government finally take women’s education seriously?

Driving License in India

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I got my driving license about eight years ago, but a conversation with a friend today about applying for a license reminded me of my experience at the RTO (Road Transport Office). I decided to share what happened. I was 20 years old when I applied for my driving license, which was about seven years ago. The RTO office was located 25 kilometers outside the city, and given the chaotic state of city transport, I asked my friend to take his motorbike so we could get there. Upon arriving, the RTO office was as chaotic as any other Indian government office.

The office was overcrowded, filled with people and even animals like dogs and cows wandering around. There was paan spit everywhere, making the floor look red. Touts were roaming about, looking for confused faces like mine. One of them approached me and offered to help me get a driving license, but he wanted money for his services. Although my friends had advised me to avoid the RTO office and instead buy a fake license from the market, I wanted to do things legally. I had also consulted an advocate who told me that money was key at the RTO office—spend it, and you get what you want; otherwise, you get nothing. However, I decided to navigate the process at the RTO office myself.

I declined the tout’s offer, but he persistently asked if I needed his help. I repeatedly said no. There was no clear information center, so I asked someone in the crowd about the procedure. They directed me to get a form first. We queued at the form counter, where I was surprised to see a blind person handling the forms. Despite the unconventional situation, the blind man managed the forms efficiently. I requested a form for a learning license, which costs Rs. 10, though the printed price was Rs. 2. When I returned to query the discrepancy, the blind man explained he had given me the wrong form and refunded my money, stating the correct forms were sold out.

The tout reappeared, insisting that the form was indeed Rs. 10, and I had no choice but to pay. Eventually, my friend stood in line to get the form for me. After filling it out, we proceeded to another counter to pay the fee. Although the counter was supposed to close at 2 PM, it was already closed at 1:15 PM. A lady behind the counter, munching on something, insisted her clock showed 2:15 PM. I showed her a Rs. 20 note, and she reopened the counter, allowing me to deposit the fee. Next was the written exam, which concerned me as Varanasi lacks proper traffic rule enforcement.

I saw others offering bribes to the examiner, but I decided to take the exam first and offer money if needed. The exam was manageable, and I was confident I passed. When I asked the examiner if I had passed, he confirmed I did after I indicated I hadn’t paid a bribe yet. He asked me to return in three days to check the results. When I went back after three days, I was informed that I had passed. The fee for the learning license was Rs. 100, but I bargained and paid Rs. 50. After two or three months, I returned to get my permanent license. They put me through an interview with basic questions about my vehicle registration and other details.

Although a practical driving test was supposed to be part of the process, it was not conducted. After the interview, I was told to return a week later to collect my license. When I did, I encountered another officer who asked if I was a Brahmin. After confirming, he mentioned he was also a Brahmin and lived near my home. He requested a bribe of Rs. 150, claiming he usually charged Rs. 200 but was offering me a discount due to our shared caste. I didn’t want to pay that much, so I bargained and eventually paid Rs. 75, which he accepted reluctantly, warning me not to disclose the lower amount.

While I am happy to have my license, I still think about the blind man, the counter lady, and the officer who gave me a discount because of our shared caste. Sometimes I wonder if I should have just given money to my advocate and avoided the RTO hassle. However, navigating the RTO taught me a lot about dealing with government officers in India. Despite my resolve not to bribe, I often find myself compelled to do so to get things done. I hope that technology will eventually change this system, though it may not happen in my lifetime.