Sukhjit Singh's Blog, page 3

THE BALLAD OF BANT SINGH: A QISSA OF COURAGE

‘I, Baljit Kaur, daughter of Shri Bant Singh, am a resident of Burj Jhabbar in Mansa district, Punjab. I was gang-raped on July 6, 2002. I did not conceal the incident and along with my father waged a struggle for justice…’ As Nirupama Dutt met Baljit for the first time, this testimony played in her mind and she wondered if she would be able to talk with Baljit about it all, ask her to relive it all again. Dutt writes, ‘I was to realize later that my hesitation arose from the comfort of my own relatively privileged existence. Those who are pushed to the wall find the courage to tell their tale of woe over and again.’

The comfortable living rooms of the relatively privileged wonder - In the coldest winter in decades, amidst pouring rains, surrounded by indifferent citizenry and hostile state, why are the farmers on the roads?

Bant Singh is a member of Mazdoor Mukti Morcha. Apart from helping and organizing members of his union, at all union events Bant sings songs of Sant Ram Udasi. ‘Maan dhartiye teri god nu chan hor bathere, tu maghda rahi ve surja kameya de vehre.’ Bant was not one to be cowed down and he waged a battle for justice and in 2004 in a rare occurrence of a Dalit winning a legal battle against an upper caste, got conviction for three. This legal win was to come at an even bigger cost and an even bigger battle awaited him. On the evening of 5th January 2006, Bant Singh was ambushed by associates of the rapists and brutally beaten with iron rods and axes.

Farmers occupied roads and railway tracks for months. Govt ignored them. Farmers were not one to be cowed down and they marched towards Delhi and camped at its borders. A govt. that first refused to talk with them, refused to let them march towards Delhi, refused to acknowledge anything was wrong in the farm laws, and a govt. which used pliant media to paint them in the color of separatists, relented bit by bit (can enter Delhi, can amend laws, can suspend laws for a duration, etc.) These little wins came at a great cost – over 180 lives lost so far. But even bigger battle awaited them. 26th January arrived and the morcha got ambushed. The spirit of lacs of marching tractors was brutally beaten and crushed.

By the time Bant Singh reached PGI Chandigarh, 48 hours after the assault on him, gangrene had set in. when informed that both his arms and one leg will need to be amputated, he said ‘I suppose the doctors know best. Anyway, what use are my arms and legs, I have to sing with my throat. As long as a Comrade’s throat is not slit, it is all right.’ 18 days after his amputation, still in a serious condition, Bant surprised doctors and fellow patients by singing songs of Udasi from his sickbed.

The mob is pelting stones at the gathered farmers as police stands guard, watching, even encouraging and protecting the mob. Someone throws a crude petrol bomb on the ladies’ shelter. Someone smashes the washing machines. A sewadar at the langar is pulled into the mob and along with the mob, the police rain lathis on him. But their throats are not slit, not yet. From the gathering where tear gas is being shelled comes the sound of sangat chanting ‘Satnam Waheguru, Satnam Waheguru.’ From the throat of the sewadar, with his turban removed, his hair loose, his forehead bleeding, erupts the blessed Jo Bole So Nihal, Sat Sri Akal. As the state got ready to amputate the morcha, tears of one man surprised the nation. Morcha began to sing again.

Annie Zaidi in ‘Known Turf’ asks, ‘And what do you do when a man minus three limbs in a government hospital’s trauma ward begins to sing?’ Nirupama Dutt answers – quite simple, really – you salute his spirit.

One evening at Sanjhi Sath, at Singhu, Bapu Jagraj, who has filled a diary with his poems since he has been at the Morcha recites one for all present, ‘Kirti kisano kathe hoke ladhiye, Karaan pranam lahoo rangi madhiye.’ A sea of red flags marches towards the main stage at Singhu border - Zamin Prapti Sangharsh Committee and Pendu Mazdoor Union members are here in hundreds. Slogans of Kisan Mazdoor Ekta fill the air. Few days back a speaker on the stage said, ‘we are all sitting as one here – kisan-mazdoor, Punjab-Haryana, male-female. We will win this battle with govt, but the real morcha will start when we head back homewards.’ Often in the morcha one hears the slogan, ‘Baba Nanak teri soch te, pehra deyange thok ke.’ Denunciation of caste is one of the primary teachings of Guru Nanak. As and when the morcha heads back, may the teachings of Nanak and learnings from the morcha travel with it.

