By Srinivas Alavilli Bengalureans, did you notice that someone fixed that black spot on your way to work and it now looks nice with a little bench and simple art that makes the place walkable and pleasant on the eyes? Did you come across pictures on social media of people sweating it out and cleaning lakes on a Sunday morning? Do you know someone that teaches and helps out in the local government school? Did you notice there was a massive protest to save trees on Jayamahal Road and a thousand people got on the streets? Did you know local residents were filing RTIs, writing letters, and meeting officials behind the scenes before it became a protest? Did you notice that right now there is a group of concerned citizens trying to save trees in the compound of the Queens Road veterinary hospital? Have you met the senior citizen in your park who takes care of composting and upkeep of the park on a daily basis to keep it a happy place for local residents? Did you ever sit in a small meeting along with your neighbors to learn about waste segregation at source from fellow citizens that are working with BBMP to keep our city clean? Do you know, every day, in some place or the other in our city, a group of citizens are getting involved locally, in one way or another, and making a difference to their neighborhood that they can see and feel? Did you wonder how 8,000 people gathered in one place for the human chain in support of the ‘Steel Flyover Beda’ campaign? Did you know that much before the steel flyover, people got together and stopped wasteful projects in Koramangala and elsewhere? The people that do this are just like you and me – regular people with jobs and other responsibilities. They have come to the realisation that talk is cheap, and actions speak louder. These people – who partner with their local Corporator and the Health Inspector (to bring the truck when the cleanup is done) and work closely with various city agencies are indeed an asset to our city. Does it bother you that the system is so broken that people need to get involved in getting simple things done while there is an elected body that runs the city and has an annual budget of Rs 9,000 crores and all the resources in terms of personnel and equipment? Do you feel that the good work citizens do must be scaled up because our city is huge with 1.2 crore population? In my travels over a decade in this city I have come across hundreds of people that are committed and passionate and bring their professional expertise to learn about things like composting and rain water harvesting. I am often amazed at the level of understanding ordinary citizens have about mobility, road design, city planning and the laws that govern it. Does it not make sense for these every day unsung heroes to become part of the ward committees of BBMP? Do you find yourself asking, "What is this ward committee?". Here is the simple answer: a ward committee is a group of 10 residents of a ward that works with the Corporator and the corporation (BBMP) for the betterment of the ward. They have monthly meetings with the Corporator and officials and review projects and give feedback on behalf of people of that ward. Their presence in ward committees will go a long way in making the right decisions for the ward and in bridging the gap and building trust between the government and the citizen. We request you to think of all those people and nominate them to get on ward committees. Most of these people are reluctant warriors and shun the spotlight. But it is time we publicly acknowledge their work and ask them to be formally engaged when there is an opportunity that is built into our law but never gets implemented. We request you to spread the word so more people are aware that there is such a thing called the Ward Committee and now is open for active citizen participation. We have more than 850 nominations so far. But our city has 198 wards which means we need 1880 members! We invite you to do your bit in strengthening our local government which in fact is the government we see and experience every day. Nominate people here: http://bit.ly/cfbwcnominate Or submit applications before 5pm Friday, 16 June, at the BBMP Head Office. http://bit.ly/cfbwcjun16 (This blog was first published on the Facebook page Citizens for Bengaluru and has been republished with permission from the author.) 

