Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Zero connectivity at the zero line
Villages along the LoC suffer from cross-border shelling but also poor infrastructure. Mobile phone towers do not exist in these remote areas, writes RAMEEZ RAJA
That entire night, ear-deafening sounds of firing and shelling across the border dominated the sky. All of Shayeen's family stayed together in one room, as they were not too sure if they will wake up alive the following morning. In that tense hour, they were equally worried about the livestock tied outside the house — with no shelter. Shayeen kept thinking about her father who was posted in Doda and unaware of the situation.
“I wish I could have called my father and listened to his voice, as we waited for our deaths”, said this 18-year old girl from Bharooti, a nondescript village tucked away in the border land of Poonch District in Jammu & Kashmir. Shayeen could not call her father, not because she didn’t have a mobile phone but because there were no mobile phone towers in the village. The ‘waiting for death’ moment is not new to those who hail from villages like Bharooti, located merely five to six kilometres from the Line of Control.
It started with the killing of two Indian soldiers at the LoC in January 2013, which was followed by the killing of five others in August last year. In the aftermath of such killings, a total of 150 incidents of ceasefire violations have transpired, the highest in the past eight years. For those residing away from the border, ceasefire violation is just news but for the ones living there, it is a nightmare.
To compound the problem, villagers have to face development challenges all alone. One of the major challenges faced by those inhabiting near zero line is connectivity. This is not talked about much but it is a challenge that affects their life quite severely.
Sixty-two year old Rasham Bi, a resident of village Ghani, shared her experience. She said: “Last month, I had to go to the sub-district hospital in Mendhar as I was feeling unwell. I was alone as my only son lives in Saudi Arabia working as a labourer there. Doctors, post checkup, suggested that I get admitted to hospital for a minimum of two days.” It left the old lady in distress as, although she had a mobile phone, she couldn't contact her daughter back home as there is no tower in her village. Later that night, her daughter had to come searching for her mother spending Rs 900 on a hired cab. Availability of a single mobile phone tower could have avoided the chaos.
Rabina Kousar of Ucchad village narrates the story of her mother-in-law who had to travel 21kms to reach an STD booth in Mendhar tehsil to talk to her son, currently residing in Saudi Arabia. “Network connectivity is a major issue in our village. Hapless, we have to travel long distances and spend huge amounts to make just one call. We feel cursed to spend our lives in isolation”, rues Kousar.
One would assume difficult geography and inaccessibility of these border villages is the reason behind the situation but, not very far from Poonch town lies another village, Salotri, which is confronted by a similar problem. Located on the zero line, this village, despite its sensitive location, is deprived of network facility. “Our mobile phones at times catch the network of Pakistani service providers but our own network facility is pathetic”, expressed Suresh Kumar, thesarpanch of the village. The people of Poonch have it particularly rough. On one hand, extreme weather conditions, be it rain or snowfall, disrupt normal life and on the other, the worrying ceasefire violations along the border does not allow them mental peace. Amid all this, mobile phones, they had thought, would be the means of staying connected with their loved ones but poor services rendered them hopeless. The handsets that they bought saving every single penny lie useless today.
In July last year, Mr Madan Lal Sharma, Member of Parliament from Poonch, called upon Bharat Sanchar Nigam Limited to improve its mobile connectivity service in the area, and reach out to uncovered areas as well. Mr Sharma stressed upon the need of installing towers in border villages so that people there can also avail the benefit of mobile and internet services. He also noted that private telecom players were offering better mobile connectivity despite BSNL having the largest infrastructure and Government support.
“People of Poonch have been living in such false hopes for a long time now. No one understands the pain we undergo in difficult times”, said Mr Nazam Din Mir, a social activist from the border village Keerni suggesting that there is an urgent need for roping in other service providers. Hopefully this message will reach the concerned authorities via this ‘network’.
That entire night, ear-deafening sounds of firing and shelling across the border dominated the sky. All of Shayeen's family stayed together in one room, as they were not too sure if they will wake up alive the following morning. In that tense hour, they were equally worried about the livestock tied outside the house — with no shelter. Shayeen kept thinking about her father who was posted in Doda and unaware of the situation.