Nirupama Dutt dedicates the book to the revolutionary poet of Punjab, Sant Ram Udasi, ‘whose songs gave Bant Singh the strength to sing, fight and live with dignity.’ ‘Meri maut te na royeo, meri soch nu bachayeo. Mere lahu da kesar, rete vich na ralaeyo.’

Many revolutionary poets, singers, writers are giving strength to the farmers morcha – ‘to sing, fight and live with dignity.’

Nirupama Dutt’s Ballad for Bant Singh then, in part, is also a ballad for all those struggling for their rights.

Yes, in Punjab, we love to sing

But today we will sing not

Of ‘old and distant unhappy things’

Nor of ‘battles long ago’ –

We will sing, yes we will sing, of

This day, of the here and the now

Of those who refused to bow

Those who can tell us how

Songs of hope are born in want

Why some can have it all

Why some cannot.

(2020 – LOCKDOWN BOOKS REVOLUTION SERIES#4)

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AKLAN WALEYO CHAKLO KALMA

A few miles inside the Singhu tractor-trolley township, a group of elderly sit holding chart papers with slogans. S. Avtar Singh, S Sarabjeet Singh, S Harminder Singh, S Jaswinder Singh, S Vihara Singh, and S Hakam Singh are all from same village in Ropar district. Each poster they hold delivers a message to the state. ‘Asi atwadi nahi, asi satwadi haan’. ‘Na darde, na dabde, singh delhi vich gajde.’ ‘Sun modi te shah, sanu na koi parwah, aayi te aa gaye putt jattan de, tainu pa denge rah.’ Each of the posters they hold bear the same signature – Simar.

A short distance behind the Singhu main stage, Simarjeet sits with a pile of chart papers and a set of permanent markers. A few posters are pasted on the tent just behind him. One of these posters reads – ‘Jo dil karda likhwa sajna, raj lahanta modi nu paa sajna.’

Simar came to Singhu mid of December. He got a chart paper and wrote a slogan on it. As he stood with the poster, someone asked for the poster and took it with him. He made another poster for himself only for someone else to carry it away into the sea of tractor-trolleys. That’s when he knew what was needed of him, what his contribution to the morcha will be. He went to the market and got himself a pile of chart papers and a set of markers and sat down to put on paper the slogans of the morcha, by the morcha, for the morcha.

Tau Sukhveer Singh walks to Simar’s table. ‘Ik poster likh mera,’ he demands of Simar. Simar writes what Tau says. Tayu wants a photo also. He walks behind Simar’s chair. The person holding his camera says, ‘Tayu poster pakadiye haath mein.’ Tayu rebukes him, ‘Nahi, aise kheench.’ And he places his hand on Simar’s head in a blessing.

Kanwar Garewal in Pecha exhorts ‘Aklan waleyo chacklo kalma.’ Walk along the length of Singhu and one finds posters in Simar’s kalam on trolleys, tractors, tents, and in hands of people sitting, and walking around. ‘Jo dil karda likhwa sajna, raj lahanta modi nu paa sajna.’

(HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#11)

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WORTH FIGHTING FOR

Gurwinder Singh volunteers in the security team at Singhu tractor-trolley township. It is almost two months since he left his home in Tarn Taran to come join the morcha.

As he prepared to depart from his home, his wife handed him his aadhar card.

‘I won’t need this,’ he said.

‘Please take it and keep it with you all the time,’ she said.

‘Why?’ he asked.

Holding back her tears she said, ‘In case the morcha requires your sacrifice, they will know the address where to send your body.’