The run-up to Deepavali this year saw a fierce debate on religion and tradition versus the environment and pollution. This after the Supreme Court imposed a ban on the sale of firecrackers in New Delhi and NCR in an attempt to curb pollution. With public opinion polarised on the issue, environmentalist Nityanand Jayaraman, working with the Vettiver Collective in Chennai, answers some fundamental questions raised in the debate. There are four questions which I am going to address here. The first is - It is just a few days of celebration.  How much harm can it cause? Second - What about the air pollution during the rest of the year? Third – This is a tradition that we have followed for millennia. This was never a problem when we were growing up. Why is it a problem now? Fourth – What about the pollution caused by other festivals? Here's my response. 1. It is just a few days of celebration.  How much harm can it cause? The intensity of the celebration (bursting firecrackers) depends on the number of people bursting, the duration of the celebration and the quantity and type of firecrackers they burst. This can be ameliorated or worsened by weather conditions, and whether you live in a congested area or an open neighbourhood. The unfettered bursting of firecrackers can send air quality plummeting as it did yesterday (Wednesday), when air quality index (AQI) was 15 times worse than satisfactory levels. As I have written, it is a scientific fact that AQI above 400 will harm even healthy people, and may send children and other vulnerable populations to the emergency ward. Even brief exposures to such high levels can cause extreme distress to such people. Our tradition does not teach us to harm others, and I'm sure people who are bursting firecrackers are not doing that to harm others or send children and the elderly to the hospital. They are doing that because they don't know, and are not told that there are healthier ways to celebrate. At such high levels, there is no escape from the killer dust, which will go deep into your bodies and harm you over a long term. The damage due to short exposures to intense pollution can be significant and prolonged. This is particularly so, when the remaining 365 days are also spent in unhealthy conditions, and you allude to that. This brings me to your second challenge. Read: Chennai chokes on Deepavali, air pollution at hazardous levels 2. Why is enough not being done about air pollution during the rest of the year? Why do people cry and shout only during Diwali? You are right that enough is not being done about air pollution during the rest of the year. I work in a collective that lends support to communities in Ennore, a port near Chennai, where coal-fired thermal power plants and heavy vehicle movement has rendered air quality unhealthy throughout the year. No matter how loudly we shout, we are unable to make ourselves heard. We also talk about pollution of the Ennore Creek with oily wastes from the Manali petrochemical refinery. Every day, the refinery and the industrial estate discharges tonnes of toxic, noxious oily wastes into the Ennore Creek and the Bay of Bengal. Fisherfolk have been shouting about it since 1990s. But they are not being heard. It is not because the fisherfolk are not loud enough. Rather it is because we are deaf or unwilling to listen. It was ironic then that when the oil tanker collision sent oily wastes into the Bay of Bengal, all of Chennai was self-righteously indignant. You are right that after Deepavali the air (pollution) clears. When we think that air has returned to normal, air quality levels will still be high enough to harm us. What that should tell us is not that Deepavali pollution should be condoned, but that the pollution during the rest of the year needs to be curbed by tackling its causes – private vehicles, air pollution intensive electricity generation, poor construction practices and inadequate vegetative cover within the city. Also, it is not only during Diwali that we shout. You will notice a similar spike in concern over air pollution in January around Bhogi, when the burning of old things (including tyres) and unfavourable meteorological conditions intensify air pollution. In September, when the Velankanni Church celebrates the Feast of Our Lady, the beach in Chennai and all roads leading to Besant Nagar are just trashed by earnest devotees. Clearly the problem is not restricted to any one religion, and all religions and all rituals need to be re-evaluated in light of growing evidence that human lifestyles are harming the environment and humans who need air, water, and food to survive. Also read: Air quality plummets in Hyderabad on Diwali day 3. This is a tradition that we have followed for millennia. This was never a problem when we were growing up. Why are we making it a problem now? This is incorrect. Deepavali is a festival of lights, not a festival of noise and smoke. You are right that bursting firecrackers was a part of the Deepavali ritual when we were growing up. But it was not always that way. Lighting lamps which was an important part of Deepavali is hardly done nowadays, and bursting firecrackers has become more common place. The difference between when we were growing up and now is two-fold: a) There were a lot fewer people. In 1970, India's population was 550 million less than half of what it is now. Chennai had a population of 3 million as against a population of 5 million today – two million additional people live in the same land area. b) Overall, there were fewer people, and disposable incomes were small. Today, the middle class has expanded and the disposable income has increased. Hence, more people bursting more crackers. The same thing that we did a few decades ago with little impact has now become deadly. Traditions are not unchanging. Neither are the changes uniformly bad or good. Complaining about Deepavali's pollution is not an attack on Hindu tradition. It is a plea to change that tradition so that Deepavali can actually become a happy one. But Deepavalis of this loud and smoky kind are not happy for many, and particularly traumatic for animals. We would not permit our children to entertain themselves by stoning a kitten or a puppy; rather, we may teach them to enjoy themselves by petting it or feeding it. Similarly, why can't we kindle the spirit of celebration by engaging in compassionate but equally fun engagements? Why can't Deepavali be a festival of lights – a gentle festival, where we invite friends, sing songs, eat good food? 4. What about pollution caused by festivals of other religions? All our places of worship, and our rituals – irrespective of religion – have become anti-life. Christmas is a vulgar occasion of shopping and gifting things we never knew we needed to people who have no need for any more things. Increasingly, Christmas is less and less about Christ and more and more about shopping. So, you're right that we should be questioning and challenging any practices that make one person's celebration into another person's pain. I can appreciate your angst at the use of loudspeakers for religious purposes. This is done by “followers” of all religions, and there is a prohibition on this beyond 10 p.m. We could do better. Happy Smokeless, Noiseless Deepavali!

