Category Archives: Varanasi

Treatment of Cancer at BHU for Prabhu

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A few days ago, my friend Prabhu fell seriously ill with severe stomach pain. He was rushed to the emergency ward at BHU (Benares Hindu University) Hospital. The doctors diagnosed him with a serious condition but were reluctant to admit him, citing a lack of available beds in the emergency ward. They directed Prabhu’s family to check the general ward, which also had no vacant beds. Despite Prabhu’s intense pain and distress, the doctors refused to attend to him. Desperate, his family decided to take him to another hospital, Mata Anandmayi Hospital in Bhadaini, but faced the same issue—no available beds. Prabhu was in agony, nearly fainting, and when they returned to BHU, the doctors displayed a concerning lack of compassion, refusing to even start treatment.

Prabhu’s father pleaded with the doctors, even touching their feet to request treatment, but was met with a cold response. The doctors continued to insist there were no beds available. Frustrated, Prabhu’s family sought help from a contact who knew the former president of the BHU student union. After the former president intervened, BHU finally arranged a bed for Prabhu at around 11 PM. Tests and treatment began, but the doctors recommended transferring Prabhu to PGI, Lucknow for surgery. When Prabhu’s family arrived at PGI, they encountered the same problem—no beds available. Prabhu’s brother reached out to a well-known figure in Lucknow, who made a call to the hospital. Following this intervention, PGI managed to provide a bed for Prabhu.

At PGI, after a brief examination and review of his previous reports, the doctors diagnosed Prabhu with colon cancer. They recommended surgery but warned that there was no guarantee he would survive even ten days. The cost of the surgery was Rs. 1,25,000 ($2,500). Fearing the worst, Prabhu requested to be brought back to Benares, preferring to face his fate there. The news of Prabhu’s condition spread quickly in our neighborhood, and everyone was deeply saddened. I suggested to Prabhu’s family that they seek a second opinion at the renowned TATA Memorial Center in Mumbai. I contacted my friend Alok in Mumbai, who arranged an appointment and forwarded Prabhu’s medical reports to TATA Memorial.

The doctors at TATA Memorial reviewed the reports and concluded that there was no evidence of cancer. They indicated that the diagnosis from PGI was incorrect. I relayed this hopeful news to Prabhu and his family, who were overwhelmed with relief and joy. Prabhu was admitted to a private hospital where he underwent successful treatment and is now recovering well. Meanwhile, I had a distressing experience at BHU when my baby fell from a chair and suffered a head injury. We rushed to BHU’s emergency ward, only to find that the registration counter had already closed. After receiving instructions from security guards, I entered the registration room from the back door and saw staff preoccupied with counting money.

When another patient tried to register through an open window, a clerk became aggressive and injured the patient’s hand. I managed to get a registration paper and submitted it to the doctor, who then required me to write a declaration that I would not involve the police in the future. Despite the urgency, there were no available supplies like nylon thread for stitching. I had to leave the hospital to buy these items myself. After waiting for over an hour and a half, junior doctors finally started stitching my baby’s wound. This was in one of Uttar Pradesh’s largest hospitals, and the lack of timely care was shocking.

Having experienced such poor service, I now share Prabhu’s apprehension towards BHU and will avoid it for any future needs. I sought treatment for my baby elsewhere and had the stitches removed at a different hospital. The condition of government hospitals is deplorable; their focus seems to be on money rather than patient care. Despite the considerable revenue and international reputation of institutions like BHU, the reality of their services often falls short. For many who lack health insurance and cannot afford private hospitals, this situation is dire. The question remains: are these hospitals designed to save lives or to fail those who seek their help?

Corrupt Policing in India

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I witnessed something truly bizarre recently, which might be considered quite unusual even for an Indian. While I was sitting in an auto rickshaw, the driver was pulled over by a policeman who then sat next to me. Typically, police officers don’t pay for transportation, whether it’s an auto, bus, or train. After a few minutes of driving, another individual tried to stop our auto, but the driver refused. He explained that this person was also an auto rickshaw driver and was looking for a free ride. The other driver was furious and began shouting loudly.

We encountered this irate driver again near the railway station. He had arrived ahead of us, parked his auto, and was waiting for us. This time, our driver stopped, and the angry driver approached, grabbing the policeman by the collar and hurling abuses at him. I, along with the others in the auto, was shocked to see an auto rickshaw driver berating a policeman so publicly. The second driver claimed that the policeman had tried to ride in his auto without paying, and when he refused due to his auto being full, the policeman had slapped him.