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It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.

What are we holding on to, Sam?

That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

(HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#10)

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MAKING OF A HEIRLOOM

Charan Singh is 70. He travelled on Kisaan Express, his bicycle, a non-stop service from Tanda to Delhi, a journey of 400kms bearing a message – all journeys will end, if farmer is finished.

His friends are taking him around Singhu tractor-trolley township, on what appears to be a lap of honor. Surinder Singh, 70, was an educator. He says, ‘Tell the youth if Charan Singh can reach here on cycle, they should be able to reach here on tractors.’ It is 19th Dec – within a few days, youngsters would have more than fulfilled his wish, with Singhu’s strength increasing manifold.

I ask Charan Singh if he will participate in the rally on his cycle. ‘I will be getting a tractor here with my life savings. Dedicated to the movement and the tractor rally. Going to book it today, arrangements have been done.’

For someone who is 70 and has pedaled 400kms, he doesn’t look or sound tired – there is a silent determination in his being.

Surinder Singh adds, ‘He has decided that this cycle and the tractor will not be used again once we are back. These will not be sold but kept in the family in the memory of the morcha.’

All four of them are looking into future and in this moment see it as well – and find themselves alive in this proud heirloom for generations.

‘Will you be driving the tractor?’ I ask Charan Singh.

‘Yes, of course.’

I already know who all will be accompanying him on the tractor in the rally. Looking at the tractor riders the words escape me - ‘Then the victory is guaranteed.’

Surinder Singh ji says, ‘If willpower is strong, then we can win all battles.’ He takes a short pause and then asks me, ‘You agree with the words?’ 

I could not agree more.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#9

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PURPOSE OF LIFE

‘Marne ke liye bahut acha mausam hai.’ Camping with farmers for two months at Singhu tractor-trolley township brings the krantikari poet out of everyone. But these words don’t belong to any ordinary krantikari.

Dr Ashok Sharma, Senior Medical Officer with Rajasthan govt, a gentle, kindly, almost divine soul, has a special place in his heart for his patients. And the patients reciprocate the relation, to the point that last two attempts to transfer him had led to protests by locals and his transfer was stopped. Since the Covid lockdown he handled 29000 patients till end of November, without a break and without a leave day.

As he was getting ready for a small break, he heard of the farmers protests and their camps at the borders of Delhi. Something tugged at his heart. He applied for a week’s leave – Dec 9 to Dec 15. The leave was denied by his superiors. But that tug at his heart became a strong pull - he submitted his retirement, VRS, papers.

He got the seats of his van removed, threw in a mattress, and his mobile camp-clinic was ready. Few friends contributed and 1lac was raised for buying medicine. Kuldeep Singh, a young medical attendant/driver joined, and they were on their way from Udaipur early morning December 9. That evening they parked the van at this stop, deep inside Singhu tractor-trolley township, after a journey of 744km and the tyres have not moved since.

He sees 40-50 patients every day. And his patients, the farmers, have adopted him as one of their own. It is like his transfer story – there is no way they are letting ‘Doctor Sahab’ go to Rajasthan without first showing him Punjab.

When a news channel reported about him not getting leave, Rahul Gandhi intervened, and Rajasthan government approved his one week leave. Now they call him every week asking for his return date. They have not accepted his VRS yet.

There is a rush around his van in the evenings. Cough, cold, back pains, loose motions, BP and sleep problems are the common concerns. An elderly walks up and asks if he has cream for mosquitoes. Dr Sharma doesn’t keep it in his stock, but without a second thought he digs under the seat and takes out odomos from his personal kit and hands over. When there are no patients, he reads Gandhi.

‘When I planned to come here, I didn’t know it would be this important for me. I feel it is as if all my life was preparation for something. Now I know. Being here was the purpose of my life.’

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#8

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GHADRI BAABE

Tau Chandar is 82. He joined police in Delhi after independence. Pointing towards the highway and the buildings all around he says, ‘ehan kuch na tha tab.’