By Ahsam KR “I’m close to 100 years in age. This tree was there when I first came here, so it must be more than 100 years old,” Dr Kesavan Nayar told me when I asked him about the Muthassi Maram in the grounds of Government Victoria College, his alma mater. Dr TK Kesavan Nayar – he always wrote ‘Nayar’ and not ‘Nair’ as how it is usually put – passed away on 14 March, 2018, after his health deteriorated in the last few months. He was 100 and, till his end, he held his stethoscope close. He was an optimist and an optimal person. When asked about his longevity and health, he had talked about eating optimally – his mantra was, “leave some space in your stomach after every meal, do not fill it to the maximum”. His optimism was so visible in the way he laid the foundation for so many institutions and organizations in a town like Palakkad, where you are sure to be met with dissent when a new idea is proposed. His capability and sincerity could have taken him places; he remained in his hometown and served his fellow people, initially without a choice and later out of his own choice. He was an honorary doctor at the Palghat District Hospital for 21 long years, and he refused to receive any payment for the same. Read: Young at 96: Meet the nonagenarian doctor who still continues his practice He placed the first brick in place for the IMA chapter of Palakkad, the Lions Club of Palghat, the Palghat Lions School, the Bhavans Vidya Mandir at Chithali, the Community Health Centre at Puduppariyaram and many more, some of which didn’t take shape fully. During his final years, he was very much involved in his own practice at Sreedevi Clinic, Koppam, and the Palakkad Cultural and Educational Council. His loyal clientele never left him for another doctor; his treatment was always non-invasive and with so much consideration for the patient as a person and not just another case. Sometimes, he could just diagnose the ailments by simply looking at the condition of the patients and the external symptoms displayed. Through the Palakkad Cultural and Educational Council, he made available scholarships and financial assistance to deserving students across the district, and thus aided, in his own way, to improving the educational scenario of his town. Dr TK Kesavan Nayar was born to Thelakkat Kalathilthodiyl Sridevi Amma and Koduvayur Vadakkeppat Thenju Nayar in 1918, at Kunduvampadam, Peringode Amsomin Kongad Panchayath of Palakkad Taluk. He studied at the Koduvayur High School and joined for Intermediate at Government Victoria College in 1935. He graduated in Medicine from Madras Medical College in 1944. After working as House Surgeon for one year at General Hospital and six months at Government RSRM Lying In Hospital, Royapuram, he started his independent practice in February, 1946, at Palakkad. He also joined the Taluk Hospital as Honorary Medical Officer. He was a doyen in the field of medicine as well as social service, and for me, personally, his demise is a great loss. His words still ring in my ears, “The rich are the guardians of the poor.” The author is a faculty member at Srishti Institute of Art, Design and Technology, Bangalore, and has made a documentary about Dr TK Kesavan Nayar.

Aditya CS Back in 1993, playing cricket for me meant hitting a plastic ball with a plastic bat. I was all of 4 then. Over the next three years, I played cricket with a rubber ball and a wooden bat while trying to emulate Sachin Tendulkar, much like most other Indian kids at the time. These were my first memories of cricket and Sachin was the only cricketer I knew. Then came the 1996 World Cup, the year I turned 7 years old and put up a poster of Sachin from Sportstar magazine in my room. This was also my last act as a fan of Indian cricket. During the 1996 World Cup, all I could understand was that Sri Lanka had gone on to win the World Cup and it was a big deal. But the thing that stood out from the tournament was watching these chaps in yellow kits play. Guys who played differently. I enjoyed watching them play in spite of not knowing why. I experienced disappointment as a cricket fan for the first time when Damien Fleming dropped Asanka Gurusinha off Mark Waugh's bowling in the finals and the second time when Paul Reiffel dropped Aravinda DeSilva in the same game. The World Cup was lost but since then I always wanted to watch the Aussies play. Cricket for me was not just about Sachin or playing with my friends anymore. It was about the guys in yellow who stood out for some reason for a 7-year-old kid from Chennai.  Before I knew it, I had become an Aussie fan. Eventually, I realised why I had become one. These guys were tough competitors. They never gave up. They were quicker and stronger than most other teams. They produced some of the best pacers the game has ever seen and pace bowling is still my favourite facet of this lovely sport. Their leg spinner was a legend in the making. Over the next three years I had a Shane Warne poster, an autographed photo of Warnie, a picture of the Waugh brothers and one of Ian Healy, alongside my poster of Sachin. By the time the 1999 World Cup started, I knew that the Aussies were a special team. They played a different brand of cricket. Brash, competitive, energetic, taking charge of the game, converting ones to twos, taking blinding catches, converting half chances and most importantly they did it all with aggression! I started playing sport like them, only to become an outcast in South India where humility is a characteristic one is