[Reader-list] Walking the Station with the Girls

[zainab at xtdnet.nl]

Walking the Station with the Girls
(Practices of Marking at a Railway Station)

This evening, I have an appointment with Sushanti and Suparna. They are
home guards at a railway station in the city. I have known them for
sometime now. Earlier in the week, I had requested them to allow me to
walk the railway station with them. “Sure, we can show you around the
railway station, but anything outside the railway station, we don’t know
much.”

Through some days now, I have been examining practices of marking at
railway stations in the city. Marking takes place on the criteria of
religious affiliation, economic class, criminality/non-criminality,
abnormality/normality, traveling without ticket versus traveling with
ticket and profession. Ticket Checkers indulge in marking; they need to
determine who is traveling with a ticket and who is traveling ticketless.
Home guards need to mark drug addicts and criminals and miscreant men.
They also mark women, though that is not part of their job. Why is the
railway station a site of marking in a city?

I landed at 8:30 PM at the railway station. Neelam, another home guard, is
standing on the entrance of the first ladies compartment of the local
train. As usual, I approach her to ask for Sushanti and Suparna. Neelima
is married and has children and she tells me that she tries to balance
home and work. After walking around the station a bit, we manage to find
Sushanti and Suparna. Today is Gudi Padwa, the Maharashtrian New Year.
Suparna excitedly comes and greets me, “Happy New Year.” I wish her the
same. Sushanti tells me, “Today is a good day. There is less rush at the
station because of festival and plus, today is Saturday. On a regular day,
this station is madness personified. Till 8:00 PM, we keep standing. The
rush of women drops after 8 PM which is when we take a little rest by
sitting on the flooring of the trains that arrive here. Our work timing is
from 4:00 PM until 11. By 11, this station is silent. Since all of us
girls live in the same area, about ten minutes away from each other, we
travel together. My father comes half way through the road to pick me up.
We have been here since nine months and have not faced any untoward
incident at night.”

Sushanti and Suparna are proud of their job. They feel this is desh seva.
“There are so many facilities at the railway station, all for ladies.
First, you had the GRP (General Railway Police, a force of the State
Police) which used to patrol the station. Then, with the rape case in the
train, GRP guards were made to travel in the trains with the ladies. Last
year, the Deputy Chief Minister got 500 home guards to stand on the
railway station and make sure that women don’t get harassed. All of this
for ladies only.”

We start to walk the platform. Sushanti takes me to platform number 7.
“This is the most danger area. On weekdays, during the peak hours (i.e.
5-8 PM), ladies are running like mad to get inside the train. All
long-distance fast trains halt here. Even before the train has halted,
these ladies will jump inside the train to get seats. It is so dangerous.
Even the males are wonderstruck when they watch the ladies jumping like
this in the trains. We have fun watching the women jump. That’s our only
source of entertainment here.” We start to walk towards the end of the
platform. “This is also a very danger point. The danger is because the
thieves and the drug addicts stand right here and in the crowds, they use
their blades to slit the bags and steal. Once, one of our GRP men got hold
of two druggies stealing. They had a major fight. The druggies slit the
hands of the guard with their blades. You have to be very careful of their
blades. You can get AIDS.” Suparna adds, “Poison – the blades are
poisonous. You have to be careful.” Sushanti concludes, “So, on a
platform, we have the first point, middle point and the last point
(corresponding with the first ladies, middle ladies and the last ladies
compartments). There is too much stench around platform number 7. Very
dirty there! That is the place where the druggies reside.”

I am going to eat dinner with Sushanti and Suparna. I am also embarrassed
because I am not carrying tiffin with me. Hence I have nothing to
share/contribute in their dinner fiesta. “We will eat dinner late,”
Sushanti tells me, adding, “let us take the train and go to some stations.
You ask us whatever questions you want. I don’t know what you would be
interested in knowing from us.” I nod. We get inside the train. “How do
you feel doing this job? Do your parents and family members support you?
What about your social life? Do you have a life beyond the railway
station?” I ask them as we are riding the trains. Sushanti tells me, “I
feel tired at the end of the day. It is not easy to keep standing all the
while on the platform. I have backache. But I take care of myself. After
8, I take rest on the station. Parents don’t have much problem with my
work. You see, more than family members, it is the neighbours who like to
gossip and question ‘where is this girl going? Why does she come home
late?’ For us, as long as our parents trust us, it is fine. Our parents
are assured that our daughter is not doing anything wrong. Till then, it
is fine. As for social life, I don’t know about others, but I personally
take out time to be with friends. It is important for me.”