“I wish I could have called my father and listened to his voice, as we waited for our deaths”, said this 18-year old girl from Bharooti, a nondescript village tucked away in the border land of Poonch District in Jammu & Kashmir. Shayeen could not call her father, not because she didn’t have a mobile phone but because there were no mobile phone towers in the village. The ‘waiting for death’ moment is not new to those who hail from villages like Bharooti, located merely five to six kilometres from the Line of Control.
It started with the killing of two Indian soldiers at the LoC in January 2013, which was followed by the killing of five others in August last year. In the aftermath of such killings, a total of 150 incidents of ceasefire violations have transpired, the highest in the past eight years. For those residing away from the border, ceasefire violation is just news but for the ones living there, it is a nightmare.
To compound the problem, villagers have to face development challenges all alone. One of the major challenges faced by those inhabiting near zero line is connectivity. This is not talked about much but it is a challenge that affects their life quite severely.
Sixty-two year old Rasham Bi, a resident of village Ghani, shared her experience. She said: “Last month, I had to go to the sub-district hospital in Mendhar as I was feeling unwell. I was alone as my only son lives in Saudi Arabia working as a labourer there. Doctors, post checkup, suggested that I get admitted to hospital for a minimum of two days.” It left the old lady in distress as, although she had a mobile phone, she couldn't contact her daughter back home as there is no tower in her village. Later that night, her daughter had to come searching for her mother spending Rs 900 on a hired cab. Availability of a single mobile phone tower could have avoided the chaos.
Rabina Kousar of Ucchad village narrates the story of her mother-in-law who had to travel 21kms to reach an STD booth in Mendhar tehsil to talk to her son, currently residing in Saudi Arabia. “Network connectivity is a major issue in our village. Hapless, we have to travel long distances and spend huge amounts to make just one call. We feel cursed to spend our lives in isolation”, rues Kousar.
One would assume difficult geography and inaccessibility of these border villages is the reason behind the situation but, not very far from Poonch town lies another village, Salotri, which is confronted by a similar problem. Located on the zero line, this village, despite its sensitive location, is deprived of network facility. “Our mobile phones at times catch the network of Pakistani service providers but our own network facility is pathetic”, expressed Suresh Kumar, thesarpanch of the village. The people of Poonch have it particularly rough. On one hand, extreme weather conditions, be it rain or snowfall, disrupt normal life and on the other, the worrying ceasefire violations along the border does not allow them mental peace. Amid all this, mobile phones, they had thought, would be the means of staying connected with their loved ones but poor services rendered them hopeless. The handsets that they bought saving every single penny lie useless today.
In July last year, Mr Madan Lal Sharma, Member of Parliament from Poonch, called upon Bharat Sanchar Nigam Limited to improve its mobile connectivity service in the area, and reach out to uncovered areas as well. Mr Sharma stressed upon the need of installing towers in border villages so that people there can also avail the benefit of mobile and internet services. He also noted that private telecom players were offering better mobile connectivity despite BSNL having the largest infrastructure and Government support.
“People of Poonch have been living in such false hopes for a long time now. No one understands the pain we undergo in difficult times”, said Mr Nazam Din Mir, a social activist from the border village Keerni suggesting that there is an urgent need for roping in other service providers. Hopefully this message will reach the concerned authorities via this ‘network’.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
स्वास्थ्य विभाग की बेतज्जोही से बीमार सरहद पुंछ से चरखा के ग्रामीण लेखक सैयद बशारत हुसैन शाह बुखारी
पुंछ से चरखा के ग्रामीण लेखक सैयद बशारत हुसैन शाह बुखारी
Crumbling state of health centre in Goran
Dr. Varun Suthra
Obscured by wild shrubbery, a land of two Kanals houses a dilapidated structure surrounded by a crumbling compound wall. This ramshackle building presents a daunting access: open gutters, thorny bushes that can tear a passer-by's clothes and an occasional encounter with a snake or scorpion in the compound.