expected to possess even in a boxing bout. The times when I served an ace in a game of tennis and followed it up with a smirk or engaged opponents in banter on the basketball court, I knew it was only adding to my 'bad boy' image. But I didn't care much like my heroes who played cricket for Australia. Despite being the bad guys, they were winning by stamping their authority on the sport. Though I wasn't much of a sporting success, I believed their approach was one that lets you take charge of things. Hook the bouncers, take them on, dive to take a catch, go for the direct hits and trust your teammates to back up your throw. And when you have the cherry in your hand, hit them with bouncers, say things that would put them off and get them out. Once the game is over, invite the opposition for a beer to your team's dressing room. This was the 'Aussie way'. The 'in your face' approach was working for them. Between 1997 and 2007, some of the most exciting cricketers to have played for Australia emerged. Steve Waugh, Shane Warne, Glenn McGrath, Ricky Ponting, Brett Lee, Adam Gilchrist, Matthew Hayden, Andrew Symonds to name a few. These 10 years were also my formative years (from the age of 8 to 18) - a period during which I copped a lot of criticism because I was an Aussie fan. Be it at school, playgrounds or anywhere I went, I would always gloat when Australia won a game and rub it in the faces of those (pretty much everyone around me) who were cheering for India. After games, some Indian fans would go on to condemn the very players they had put on a pedestal before the game and in some parts of the country, fans would even resort to vandalism. But I stood by my team (the Aussies) through thick and thin because every Aussie fan was certain that their team would bounce back soon after a defeat. While India was bleeding blue I was bleeding yellow. I had been labelled an anti-national much before it became mainstream. I would root for Leander Paes at the Chennai Open as he, like the Aussies, was possessed with a never-say-die spirit. People who could not differentiate between sport and patriotism were asking me to go to Australia. I never really gave two hoots and continued being an Aussie fan, come what may! Even when I heard people from earlier generations talk about cricketing greats from yesteryears, the stories about Lillie (Dennis Lillee) and Thommo (Jeff Thomson) always had something about them that was missing in the narrative about the great Windies or that of Gavaskar standing up to defend a bouncer and make the ball fall in front of his feet. It was the chutzpah that was missing! It took me 11 years to understand why these guys in yellow stood out, back in 1996. Good old chutzpah! During their decade of dominance from 1997 to 2007, they lost an Ashes series in 2005, a couple of series’ against India and weren't dominating the T20 format but there was no doubt that they were the best team of the decade. They won three consecutive World Cups during this time. From 2007 onwards however, I had my fair share of disappointments. Teams had proved that the Aussies were no longer invincible and could be beaten. They were not the same formidable force anymore. But I was still an Aussie fan. I did not give up on my favourite cricket team. In 2011, India beat Australia in the World Cup quarter-finals. That was perhaps one of the worst days of my life. Friends from school, college, my neighbourhood, colleagues vented out years of pent up frustration of having to listen to me sledge them every time Australia beat India. It was my turn to cop some and I did it just the way the Aussies would. I answered every phone call and replied to every text saying 'wait till 2015'. I did not shy away from it.   Even though 2011-2013 saw an up and down patch, I still did not give up supporting the Kangaroos. Then came Mitchell Johnson in 2013 and along with Michael Clarke's batting prowess, I was back to my obnoxious best. And in the 2015 World Cup semi-finals, Australia beat India and went on to win the tournament and it felt like normalcy had been restored. There were many controversies the Australians found themselves mired in. There were allegations that they sledged, they were bullies, they don't walk (well no batsman ever did except Gilchrist) and I would defend them tooth and nail because I did not see anything wrong with bouncing a batsman or getting in his face and claiming a wicket. It was fine, they played tough and it worked for them. In 2003, Warne failed a dope test and I was sure that it was not to gain an unfair advantage. Ponting claimed a catch that hit the ground in 2007 and still I believed that they were not trying to cheat. Australians wouldn't cheat. They will bounce you, sledge you, bully you, stare and glare at umpires but wouldn't cheat. The belief was so strong that when Indian cricket was recovering from a match fixing scandal in 2001, the likes of Sachin, Dravid, Kumble and Sourav said what Indian cricket needed the most at that time was a series against Australia to restore the faith of Indian cricket fans. They needed to play a side that respected the sport and would give every game their all. A side that you know wouldn't think of losing at any cost. And most of all a side that loved the game of cricket. And boy, what a series that was! Indian cricket fans believed in their team once again. Yes they belonged to the other camp but I was happy for them. This is what I loved about the way Aussies played cricket. More than two decades of