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By:

Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Deadly Neglect

The deaths of three tribal girls following a snakebite at a residential school in Gadchiroli have cast a distinctly unfavourable light on the standards of care in Maharashtra’s tribal hostels. A total six girls were bitten while sleeping on the floor, raising questions about basic accommodation, preventive measures and the oversight of institutions entrusted with the care of some of Maharashtra’s most disadvantaged children. A properly maintained hostel and basic preventive measures can...

Deadly Neglect

The deaths of three tribal girls following a snakebite at a residential school in Gadchiroli have cast a distinctly unfavourable light on the standards of care in Maharashtra’s tribal hostels. A total six girls were bitten while sleeping on the floor, raising questions about basic accommodation, preventive measures and the oversight of institutions entrusted with the care of some of Maharashtra’s most disadvantaged children. A properly maintained hostel and basic preventive measures can certainly reduce the likelihood that a snakebite becomes a mass casualty event. Residential schools for tribal children exist precisely because many of their students come from remote and disadvantaged communities. The state assumes responsibility for their education, accommodation, food and safety. The inevitable official response of a detailed inquiry into the tragedy is hardly reassuring. The district administration has said it will establish whether adequate protective measures were in place and whether the school management complied with safety rules. The Maharashtra administration has conducted enough inquiries till now to know that the discovery of a lapse is not the same thing as fixing the system that produced it. The questions are elementary. Were sufficient beds available? If not, why not? Was the hostel building properly sealed? Were doors, windows and drains inspected? Was pest and snake control undertaken? Were mosquito nets and other basic protective equipment provided? Was there adequate lighting and night supervision? How frequently had the hostel been inspected? And were funds allocated for these facilities actually spent on them? The last question deserves particular attention. Tribal residential schools have for years been vulnerable to the familiar maladies of public administration, most notably gross corruption. Inadequate oversight, poor maintenance, opaque procurement and the fact that money and food intended for children disappears somewhere between the budget and the beneficiary has become all too common. More crucially, Gadchiroli is not politically ownerless. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis is its guardian minister, making the quality of governance in the district an especially important test of the state government’s claims about tribal development. The answer cannot be another round of condolences followed by an inquiry whose findings gather dust. The government should use this tragedy to conduct a comprehensive and independent safety audit of every tribal residential hostel in Gadchiroli, with the findings and corrective measures made public. Beds, sanitation, building maintenance, pest control, emergency medical arrangements and night-time supervision should be treated as measurable standards, not discretionary amenities. Three girls have died in the most appalling manner. The least the state can do is ensure that their deaths expose a failure that is then corrected, rather than an outrage that is briefly mourned and administratively forgotten.

Warriors of Night

Updated: Oct 22, 2024

We name our daughters Durga, Lakshmi and Saraswati; we worship the divine feminine power in the temples but oppress, repress and even attack the feminine power amidst us. That is the irony in the way India sees its women.

After the safety of the daylight fades, women are seen as easy prey by the predators of the night.

We mark the nine nights of Navratri, the festival of the goddess, by celebrating the dedication and valour of nine real-life women who brave the challenges of the night to pursue their dreams.


Part - 4


Never felt unsafe

The singer says there has been a generational change over the last two decades

Never felt unsafe

Work has no timings for Aisha Sayed. Sometimes, she begins her studio recording at 12 AM and finishes by 5 AM; at other times, concerts and live shows start at 9 AM and she’s done by midnight. In her field of work as a performer and singer, Sayed is used to not getting a night’s sleep and often returning home when most of the city is set to wake up. “I have been travelling at night but I have never, ever, felt unsafe in Mumbai,” says the singer-performer who began her career at the age of 13 years. Her father spotted her talent for music and took her to meet a sound engineer who was their neighbour in Bandra. The family helped her get opportunities and from there, her career began.

Being among the top contenders in Indian Idol, season 3, in 2007 catapulted her to fame and it opened up a world of new performance opportunities across the country. “I was just 20 years then and I was travelling the world, performing at the most lavish weddings, staying at the most luxurious hotels and performing at big corporate gigs,” she says. Safety, while on work, is has never been an issue for her for the organizers arrange a security detail for the performers. “They escort us until we reach the room. And since we travel with our team in a big group, there is always safety in numbers,” says Sayed, who sings in 10 languages. Her peers have faced instances of audience members being rowdy. “Once in Delhi, a group of drunk men followed my colleague to her room and kept banging on her door late into the night. But I have been fortunate,” she says.

Work assignments have taken to varied places, from the most luxurious international destinations to far-off venues in the hinterland of India where she’s travelled through dark, dense forested areas. “I have driven through areas where the only light is that of your car’s headlights. Turn around and you see pitch darkness,” says Sayed. She’s always got a little prayer on her lips when travelling through these remote areas for miles together. She recalls a show in Chattisgarh where she had to travel for nine hours at a stretch through remote and forested areas. “No place in our country is as safe as Mumbai,” she stresses. She would know, considering her extensive travels. She advises women to travel in groups while in places that are unfamiliar or unknown and never to venture out at night alone. “Keep your family informed of your whereabouts,” she says.

While her agreements state that proper security at all times, Sayed says that she drives her own car if she’s out at night for parties or personal work but insists that the people of Mumbai are largely helpful and cooperative. A rickshaw driver who once drove to home in the wee hours of the night, after a recording, waited at her gate until the watchman let her in. Friends and colleagues have dropped her home several times.

Mumbai, she feels, has changed—and it’s for the better, in the past two decades. “Earlier, on buses and trains, men would use the crowd as an excuse to touch women inappropriately. That has gone down. There is a generational change that I see,” says Sayed. She used to take the BEST buses and trains to her training classes and for recordings in the early days of her career.

Her timings are inconsistent and her shows take her to various cities and towns. But the Mumbai-bred girl emphasizes that her city is very safe for women, despite the various incidents of violence. “Mumbai is the only place where a woman can wear what she wants, wear bright red lipstick, leave her hair open and look glamorous and still be safe.”

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