This building is the Health sub-centre in the densely populated village of Goran, barely twenty two kilometres from Samba in Jammu and Kashmir.
Popularly known as "Bhoot Bangla" (Haunted house), this four-room sub-centre, though meant to offer health services, has become a threat to their hygiene and sanitation - foul smell constantly emanating from human and animal excreta scattered everywhere, wooden doors and racks eaten by termites and broken chairs.
According to the local residents, this sub-centre was shut eight years ago. Previously, the staff was operating from the same building but for reasons unknown to the villagers, the services stopped. For many years, a parallel sub-centre is being run on makeshift arrangements in rented accommodation on the first floor of a shop owned by a local, Rattan Chand, who said that the prime reason behind the closure was water - logging during rains that made it difficult to keep the centre functional.
As per the guidelines issued by the Government of India, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, a Health sub-centre is the first point of contact between the primary health care system and the community. A sub-centre provides interface with the community at the grass-root level, providing all the primary health care services. It is the lowest rung of a referral pyramid of health facilities consisting of the sub-centres, Primary Health Centres, Community Health Centres, Sub-Divisional/Sub-District Hospitals and District Hospitals.
Socially active Dr Bias Dev, Lecturer in Orthopaedics, Government Medical College, Jammu, who serves the rural population by offering free health services, believes that erecting structures in the name of health centres is sheer mockery of the intent behind these centres.
On the one hand people like Dr Dev are trying their best to serve their state and on the other, there is Union Minister of Health, Ghulam Nabi Azad, who despite hailing from the State, is evidently unaware of the ground reality. In June this year, he had sanctioned over 600 new Sub Centres to the State. Even in his recent announcements, Azad declared 22 Sub Centres only for the Banihal region.
The story does not end here, for State Minister of Health, Shabir Khan, has also made similar announcements. When the condition and efficiency of the existing centres cannot be maintained, what is the point of erecting structures only?
As per population norms, there shall be one Sub-Centre established for every 5000 population in plain areas and for every 3000 population in hilly/tribal/desert areas. As the population density in the country is not uniform, application of the same norm across the country is not advisable. So in Jammu and Kashmir, which has considerably tough geographic terrain and extreme weather conditions, a Sub- Centre is required for a smaller population.
Moreover, Goran is a popular spot known for its famous religious temple of Baba Goran where every week, thousands of devotees visit from far off places. This makes it even more essential to have an active Sub- Centre in the village that would cater not only to the villagers but also to the medical needs of the devotees.
Goran, unfortunately, is not a case in isolation. The adjoining villages of Samutha and Lodath are victims of similar neglect.
The Goran Sub- Centre clearly depicts a typical example of huge losses incurred by the government exchequer. It appears that the concerned authorities are more keen on issuing contracts for raising physical structures with a focus on spending the funds and not on making the services effective.
The new guidelines of monitoring and evaluation in the health care systems in India permits no space for such practice as it involves the complete hierarchy, including the Sarpanch, MLA, Block Level and District Level Medical Officer, Health Directors, Health Secretary, District Development Commissioner and Health Minister, among others.
Despite this extensive hierarchy of monitoring and evaluation of State-run programmes, such acutely visible lacunae continue to undermine the intent of the State to provide healthcare to all citizens and their families.
The ruined structure at the Sub- Centre, Goran, loudly conveys the plight of residents of the rural belt in Jammu region. The Government's claims about achieving excellence in providing health care facilities sound hollow due to the poor execution of the health schemes on the ground.
Residents of Jammu region are seeking an answer from those at the helm of affairs as to how they intend to provide proper delivery of health care system at its most basic unit
Obscured by wild shrubbery, a land of two Kanals houses a dilapidated structure surrounded by a crumbling compound wall. This ramshackle building presents a daunting access: open gutters, thorny bushes that can tear a passer-by's clothes and an occasional encounter with a snake or scorpion in the compound.
This building is the Health sub-centre in the densely populated village of Goran, barely twenty two kilometres from Samba in Jammu and Kashmir.