Australian cricket has been a part of my life and remains an influence on me, the way I looked at things, the way I faced situations head-on, the “never-say-die” attitude that was instilled in me during my formative years. But today I feel let down. I have nothing to say. I still can't believe what has happened. It still hasn't sunk in. An Australian team tampering with the ball. They cheated and they planned to do it. I feel sick in my stomach. I am swamped with thoughts of how the Aussie greats would be feeling. The guys who were my childhood heroes. Gilly, Warnie, Brett Lee, Steve Waugh. Guys I idolised. I wanted to live my life the way they played cricket. It's more than just being a fan or guzzling a few beers after winning an Ashes series. The way the Aussies played cricket, established a way of life for me. Brash? Yes. Obnoxious? Maybe. Arrogant? Perhaps. Tough? Definitely. Cheat? Never! Today Smith and his team have sinned. This is not something an Aussie side can ever do. Smith described his first reckless on-field mistake as a ’brain fade’ in Bengaluru last year and I felt uneasy then but still chose to believe, it was an error while using a relatively new provision in the game. But today it's carved in stone. An Australian team cheated and I will never forgive those involved for tainting, what was a way of life for me. For taking away from me my favourite retort to those who asked me, "Aren't you being a bit too aggressive/harsh/arrogant/abrasive?" by saying, "Perhaps I am, but that's also how the Aussies play their cricket.”  Because from this day on, using that retort could also mean I have been cheating.

It was June 9, 1990. Cameroon had done the unthinkable. They had defeated World Cup champions Argentina, led by the great Diego Maradona. Two images remain engraved in my memory forever. One that was playing on the television - Claudio Caniggia brought down by Benjamin Massing, which also meant the end of my footballing hero Maradona’s career. Another was playing at home the tension between Amma and Appa. Appa believed that sports were another form of entertainment (now that I think of it he was so right!!). He ardently believed that it makes us unproductive. He simply could not understand the 'adrenaline rush' that is associated with sports. And, on the other hand, Amma loved sports and learned to appreciate games like cricket, football and tennis by observing and listening to the commentary. She loved Sunil Gavaskar, Maradona and Martina Navratilova. Appa, whose sleep was broken by the commotion, was surprised to see his son crying, but was aghast to see his otherwise stoic wife heartbroken for an alien sport and for a faraway country, Argentina. I will never forget his reaction all my life. Amma, Meenakshi, born in Coimbatore, was born in a middle-class Tamil family. She was a promising student; however, economic conditions and the general apathy towards girl children’s education means she did not study beyond Class 10. But that did not stop her from learning. Binaca Geetmala and Ameen Sayani were her windows to Bollywood. After her marriage, radio commentary became her medium to fall in love with cricket. The Football World Cup and Wimbledon television telecast helped her fall in love with more 'alien' sports like tennis and football. The fact that her husband was not attracted to sports meant that she learned about the game by meticulously watching the proceedings and listening to the commentary closely. She would follow it up by reading about it in the newspaper or a sports magazine. She often tells me how she struggled to understand the idea of a deuce and advantage in tennis as she was not aware of the existence of a word ‘deuce’. It took her a great bit of persistent observation to decipher this unique format in tennis to break a tie.   Amma at the Centre Court in Wimbledon. At times her battle was lonely as not many in the family had similar likings as her. It was not until my sister and I grew up that she found someone to share her passion for sports with. It is with extreme doggedness that she seeks to learn new things. Years later we went to see Wimbledon; we saw a game at the Centre Court. She was as excited as a child when we got tickets for the London Olympics. I had promised her a trip to Europe and asked her to select the places of her choice. She chose Switzerland (her love for Bollywood, I guess), Paris and then she asked me if we could watch a football match at Camp Nou. She wanted to see her favourite Lionel Messi play. Amma and the author at the London Olympics. This year, I am home in Coimbatore for the Football World Cup. Amma has meticulously updated her knowledge about the teams (Panama and Iceland playing their first World Cup) and had stuck the schedule of the tournament on the door.   I ask her who should win. Amma says, "I want Messi to win, a player of his calibre needs a cup to sign off. A bit like Tendulkar needed a cup before he retired." How could I argue with her? Nothing has changed - her spirit, her keenness to learn and her strong opinion. I remember she always made coffee for me during the late-night games. I told her to take a nap for I can wake her up and make coffee for her; after all, I can do this bit for the lady who taught me to observe, learn, and keep learning. She is still a child, and I am holding on to the one in me. SS Venkateswaran returned to India after an 8-year stint in the UK. Before moving to Bengaluru, he will watch the Football World Cup 2018 with his Amma in Coimbatore.