It seemed the policeman had come to our auto after this incident. The driver continued to yell at the policeman, demanding to know why he was slapped, while the policeman merely replied that he would deal with him later and threatened to arrest him. The driver then accused the policeman of routinely sitting in his auto without paying. He boldly said, “Do I give you Rs. 10 every time I drive to the railway station to get abused?” He revealed that police officers would charge him Rs. 10 each time he drove to the railway station, a practice that he had endured for a long time. The policeman, caught off guard by this revelation, fell silent.

The driver’s response was impressive. Another rickshaw driver shared that police officers have set rates for different routes, with drivers in the downtown area paying Rs. 60. Trucks and tractors are banned from entering the city center after 8 a.m., but they frequently do so by paying bribes to the police, who stop them at every intersection but only for show. As I watched the altercation unfold, I was quite entertained by the driver’s defiance. However, to my surprise, a few other bystanders started siding with the policeman.

Despite widespread knowledge of police corruption and harassment, these people began supporting the officer. The policeman seemed emboldened by their support and became more assertive. The crowd, now favoring the policeman, urged the driver to move and let the policeman go. Eventually, the auto rickshaw driver relented, and the policeman, now with the support of a crowd of over fifty people, was let go. As the station approached, the policeman got out of the auto without paying the fare, just as he had done before.

It was striking to witness such shameless behavior. The driver will likely face repercussions for his actions, but his bold response to the policeman was remarkable. It’s a stark reminder of the kind of bravery we need to tackle the most dangerous kind of corruption in India—often embodied by those in positions of authority like the police.

Purification in Varanasi

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I encountered a group of more than 15 French tourists on a train recently, and I was struck by the sight of so many of them with freshly shaved heads. Most of them were quite young, and it seemed unusual to see so many bald heads together. Curious, I asked one of them why they had chosen to shave their heads, and they explained that it was part of a ritual for purification. They mentioned that they were aware of the tradition where many Indian pilgrims shave their heads when they visit Varanasi, and they decided to partake in this practice themselves.

When I asked if they felt purified, they described a sense of amazing happiness, inner peace, and a release from stress. Despite their enthusiasm, they seemed to have a limited understanding of the reasons behind the practice, only noting that it was done for purification. I inquired where they had their hair shaved and learned that it was done at Dashashwamedh Ghat. I personally would avoid getting my hair shaved there, as I’ve found that the barbers at the ghats don’t always maintain the highest hygiene standards. While their razors are changed frequently, the actual razors aren’t always properly cleaned, which is concerning.

I used to think that Westerners were very particular about hygiene, but this experience made me question that assumption. It was quite a sight to see this group, and as we parted ways, I commented to the girl I was speaking with, “You are very brave, and you have a lot of brave people with you.” Whether or not they truly felt purified, I was intrigued by their experience. If I were to consider such a ritual, I would certainly bring my own razor to ensure proper hygiene, rather than relying on the ghats’ barbers.

Interview with Musahars in the village

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During my time working for the Financial Times in Varanasi, I had the opportunity to spend time with the Musahar community, a group still considered untouchable in Indian society. Traditionally, Musahars are known for collecting and making bowls from Pipal leaves, a craft that has become increasingly obsolete as plastic bowls have replaced their traditional products. We visited a Mushahar village near Mehndiganj, Varanasi. The village consisted of simple clay huts, and the interviewee was a 24-year-old married woman whose husband worked as a rickshaw driver.

The family of six included her husband, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and two daughters. Despite their dire economic situation, none of their daughters attended school. Her husband earned only Rs. 25 (50 cents USD) per day, and due to their caste, no one in the local community wanted to ride in his rickshaw. During the harvest season, Mushahars get some temporary work cutting grains on other people’s land. Ironically, while they cut and handle the grains that others eat, they are not allowed to sit on the same rickshaw or access the same resources due to their caste.

Their payment for this labor is often in the form of grains rather than cash. They typically receive around 150 kgs of grains per year, valued at Rs. 2000 ($50), which is not enough to sustain a family. The traditional occupation of making leaf bowls has lost its significance due to the widespread use of plastic, further impacting the Mushahar community’s income. Although this practice persists in smaller towns, cities like Varanasi are slowly abandoning it. During the interview, the interviewer was shocked by the family’s meager income and gave Rs. 500 to the interviewee as a gesture of empathy.