Popularly known as "Bhoot Bangla" (Haunted house), this four-room sub-centre, though meant to offer health services, has become a threat to their hygiene and sanitation - foul smell constantly emanating from human and animal excreta scattered everywhere, wooden doors and racks eaten by termites and broken chairs.
According to the local residents, this sub-centre was shut eight years ago. Previously, the staff was operating from the same building but for reasons unknown to the villagers, the services stopped. For many years, a parallel sub-centre is being run on makeshift arrangements in rented accommodation on the first floor of a shop owned by a local, Rattan Chand, who said that the prime reason behind the closure was water - logging during rains that made it difficult to keep the centre functional.
As per the guidelines issued by the Government of India, Ministry of Health and Family Welfare, a Health sub-centre is the first point of contact between the primary health care system and the community. A sub-centre provides interface with the community at the grass-root level, providing all the primary health care services. It is the lowest rung of a referral pyramid of health facilities consisting of the sub-centres, Primary Health Centres, Community Health Centres, Sub-Divisional/Sub-District Hospitals and District Hospitals.
Socially active Dr Bias Dev, Lecturer in Orthopaedics, Government Medical College, Jammu, who serves the rural population by offering free health services, believes that erecting structures in the name of health centres is sheer mockery of the intent behind these centres.
On the one hand people like Dr Dev are trying their best to serve their state and on the other, there is Union Minister of Health, Ghulam Nabi Azad, who despite hailing from the State, is evidently unaware of the ground reality. In June this year, he had sanctioned over 600 new Sub Centres to the State. Even in his recent announcements, Azad declared 22 Sub Centres only for the Banihal region.
The story does not end here, for State Minister of Health, Shabir Khan, has also made similar announcements. When the condition and efficiency of the existing centres cannot be maintained, what is the point of erecting structures only?
As per population norms, there shall be one Sub-Centre established for every 5000 population in plain areas and for every 3000 population in hilly/tribal/desert areas. As the population density in the country is not uniform, application of the same norm across the country is not advisable. So in Jammu and Kashmir, which has considerably tough geographic terrain and extreme weather conditions, a Sub- Centre is required for a smaller population.
Moreover, Goran is a popular spot known for its famous religious temple of Baba Goran where every week, thousands of devotees visit from far off places. This makes it even more essential to have an active Sub- Centre in the village that would cater not only to the villagers but also to the medical needs of the devotees.
Goran, unfortunately, is not a case in isolation. The adjoining villages of Samutha and Lodath are victims of similar neglect.
The Goran Sub- Centre clearly depicts a typical example of huge losses incurred by the government exchequer. It appears that the concerned authorities are more keen on issuing contracts for raising physical structures with a focus on spending the funds and not on making the services effective.
The new guidelines of monitoring and evaluation in the health care systems in India permits no space for such practice as it involves the complete hierarchy, including the Sarpanch, MLA, Block Level and District Level Medical Officer, Health Directors, Health Secretary, District Development Commissioner and Health Minister, among others.
Despite this extensive hierarchy of monitoring and evaluation of State-run programmes, such acutely visible lacunae continue to undermine the intent of the State to provide healthcare to all citizens and their families.
The ruined structure at the Sub- Centre, Goran, loudly conveys the plight of residents of the rural belt in Jammu region. The Government's claims about achieving excellence in providing health care facilities sound hollow due to the poor execution of the health schemes on the ground.
Residents of Jammu region are seeking an answer from those at the helm of affairs as to how they intend to provide proper delivery of health care system at its most basic unit
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Nature’s custodians
Notwithstanding the ravage left by the 2004 tsunami, the nature-loving Nicobarese continue nursing the islands’ greens even as they piece together their traditional way of life
“I would bunk school to be in the bagicha (garden) with my grandfather,” says Ambar, a wide grin spreading across his weather-beaten high cheek-boned face and mischief dancing in his narrow eyes. A stocky Nicobarese who grew up in a thickly forested village in the Nancowry group of islands in the Bay of Bengal, Ambar knows every species of every tree in the wilds he calls home. He can also master the tallest waves in the open sea on a little dinghy boat that he shaped with his own hands from a wide tree trunk. He may be unschooled, but uneducated he sure isn’t.
