Gulabi ?

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I spent some time on the road in Bundelkhand, in search for these women in pink. Vigilante women in pink saris. The story seems to be a favourite portfolio piece for any photographer who has a camera and an eye for the easy and exotic. Like everyone else I too failed in forming a perspective worthy enough – but all the same here is a sneak peek into my story.

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She pulled her red bandini gently over her eyes; just so much so that it lay just above the tip of her the tip of her nose. Her mouth covered by an outstretched hand, her face, a mere silhouette hidden away behind hand and sari. I learn her name is Saritadevi from the young boy sitting at her haunches, an answer to a question directed at her. With the passing of every man in khaki, she begs for her husband’s release.

A jeep pulls into the police station throwing dust up into your face and alerting the station guards to attention. To a salute, the inspector seats himself at his outdoor desk and holds court. Saritadevi, limps towards the desk and leaning forward she takes hold of the inspector’s feet; with a melodrama all so reminiscent of a not so lost feudalism. The inspector heaves his chair forwards shirking Saritadevi away, his expression showing signs of irritation. “This is an every day occurrence, in Bundelkhand,” the inspector said. “We picked up her husband for beating her near death and singeing her with hot coal, yet here she is one day later demanding his release,” he added. “She’s poor and is not allowed to work; her husband is the only bread earner. She won’t be able to survive with out him and there lay the irony.

It was at noon one day last May that the group, the Gulabi Gang arrives brandishing sticks, first surrounded and then charged into the office, punching the air and shouting slogans of solidarity. They confronted the inspector who is now on his feet. The gang is led, and was created by, 46-year-old Sampat Devi Pal who steps forwards with body language of confrontation. She brings to light a case of woman imprisoned by her husband and refuses to let her go till her parents pay him more dowry. Her parents at made three earlier attempts to meet her have been thwarted by her husband who is demanding 20,000 rupees from them. Sampat Pal, is livid when asks inspector point blank of why he hadn’t taken action when the girls parents had come to the police station to lodge a complaint. In the face of such an opposition the inspector relents and a jeep is dispatched.

Gulabi means pink, and refers to the electric shade of the uniform worn by the 500-plus members, who hail from Banda’s arid villages. The women have become folk heroes, winning public support for a series of Robin Hood-style operations. Their most daring exploit was to hijack trucks laden with food meant for the poor that was being taken to be sold for profit at the market by corrupt officials. This was one of their operations in progress.

A shivering Hemal is produced before the inspector, at 18 her face forged in hardship seems to have aged prematurely; her body hasn’t quiet caught up. Her husband Kishan, sat jaundiced eyed clutching their 2 year old daughter in hand.

“He married me for the love of money,” sobs Hemal.

“He has another women and he beats me.”

Hemal drops her pallu to reveal a well healed scar at the base of her neck.

“Is that true?” barks the Sampat Pal ask taking the place of the inspector. The husband’s eyes have turned inwards like men sometimes do when they feel shame, he stared blankly onto his worn out leather sandals. His initial denial turns to slow acceptance.

Kishan is lead away, his head pushed down by a burly mustached police ranger; whose finger clamp down against the prisoner’s scalp with visible force. He sneaks one last look of shame at his daughter before he disappears into the darkness of the police station. The ranger returns with another decrepit man in his clutches, who he pushes out with a heavy shove. Saritadevi tends to this man and his soiled shirt; she then props him up as they walk away. The exchange of one wife-beater for another complete. Thanks to the Gulabi Gang’s persuasion justice is done or so it seems.

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