CREATING POWER PUFF GIRLS

She formed the world’s first all-woman Jamaat. Now, Sharifa Khanam is aiming for another first: A mosque just for women

For Daud Sharifa Khanam, 41, the only goal was to empower Muslim women so that they can fight for their basic needs, be it emotional, physical or material.

But, she had no idea what she was in for. “I did not expect this response. I wanted to sensitise Muslim women about basic human rights. But, once they savoured freedom and power, they told me: ‘Now that we have come out, give us power,’” says Khanam, who thought of separate Jamaat (gathering) when she found women getting sidelined in the existing Jamaats and “male chauvinism ruling the roost.”

“We still face threats. But, at the same time we know that many Jamaats have begun respecting us and also recommending cases to us,” she adds.

ASIM SARODE

Up against a system which locks up people and forgets. Asim Sarode is fighting a lone battle to ensure their basic human rights.

He has withstood the anger of police and jail officials, threats from hired goons and organised mafia in the sex industry. For 34-year-old activist-lawyer Asim Sarode, these are common ‘‘occupational hazards’’ that he faces while fighting for human rights or providing legal aid to people with HIV. Assisted by eight youngsters who are part of the Human Rights and Law Defenders — an arm of the Sahayog Trust founded by his father Sarode demonstrates a relentless zeal in helping those who find gaining access to justice difficult and daunting.

 

Intervening in cases of human rights violations, extending legal aid to the poor and knocking on the doors of human rights commissions form the core of his activities. Sarode logged his most spectacular victory when, on September 7, he secured the release of a labourer, Armogam Kounder, who spent 11 years in jail for a crime he did not commit. In 1995, Kounder, who hails from Tirupatur near Chennai and spoke only Tamil, was falsely implicated by the police in a rape-cum-murder case of a six-year-old girl at Andheri. He was convicted in 2000 and handed out a life term. 

AND QUIET FLOWS THE KALI BEIN

The Kali Bein too used to be a river. Guru Nanak bathed in it everyday for 15 years until one day, having surfaced from the river; he felt a deep churning and disappeared into the forests for three days. When he returned, he was ready to lay the foundations of Sikhism. In that time, the Kali Bein was alive. Then one day, in dustrialisation killed it.

The holy river in Sultanpur Lodi, a little distance away from Jalandhar, went on a rapid degeneration spiral in the 1960s. The river battled effluents and garbage, it battled mankind’s disrespect and it battled the apathy of administration In the ’90s it lost the fight. By then, Nanak’s river had turned into a gutter no spirit, only squalor.

Those who had watched Kali Bein's miserable capitulation were either without care or hope except one man Balbir Singh Seechewal. A college dropout, Seechewal had already given up the material world for “environmental spiritualism” and was known in the region as ‘Rodda wala Baba’ (Saint of the Roads) for his missionary zeal to make pathways and connect people When he heard of the river’s plight, he volunteered to battle on its behalf.

Hemant Goswami

On October 2, 2008, when the health ministry announced that all public places in India would be smoke-free, Chandigarh didn't have to do a thing to enforce to the new rules. For, it had already bagged the distinction of becoming the first smoke free city in the country more than a year ago. Kicking the butt is never easy but the initiative of one man made all the difference.

Meet Hemant Goswami, whose commitment against tobacco use goes back to a school project he did in 1987. By 2004, Goswami had become a full-time activist. He filed a writ petition as a result of which the High Court ordered the government to follow the tobacco Act in letter and spirit.

In 2005 when the Right to Information Act (RTI) came into force, Hemant decided to use it to make Chandigarh the first smoke-free city. He filed over 300 RTI petitions with all government departments and offices, raising questions about their adherence to tobacco control laws. In a year, more than 1,800 signboards warning people of the health implications of smoking were up in all government offices. Educational institutes too fell in line.

To keep the momentum going, Hemant lobbied with the Chandigarh police which agreed to initiate an enforcement drive as well as train policemen on provisions of the law.

In just a month, compliance crossed 70% and the administration became serious about the ‘Smoke-Free City' initiative. Finally in July 2007, Chandigarh was declared smoke-free.

But Hemant wasn't about to stop. "We were aware that sustaining this effort is going to be a challenge." Since the Government lacked an enforcement mechanism, Hemant formed independent monitoring teams and made sure violations are reported. He sure is determined to smoke them out.

Shantipada Gon Chaudhuri

Crouching tiger, hidden diseases. Darkness after dusk and snuffed out futures. In the islands of the Sunderbans, it's easier spotting a tiger than a politician or a government officer.

But Shantipada Gon Chaudhuri thought differently. It was at this point that Gon Chaudhuri, director of West Bengal Renewable Energy Agency (WBREDA) of the state government, decided to step in and create magic – get electricity out of thin air. If the days have ended at sundown for years for these three lakh islanders, it was Gon Chaudhuri's use of solar energy that began lighting up homes. Now, Tarulata Kandar, an inhabitant, can sew till late to supplement the family income and her son Ashok study longer hours while her husband indulged in his pastime, tuning in to the radio.

But, it was not an easy task for Gon Chaudhuri. Electricity has been a standard promise before elections but never delivered. But, Gon Chaudhuri’s problems were different – explaining the concept to a sceptical populace. There were few who believed them. So, the WBREDA team spent days explaining the technology to the masses, in village tea-shops, haats and the jetties.

Nisheeth Mehta

In this age of global competition, you wouldn’t expect compromises on quality from a company that makes components for Volvo, Mercedes, Tata Motors, Hewlett-Packard and Reliance Industries.

And you would think that Nisheeth Mehta, CEO of Microsign Products, an engineering plastic fastener manufacturing company in Bhavnagar, Gujarat, has done just that by employing 60 per cent of his staff from among the physically challenged.

But, Mehta insists charity is the last thing on his mind. While the Persons With Disabilities (Equal Opportunities, Protection of Rights and Full Participation) Act, 1995, reserves three per cent jobs for this category, as many as 13 of Mehta’s 20-member team are people with physical and mental disabilities.

Mehta claims his productivity has increased by at least 20 per cent, has almost zero attrition rate and has bagged several awards including the National Award for Welfare of People with Disabilities for fulfilling corporate social responsibility.

DASHRATH MANJHI

Over four decades ago, a frail, landless farmer got hold of a chisel and a hammer and decided to change the face of his village nestled in the rocky hills of Gaya. Dashrath Manjhi tore open a 300-feet-high hill to create a one-km passage.

Manjhi knew it would he easier to move a mountain than an apathetic government. He knew writing to the powers-that-be would only leave the hill tied in red tape. Instead, Manjhi, then in his early 20s, took up a chisel and hammered at the rocks for 22 years.

This feat, part of local folklore now, stemmed from Manjhi’s love for his wife. For, when she slipped off the rocks while getting food for him as he worked in a field beyond the hill and broke her ankle, it became a burning passion to tame the formidable hills that virtually cut his village off from civilisation.

And he completed the Herculean task — creating a short-cut which reduced a long and arduous journey from his village Gahlor Ghati to Wazirganj to a walkable distance.