Ambar and his people probably haven’t heard of the buzz around environmental conservation and climate change, but they do more to protect the environment than many organised events do for the special days earmarked for saving the earth. For these island people grew up learning to respect, and live in harmony with, the natural heritage they see themselves as custodians of.
Those with the university degrees have come a long way since their research findings created new ideas for saving the environment; but have we, in the process, forgotten the wisdom of the seemingly-rudimentary traditional practices? Even as annual celebrations of special environment events are seen as ways of expressing good intent, there are communities who have, over the centuries, continued to sustain themselves without disturbing the fragile ecological balance. Which is the wiser way?
The six “primitive” tribal groups living in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands are a case in point. The islands are an archipelago of pristine, emerald green islands of volcanic origin, formed by a submarine mountain range. Only 37 of the 572 islands are inhabited. Though clubbed together and commonly referred to as a part of the Union Territory of Andaman and Nicobar Islands, the tribal communities residing across different islands are remarkably distinct from their non-tribal neighbours. The indigenous tribes in the two groups of islands are broadly classified into two groups: the Onge, Sentinelese, Jarawa and Great Andamanese of Negroid descent living on the Andaman Islands; and the Shompen and Nicobarese of Mongoloid descent in the Nicobar Islands. Except for the Nicobarese communities, the population of all the other tribes have decreased dramatically, to a total of 500 in the last 150 years as a result of the outbreak of measles and other diseases brought by the infrequent interaction with non-tribals.
The Nicobarese offer a unique and valuable contribution to India’s tapestry of natural and cultural heritage. Theirs is a complex whole of traditional knowledge, beliefs, laws, values and customs that has, over the centuries, integrated the knowledge acquired from other cultures through trade and contacts with visitors to the Islands. The resultant blend of cultures has enabled the survival of the Nicobarese, unlike their other tribal counterparts.
Enriched by traditional mores reflected in their activities of everyday life, the Nicobarese community offers glimpses of a truly just society based on cooperation and cohesion. The traditional norms extend to all spheres of life, including the use of natural resources and norms regarding conservation of the ecological balance amid human activity. The Nicobarese are horticulturalists and pig-herders who, till before the tsunami of 2004, inhabited large permanent villages mostly adjacent to the coast. The rich marine life in the vicinity of the traditional coastal villages was strictly a source of subsistence, not for livelihood or trade.
For livelihood, coconut plantations are a renewable resource and are traded in exchange for what are now “essential” commodities such as rice, sugar, cloth and fossil fuels. Although the Nicobarese economy is sufficiently monetised and trade-dependent, such monetisation has not changed the subsistence basis and nature of the economy. Harvesting of coconut is a perennial activity that is in tune with the natural cycle of regeneration.
“Planting is done in ‘sections’, or small plots of trees, so that harvesting (and therefore income) is distributed throughout the year,” explains Martin, the young heir to a vast plantation belonging to atuhet or joint family in Kamorta Island. “Harvesting in one section is completed before moving on to the next. When old trees die/become unproductive, new saplings are inter planted to keep the numbers constant.” He is quick to point out, “Plantations are common property of the family. All members work together and the harvest belongs to all.”
The tsunami of 2004 brought in its wake not just devastation of villages and ecological wealth but also changes in the cultural mosaic of the Islands, an inevitable outcome of the disaster recovery process. A decade later, it is the pragmatic outlook to life and a strong sense of self-dependence that enabled a handful of survivors to pick up the pieces and start afresh, long before the State intervened with alien and non-indigenous goods and services like housing structures made of sheets and iron, blankets and cash compensations. The ingenuity of the local communities immediately after the tsunami is a brilliant display of the survival skills that have sustained them in the face of many adversities.
Just a few months after the calamity, many survivors had moved to houses in safer locations, built using pieces of wooden planks salvaged from the sea coast — in the traditional stilted design, with thatched sloping roofs that are sturdy and leak proof — all without a single nail in the entire structure.
