A reality check of India

Annie Zaidi's collection of essays explores diverse issues from banditry to hunger, weaving together a narrative that demands reflection on the pressing challenges faced by the country's marginalised

Bantering with Bandits and Other True Tales of India 

Author: Annie Zaidi

Publisher: Aleph

Pages: 250

Price: Rs 499

There is no good time to ask inconvenient questions. There is no good time to seek bandits, meet starving children, watch artisans wither, or question religion either. For Annie Zaidi, however, asking awkward questions goes with the job. Her collection of essays, Bantering with Bandits and Other True Tales of India, offers a glimpse of her experience as a reporter and the uncertainties of working in the field.

For her first story for The Frontline, she chooses Chambal and its tradition of banditry. Fascinated by our country’s “cultural imagination” of rebels and dacoits in legends and cinema, Ms Zaidi learns the geography, history and (gun) culture of the village. She learns that in Chambal, no loot is ordinary; no rebel, without a purpose; and no violence random. Here, buses have signs that say “please do not carry loaded guns” because it is normal — almost expected — for the people of Chambal to carry weapons. Here, there is no stopping those who are out to take revenge — most in defence of their honour. The face of Chambal dacoity, however, has changed. With their misplaced morals and greed for money and flesh, the modern rebels are unlike the traditional, chivalrous dacoits of Ms Zaidi’s reports.

As the writer-journalist pursues more beats and covers more regions, realisation dawns that not all issues are as adventurous as the dacoits. In Madhya Pradesh, she uncovers the distraught reality of hundreds of children dying of a completely avoidable cause: Hunger. Babies who “weigh less than her handbag” die every year of malnourishment, deficiencies, water scarcity; “drying up from the inside, like grapes turning to raisins”.  She cites alarming figures of children stunted, wasted and anaemic  in the state and the country: Those who survive starvation (for the moment). The situation is as dire for adults — locals, tribals, forest-dwellers — who are displaced in the name of development are rarely rehabilitated under proper conditions. They lose their land, livelihood, cattle and often, their children.

In Uttar Pradesh, Banarasi weavers die their own slow death, their handlooms now a “living grave” with machines replacing their talent. Their hands, meant to create art, now carry mud at construction sites. The state of Punjab — a place Ms Zaidi thought was made of bright colours and “rivers of milk” — was not optimistic either. While the state grappled with the vices (and victims) of identity politics, the “threat” of conversions loomed. The exploitation of Dalits by Jat Sikhs is a growing problem.” Punjab’s youth’s obsession with “getting out” is no less, leading to a spiral of visa and immigration frauds. Opium, financial frauds by elites/ businessmen, and dera leaders such as “Baba” Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh add to the less pleasant flavours of Punjab.

In a perceptive section on womanhood — what it means to grow up as one and what it means to raise one, which is equivalent to “watering the neighbour’s garden”— Ms Zaidi brings her focus to the struggling, leading women of social movements worldwide, and zooms into the local (but growing) crimes of female foeticide and infanticide. She discovers a depressing reality: For many, the cost of raising a daughter outweighs the cost of getting rid of one before she is born, so, for them, the expense is “money well spent”.

In a mix of anecdotes, reflections and reportage, Ms Zaidi uncovers the many social realities of India. She looks at the country through its people, which is as refreshing as it is insightful. Her words are emotive. In them, the reader finds the humour of “bantering” with bandits, the rage behind women’s movements, the ironic tragedy of children dying of hunger in a country that exports almost one-tenth of its foodgrain, and the shame of forgotten artisans.

One finds also the missing conscience of the country, buried beneath inadequate welfare schemes like Anganwadi, rural employment schemes, below poverty line (BPL) cards, rehabilitation of displaced forest tribes, etc. When questioned, some acknowledge the depth of these social problems, but most others dismiss it as a reality that cannot be done away with. They call it “culture”: Of violence in Chambal; of starvation in Madhya Pradesh; of female foeticide in Jodhpur, Madhya Pradesh, Haryana and many more states; and of rape and violence against women, all over the country.

The award-winning author of Prelude to A Riot (2019) and Bread, Cement, Cactus (2020) is also a playwright/ scriptwriter and occasional director. First published by Westland Books in 2010 as Known Turf has been republished by Aleph Book Company this year with the author providing an updated context. More than a decade later, the relevance of her reportage has not faded. If anything, the issues have become more prominent and have acquired more urgency. For this reason, Ms Zaidi asks us to read beyond her essays. In that spirit, one must understand that social justice, like journalism, is a live project; that it constantly evolves and the stakeholders, observers, and change-makers must evolve with it.
 

The reviewer is a freelance feature writer and reviews books on @read.dream.repeat