As we are riding the trains, two of their colleagues, male GRP guards,
inquire about me. When we get off the station, Sushanti introduces me to
them. “You tell them what you are doing.” I try to explain to one of the
colleagues. He asks, “Are you Christian?” “No,” I respond, clarifying my
religious affiliation. “Okay. I have only started patrolling the stations
since a month or so hence I have not much experience to share with you.
Yeah, but I remember that some days ago, a woman was walking on the
platform when a man from the general compartment, looking at her, said,
‘kya maal hai?’(i.e. sexy thing). The lady saw that we GRP guards were
sitting there. She took riks (i.e. risk) on our basis and slapped the man.
The man started saying that he did not make the remark and that the other
fellow had. She retorted angrily. In the meanwhile, a bhaiyya (from Uttar
Pradesh) bhel-puri hawker was showing his 32 white teeth and smiling at
the woman’s plight. Hamne danda liya aur kaan ke neeche baja diya usko (We
took our stick and gave him solid beating). These are two memorable
experiences of recent times.” Sushanti added, “That’s true what he said.
Because we guards are around, ladies take riks (i.e. risk) and are able to
retort to the men. But there are times when ladies will ask us to threaten
the men eve-teasing them. When we ask the ladies to come with us to the
men, they will want to scamper away. How can we simply go up to a man and
threaten him if the woman is not coming forward with us as witness and
victim?”

Sushanti then introduces me to the home guard at the station we are on.
Her name is Vijaya. “Meet Vijaya,” Sushanti tells me, “She is very
fearless. She will stay alone at this station. This station becomes very
silent after 9 PM. But she holds guard.” Vijaya excitedly shakes hands
with me. “I don’t fear anything except for ghosts and uparwala (i.e.
god),” she says. “But where are the ghosts?” I ask her. “Oh,” she says,
“the lane where I live becomes very silent at 2:30 in the night. I feel
afraid to venture there at that time. That’s when I feel there are ghosts
there.” Vijaya is married. Her husband tells her that as long as she can
pay equal attention at home, she is permitted to do this job. “I have
always loved serving people. Since my youth I have been engaged in this
kind of activity. Sometimes I defy my husband and come to perform duty
here. I have three children. But I manage to balance home and work.
Husband says that I should make sure that I am back home every night by
12:30 AM.”

We decide to take the train back to our original station. Sushanti starts
to say, “This is how we perform our duty. It is tough. The harbour line
railway stations are most dangerous. There we have only one home guard per
point. But they are left early. Some of the harbour line railway stations
are very dangerous, like Reay Road and Dockyard station and even Govandi.”
“Why do you call them dangerous?” I asked her, presuming that her notion
of ‘dangerous’ emerges from the close presence of slums along those two
railway stations. She responds, “Oh, Reay Road and Dockyard are Muslim
areas and hence the stations are dangerous.” “What about Govandi? Why do
you call that dangerous?” I ask her. “I don’t know much about Govandi. I
have never been there. But one girl used to work there and she used to say
this to us. I don’t know much,” Sushanti says.