The struggle to find a balance between the traditional ways of life and the new-worldly aspirations of increasing material wealth has, sadly but predictably, impacted the sustainable living practices of the tribal communities. This transition, if not adequately managed, can irrevocably impact the natural heritage of this global biodiversity hotspot while also placing at risk the wealth of cultural heritage that has been adapted and protected by the local tribals over the centuries. Ambar and his ilk, caught between the traditional and modern after the tsunami wiped out their sustainable means of living off the land a decade ago, know this only too well.
(Charkha Features)
SHATTERED LIE THEIR DREAMS AND HOPES
Tazeem Akhter
Girls in a village near Poonch in J&K rarely get to study beyond the ninth standard, while the boys have all the opportunities for higher studies, writes Tazeem Akhter
On the dusky village roads in Batal Kote, in Loran region of Mandi tehsil, a two-hour drive from the border district Poonch, 250km from Jammu,when one starts observing the milieu, the feeling of having reached a bygone era is inevitable. A kuccha raasta leads to a double storey wooden house, a typical structure for this kind of geography and climate — wooden floorings, wooden staircases and wooden pillars. Before one comes to terms with the beauty of this wooden house, questions regarding its residents start popping up in the mind.
As if in answer, a lady in her mid fifties, Zaibun Noor, steps out from the house and offers a warm welcome. While opening the door of the baithak (drawing room), she informs us that a total of 19 members live in this house and they own much of the agricultural land around. Of her three sons, one works in the police department and has two wives. The second son, a matriculate who is in the money-lending business, has an 18 year-old wife who is already a mother of two. As she gets involved in the animated conversation, it is difficult to figure whether she was happy or sad, for a discussion on education leaves everyone in shock — none of the women members of the family was ever enrolled in school. Until the recent generation of the grandchildren, that is.
But there's a rider here too: The male grandchildren are enrolled in Kerala School (a reference to Christian Missionary schools that provide quality education) in Loran while the female grandchildren had to settle with the Government middle school in Batal Kote. “Kudiyan dusre ghar jana” (girls will be married off), said the grandmother of the little children, explaining why they are not interested in educating the girls of the family. The trend is similar across the village.
A few metres away from this wooden house are a group of four to five girls hidden by a water-tank. Seeing them unburdening a huge bundle of wood each, cut and carried on their heads through the nearby forests, it is evident that they are exhausted. Striking up a conversation with girls in such remote areas always requires a certain amount of impudence, but as the conversation starts off, their brutally frank talk and disarmingly gentle smiles quivering across their shy faces leave one spellbound. A sense of satisfaction and pride is palpable when the girls share that they do attend school — two of them are Class 10 students and three are in Class 9.
These young girls work really hard, literally, for their education. After helping in household chores every morning, they attend school, and after school, they head to the forests to gather firewood, carrying the huge bundles home on their heads. Done with that back-breaking work, they begin helping with the cooking for dinner. They study once the household is asleep — all this, despite knowing only too well that they will not be given a chance to study after Class 10.
This is not unusual. The recently released Annual Status of Education Report shows that the proportion of girls (age 11 to 14) not in school in Jammu & Kashmir has dropped encouragingly from 8.3 per cent in 2006 to 3.7 per cent in 2011, but rose again to 5 per cent in 2012. The proportion of girls in the higher age group (age 15 to 16) not attending school was a substantially higher 13.9 per cent in 2012; a telling comment on parents who hold back their daughters from school, intending to marry them off instead. “It is impossible to study after Class 10. Our parents marry us off as soon as we have our exam results in hands”, said Ishrat, one of the five girls, breaking into a shy giggle.
The current statistics, however, do not take away the zeal these girls have for studying further. Even though the idea of girls studying in college sounds incredibly bizarre to them initially, they are ready to put in every possible effort to study harder and, with good grades, try and convince their parents to allow them to study further. This is a distant dream they wish to fulfill. But that will require a change in the mindset of their parents in particular and society in general.
Charkha Features
charkha@bol.net.in
Friday, May 17, 2013
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