The local guide suggested distributing the money among the villagers. However, this led to a heated argument among the community members. The interviewee insisted on keeping the initial Rs. 500 for herself, while the villagers argued that it should be shared. The situation escalated into a conflict, and we had to leave quickly to avoid further violence. The village had only a hand pump and a well for water, both of which often dried up during the summer. Being near a Coca-Cola plant, they faced significant water scarcity issues. The local people, aware of their caste, would not allow them to use their water resources. As a result, the women of the Mushahar community, who are responsible for fetching water, had to walk 2-3 kilometers daily to get water.

When we arrived, the villagers brought out a Khatia (a rope bed) for us to sit on. However, when they asked about my caste and learned that I am a Brahmin, they refused to sit with me due to the caste differences.

Bhang and the train thief

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During the month of Savan, a significant pilgrimage period in Varanasi, many pilgrims, known as Kavariyas, visit the city. They wear orange attire and carry sticks with pots of Ganges water as part of their ritual. About 7-8 years ago, a notable incident occurred involving a 10-year-old Kavariya. Early in the morning, around 4 AM, this young boy, who had consumed bhang (a traditional cannabis preparation), took control of a train at Banaras railway station. The train was scheduled to depart at 6 AM, and its drivers had left the engine running while they went for tea on the platform.

Government authorised bhang shop in Varanasi

Government authorized bhang shop in Varanasi

The Kavariya, under the influence of bhang, climbed into the driver’s cab and started the train in reverse. Without any knowledge of train operations, he drove the train in the opposite direction—from Gorakhpur to Allahabad, instead of the intended route. The train, which was meant to travel at a much slower pace, was speeding at 120 km/h, ignoring track conditions and speed limits. The situation quickly escalated as other trains were halted and media attention grew. The boy, who appeared to be enjoying the attention, continued driving the train while smiling and greeting onlookers.

 

Bhang balls

Bhang balls

 

Eventually, the railway authorities decided to derail the train to stop it. They placed sandbags on the tracks and used track brakes to bring the train to a halt. Fortunately, the boy was unharmed in the incident. The train fell but did not result in any injuries. The boy was arrested, and the train drivers, who had left the engine unattended, were dismissed from their positions. The official explanation from the government was that the boy was mentally unwell, but many believed that his actions were a direct result of being under the influence of bhang. The general consensus was that the drivers’ negligence contributed significantly to the incident.

Chicago guest learns Hindi

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An anthropology student named Adam Sergent from the University of Chicago stayed at my guest house for a month. Like Lane and Dave, Adam wanted to learn Hindi with Bhasha Bharti. Although he had initially intended to study Hindi with Bhasha Bharti for three months, he had to adjust his plans. Bhasha Bharti didn’t have the availability for a full three months, so Adam decided to study in Varanasi for a month before moving to Mussoorie for the remaining two months. Adam had previously studied Hindi with Virendra Singh at Wisconsin University, so his proficiency was moderate.

When I asked why he wasn’t continuing with Virendra Singh in Varanasi, he explained that Virendra Singh spends summers in the U.S. teaching at Wisconsin University and only returns to India for the winter sessions. Adam attended classes at Bhasha Bharti for six hours a day, but found the schedule inconvenient, with classes from 8 to 11 in the morning and 4 to 7 in the evening. After about 15 days, he decided to leave early to conduct research related to his future work in India. He was pursuing a PhD at the University of Chicago with a focus on labor at construction sites.

Adam had a positive experience learning Hindi at Bhasha Bharti, although he had some minor complaints about the classroom environment. He noted that his chair was positioned under a fan, causing dust to fall on him regularly. Despite these issues, he was generally satisfied with his time there. He then traveled to Delhi to observe construction sites for his research. He provided my brother’s contact information in Delhi for local assistance. Unfortunately, after spending just two days in Delhi and sampling the local food, Adam fell ill. He was hospitalized for three days and received four drips. This experience made me question the quality of Delhi’s food, as I also had problems during my last visit there.

Adam managed to reach Mussoorie to continue his Hindi studies at a local school, with accommodation arranged through the school. However, upon arrival, he found the door to his lodging locked. The house owner informed him that they had relocated to Dehradun for the month and could not host him.

Adam reached out to me for assistance in finding alternative housing in Mussoorie. I contacted a friend in Dehradun who helped locate a new place, but by the time it was found, Adam had already secured alternative accommodation. Due to a family issue, Adam decided to cancel his Hindi classes and leave Mussoorie earlier than planned.

End of life – Sadhus and Sanyasis

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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.

Group Wedding in Varanasi

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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

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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

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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.