We return back to the station. I ask both of them to tell me if they have
seen deaths at the station and how it makes them feel. “Yes, we have seen
deaths. No deaths take place at junction stations like VT and Churchgate.
But on other stations, people recklessly cross the station. The first
death I had seen was of a 12-year-old boy. I am not sure how he became a
victim, but his body was completely cut apart. I had seen his dead body. I
just could not sleep for about two days after that. It was so terrible.
Now, we are used to it. There is a fine for people who cross the railway
tracks. It is a criminal offense to cross the railway tracks (and a social
offense to travel ticketless as indicated by the notice boards on the
railway stations) and the police can fine you for this. But people cross.
On one occasion, a fat man was trying to cross the tracks. But due to his
weight, he could not climb up. He tried and tried, but he could not get
himself to lift up and climb back on the tracks. The mail train was fast
approaching. I was standing there and watching, but I could not help him.
Then, a group of 12 men came and stopped the train and helped the man out.
When he got onto the platform, I shouted at him, ‘what mister, hasn’t the
government made bridges for you to navigate the station? Why do you have
to cross the tracks? What if you had died here today?’ He started saying
‘sorry, sorry’ to me. I told him, ‘you are elder in age to me. And you
will say sorry and get off. Don’t say sorry to me. Resolve that you will
use the Foot Over Bridge instead of crossing the tracks.’ Now you tell me,
you must have been to foreign countries. How is the railway station there?
We have seen images of the doors of the train close automatically there.
But can you cross tracks there? Is the railway station like this over
there too?” I am astonished as to how Sushanti knows that I have been
abroad. Did I ever tell her? I tell her that it is a criminal offense
there too to cross the tracks. It’s simply not allowed.

It’s dinner time now. Sushanti and Suparna collect their bags from their
little police post on the station and we start to proceed towards the
ladies waiting room which is where we will be eating our dinner. Sushanti
says to me, “Children escape from homes and come to the station and fall
in bad company and start to do drugs. Once, a boy came up to me and said
‘my elder brother is calling you.’ My colleague was also with me. I knew
the boy was teasing us. I thrashed him and asked him ‘where is your elder
brother? Take us there!’ He ran away. We knew that he was a truant boy. A
few days later, we saw the same boy at another station. He was walking
with an elderly man. We thought that this is the elder brother he is
talking about. We decided to thrash that man. We went up to him and said,
‘are you his elder brother who wanted to meet us?’ The man said, ‘I am
this boy’s father. This boy does not sit in school and runs off to the
station to do drugs. I don’t know what to do with him.’ From his looks, we
had determined that the boy was from a good family. We understand that it
is easy to fall into bad habits, but difficult to get out. So we
empathized with the father and said to him, ‘Now that we know he is your
son, the next time we see him doing drugs on the station, we will beat him
up and get him back to you. You don’t worry.’ I don’t like beating the
children,” Sushanti says contemplatively and with a sense of sadness, “but
this is part of our job. Initially, it was difficult. But you know, we
have to be strict otherwise these people will sit on our heads. Even now,
I don’t beat up. I just warn them and let them go.” “How do people
perceive you?” I ask her, as she is reflecting on her everyday life at the
station. “Some people are good to us and respect our duties. But a lot of
women don’t see us with respect. If we are sitting for a while, they will
say ‘look at them. Government servants and they are bumming around.’ Once,
a five plus one, you understand know, that means six (eunuch), had boarded
the train. He was old and wasn’t harassing the women. We entered the
train. After a while, he quietly walked out. The ladies started saying,
‘look at you, home guards, you don’t do anything when these eunuchs enter
the train. What use are you? We have to fend for ourselves.’ I got angry
and responded to the woman who made the remark, ‘madam, just because you
have money and that eunuch doesn’t, you can say these things. And he
wasn’t doing anything to you. And, for your kind information, if I hadn’t
entered the train, he wouldn’t have walked out.’ The woman got angry and
she started yelling at me. I told her, ‘I am a government servant and not
your servant. The government gives me money and not you.’ But she kept on
yelling. I felt bad and told my seniors about this. They said to me, ‘you
go on doing your duty. It doesn’t matter what the public says.’ That is
how the public is here. They will not acknowledge what we are doing. And I
am telling you, statistics have revealed that crime rates have come down
by 80% ever since we were posted here. Now only 20% has to be tackled
with.”