As a woman, walking down a street in most of India means certain things. Chances are, no matter what you’re wearing, what time of the day it is, or where you are, you’re going to get stared at, commented on, sung at, touched, photographed, or a beautiful combination of all of the above. Being a woman who likes to backpack across different places in the country, I’ve seen that this has been a universal experience – though perhaps in varying degrees of intensity – no matter where I’ve travelled, whether it’s been in Maharashtra, Delhi, Punjab, Kerala, Karnataka, Himachal Pradesh, Goa, or Assam. But, a couple of months ago, on a trip to Meghalaya, I was filled with a sense of wonder. Sure, the views were jaw-dropping levels of gorgeous, and I was filling my tummy with delicious pork and beef specialties that I’d never get in my home city of Mumbai, but the best part was truly the feeling of walking around and feeling “like a man”. Nah, I didn’t ingest an exotic substance that made me gain a couple of inches (I meant of height, what were you thinking?) or grow a moustache. My voice didn’t get a whole lot deeper and I didn’t develop a sudden disdain for my flowery night shorts. It’s just that I was given a teensy, temporary insight into male privilege. Image courtesy: Aamna Khan I was travelling with a woman friend, Aamna Khan, and given that the two of us were on a budget, we often had to walk or wait for public transport from place to place. It didn’t help that it got pitch dark by six every evening and that public transport was usually restricted to a share taxi of some sort. But no matter how early we set out or how dark it was by the time we got back to our base, we had this overwhelming feeling of safety. It wasn’t just that we weren’t getting felt up (or worse); we felt it in the smallest things. Though we looked very much like tourists with our backpacks and cameras, nobody forced conversation with us. When they did speak to us, everyone was exactly the right level of friendly – curious about where we came from and where we’d be travelling without being overly specific, without questions of how much money we were spending or whether our families were okay with us travelling alone (which are real questions we’d both been asked multiple times while travelling in other places). Image courtesy: Batista The kids who stared at us were only excited about waving at us and yelling out “hellooooo!” from their school buses. Women weren’t judgmental about what we wore or how loudly we spoke. Men smiled at us and wished us luck on our travels. They didn’t stare at us hoping to develop X-ray vision to see through our clothes the way a lot of men in the rest of our country do. When squeezed next to us in share cabs – despite the fact that there were usually five other people in the back seat of an Alto –  they took care to ensure that we were comfortable. They avoided ‘innocuous’ brushes of their hands against our bodies, and some of them even asked us if we minded that they were playing Khasi music in the car. We stood out like sore thumbs (for one, we were nowhere close to as well-dressed or attractive as the local women), but nobody took photos of us without our consent. Image courtesy: Antara Telang We even spent one night at a campsite run by five men in the middle of nowhere, where we were the only two women, without the slightest discomfort (excluding the bugs that we’d inevitably find in the folds of our clothes). Because I am a disabled woman, I am used to even greater scrutiny and questions than nondisabled women are, but even that didn’t really make much of a difference to people in Meghalaya.  If you’re a man reading this, you’re probably thinking, “What’s the big deal?” But like I mentioned earlier, living each day like this for nine whole days at a stretch without exception was a shocker for my friend and me. Every evening when we’d come back, we’d look at each other with incredulity that yet another day had passed without lecherous vultures swooping down on us in one way or another. While one cannot deny the privilege my friend and I carry – of being well-dressed, English speaking, upper caste, urban women – the fact remains that we have never felt so safe from daily gender violence as we did on that trip to Meghalaya. I think a large part of this can be attributed to Meghalaya’s largely matrilineal culture. Though not a matriarchal society, women enjoy a far better position there than in most other parts of India, and indeed the world. It is common to see businesses completely run by women, and for women to be roaming freely on the streets. Whatever the root cause may be, I’ve never felt that way in my adult life, no matter which part of India or the world I’ve travelled in. And it’s for that reason (okay, yes, maybe the pork curry is another major reason) that I’m sure I’ll visit again. (Views expressed are author's own)