The River

I am now the repository of severalbourgeois artefacts—car, mobile phone, air conditioner and atwo-and-a-half-year-old, who goes to a posh playschool. The playschool isextremely child-friendly—open air, full of play areas, not many kids to aclass. Which is, of course, why we picked it. Needless to say, the school'sconstituency is central and south Delhi—upper class or upwardly mobilefamilies with strong opinions on pedagogy and child development. So, everyday,we cross the river from Noida to Delhi, to give Imran the best possible chanceto enjoy school.

A week ago, I was on the other side of the river, in a basti calledHathishala —one of the bastis demarcated for demolition as part of theYamuna riverfront beautification plan. I was shooting a library programme forthe basti kids. A young girl, a bag of books and a horde of bastichildren clamouring to get their next book—from Naitik Lok Kathayein toMahashweta Devi's Kyon Kyon Ladki. 

The pleasure of getting a new book for the week was so immense that 12-year-oldMamuni was more excited about telling me about the books and reading than aboutthe imminent demolition of her home.

I walk between these two worlds, carefully avoiding both the drinking water inHathishala and the elite politics that permeates much of my world, trying tomake sense of the direction in which I am heading. 

Imran and I have wandered in many city spaces demarcated for children. All thoseopen to all city parks where middle class parents rarely take their kids. Thecleaner, newer park in Noida, with slides in different shapes and swings thatactually work! But to use it, you now have to prove you're a resident! And thenthere are the spaces open to all who can pay. The child-friendliness—balloons,Disney toys and a children's play area—comes packaged with a hamburger andfries. 

I have a tangled maze of questions. And as Imran grows, the maze gets denser. Asafe and comfortable roof, clean water, mobility in the city, a good education.Time to work outside the home, time to spend with him inside the home and yethave a well-maintained home with home-cooked meals. How does one ensure all ofthis without becoming elite? And can you be elite but reject elite politics? 

The maze grows and I cross the river, everyday, in one way or another. Soon, wewill be speaking more in English, Imran and I. Perhaps, Mamuni will move toanother basti even further away from middle class eyes. Perhaps, Imranwill also grow up to read Kyon Kyon Ladki. And the river—will it alwaysbe there, always a great distance with no real bridges to cross? 

This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, February 15,2006