We settled down to eat dinner. Sushanti and Suparna’s colleagues are
there. They ask me to take a bite from their tiffin. Sushanti says to me,
“Here, take some vegetable and chappatis. Now, I don’t like to tell the
other person ‘please, please, eat some’. If you like, take more from my
tiffin. That is how I like.” We start to eat and as per her instructions,
I dig into her tiffin whenever I need more. She feels happy that I have
adjusted to them. “That feels nice. Look Suparna, she eats so well,” she
says to Suparna. “So,” I ask her, “this waiting room is everything for
you? I mean you change your clothes here and when you get back at night,
you change your clothes here?” She replies, “When we come in the evening
for duty, we change here. On return, we dress half-civil i.e. we simply
change the top garment and retain the trousers. This way, people don’t see
us with bad eye. In the beginning, we used to feel afraid returning back
home. Once you are in plain clothes, you are just like the average public.
The uniform has power. So when we used to go back home in civil clothes,
public in the trains and on the station used to think we are dance bar
girls returning. Now that we dress half-civil, people know that we are
returning from our duty and we are not that type of girls.”

As dinner ends, Sushanti’s colleagues are curious to know more about me.
“She is our friend,” Sushanti declares proudly. One of their colleagues,
Sunidhi, comes up to me. She sees the Sarai Broadsheets which I am
carrying in my hands. “What is this?” she asks. “Can you read English? If
you can, take one,” I respond. She starts to open out the Broadsheet. “Oh,
this opens out completely huh?” she says. Sushanti tells me, “You know, we
can understand English very well. If someone says something to us, we can
clearly understand. But it is difficult for us to respond. That is why, we
would prefer if you speak with us in English. That way, we can learn
something from you.” I hand over a copy of the Broadsheet to Suparna as
well. She is having fun with the image in the middle of the inside poster.
“I know this, I know this. It is illusion,” she shouts.

Sunidhi starts talking to me. “I want to start my own business. Now I am
trying to. But until business starts, I want to continue in this job.”
Sushanti once again asks my name. “Accha, so you are Muslim huh? Do you
follow the Quran?” I tell her that religion is not a strict imposition in
my home and that my parents have allowed me to do what I have wanted to.
“Oh, that means there is love in your home,” she concludes happily. “We
have made quite a few good friends here, at the station, in all these
months of duty. We have met some really nice people. Now you are one of
them. Do you do ghar-kaam (i.e. household work as expected of a girl)?”
“No,” I tell her. “Yeah, when I saw you, I realized that you must be from
a hi-fi family. So you must be having servants at home to do work. But it
is nice to know some ghar-kaam. It’s important because even when there are
servants around, husband likes it if wife does some of the household work,
especially cooking, with her own hands.” I nod.

Something happens and we start to talk about different cities. Delhi
becomes a subject of discussion. Sunidhi says, “It’s good in Delhi, I have
heard.” I tell Sunidhi that Delhi is an unsafe place for women and there
is greater liberty for women in Bombay. “Yeah, I would guess as much,” she
starts saying, “Mughals had ruled Delhi and they would keep their wives
inside their homes. Hence this culture in Delhi. I have loved Razia
Sultan. Sushanti, you know that Razia Sultan was the only Muslim woman who
ruled a kingdom. And the Muslim men did not like this and hence they
killed her. I truly adore her character.”

We start to wrap up and walk back to the station. Sushanti, Sunidhi and
myself are walking back. “Just a minute, we will keep our bags and join
you,” Sushanti says. The station is quite empty now. As I stand by a
pillar, I realize that I am now a visible entity. In the rush hours of the
day and the evening, standing at the pillar on the station is a practice
which is not marked because the individual is anonymous and invisible. But
at 10:30 at night, this same practice creates visibility and perhaps could
result in the ‘public’ marking me. Would I also be seen as a dance bar
girl? Sushanti and Sunidhi arrive. I ask Sunidhi where her point is.
“There, at platform number 7. It stinks badly all the time. I don’t like
it there.” Suddenly, Sushanti sees a burkha clad woman and asks me, “In
yours, do you wear burkha?” “No,” I tell her. “It’s getting late now. You
had better go. Your mummy will be worried about you,” she tells me with
concern. I board the local train. “We know the time-table by-heart now,”
Sushanti informs me while there is some time for the train to depart.
“Public asks us about the trains. And some people, inspite of giving them
the correct information, they will ask around with others to confirm again
and again. I feel irritated that the public does not trust.”

The train starts to move slowly from the platform. We wave out to each
other. I return ...


Zainab Bawa
Bombay
www.xanga.com/CityBytes
http://crimsonfeet.recut.org/rubrique53.html