One day ‘daroga’ of his police station took two hundred rupees bribe from someone to get rid of a relative. Tau was close by and as the conversation proceeded Tau felt ashamed and angry at the uniform. When the daroga pocketed the money and agreed to do the needful Tau couldn’t take it anymore. Tau tells me he was strong in those days. He got hold of the daroga and thrashed him there and then. Daroga threatened him that he will get him transferred. Tau resigned the same day. As he left the police station, he told the daroga, ‘lele apni naukri chutad mein.’ As Tau remembers his parting shot at the corrupt system, there is youth and pride in his voice and a million watt smile on his face.

He is happy now, having worked his fields for decades, surrounded by children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Why is he here? ‘Gandi sarkaar laayi hai. Do mahine se baithe hain.’

What will happen next? ‘Ghadar hoga.’

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#7

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A LANGAR FOR THE REPUBLIC

As I walk towards the main stage at Singhu tractor trolley township, I stop at Sarhali Sahab langar for my daily cup of badam-akharot milk they serve whole day. To my right washing machines and volunteers manning them are busy serving a langar of washed clothes, busy keeping the clothes of the morcha clean and it’s spirits high. There are over 300 langars in the first ten kilometres of this township, that extends beyond twenty today.

On the other side of the narrow path where the morcha walks, volunteers have set up cloth ironing langar. I notice the tricolor being carefully ironed, to be worn as the morcha’s izzat, to be held high along with the heads making the morcha.Chingari ko sholon mein badalna aasan hai,Mushkil hai to chingari ko paida karna.Board is set. Pieces are moving. We come at last, to the greatest 26th January of our lives. To the greatest langar for the republic. Come join it, be part of it. If not in body, then in spirit. Cheer for it, pray for it.

#KisanEktaMorcha#StandWithFarmers#SpeakUpForFarmers

BLOOD. LEGACY.

The sword of revolution is sharpened on the whetstone of ideas. — Shaheed Bhagat Singh.

The daily meeting and sharing of ideas is on at Sanjhi Sath – a shared space, a village meeting place. First half of the day this little corner at Singhu tractor trolley township is a nursery - full of little children, from nearby shanties, playing, drawing, learning to read and write – a place where the seeds for ideas are planted. Every evening it turns a whetstone - for two hours farmers, volunteers, elderly, young, grown trees and young saplings, all shades gather here, ideas gather here, and the sword is sharpened.

Rajwant Kaur is sharing her story. A young and upcoming lyricist and singer, when she discussed her song ‘Bhagat Singh tera maqsad lokin bhulde jane ne’ ‘Bhagat Singh, masses are slowly forgetting your purpose,’ the music director told her that if she wants to become popular, she should sing on popular themes, revolutionaries and their ideas don’t sell anymore.

Today, sitting opposite young Rajwant, two meters away, is Gurjit Kaur Dhatt, 68years old niece of Shaheed Bhagat Singh. Rajwant begins to choke up. ‘We have grown up reading Bhagat Singh. But to meet his blood in person, as part of a revolution… ’ She starts crying. The words stop. The revolutionary fervor, the idea spreads. In its powerful silence, it takes in the gathering at Sanjhi Sath, it engulfs the tractor trolley township, and it reaches out to the nation.

After she has composed herself and after she had reassured the gathering and more so her own very self that she will keep her words true to her soul, on request of the gathering she sings for everyone. ‘Jaag ja Punjabiya, sambhal jimmevariyan.’

His legacy lives on. New legacies sprout from the seeds he planted.

The sword is still sharp.



HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#6
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THE TOUCH OF PARAS

Parasdeep’s day job is home care of elderly and patients. Covid ensured he stopped getting called into homes. It was not a regular work anyways. Alongside he sells popcorn in the evenings. The setup is mobile – the roaster on wheels, fit behind his motorcycle - and he drives from village to village. His family doesn’t own any land. He isn’t a farmer. Yet he wanted to contribute to the farmer’s movement. Few friends helped collect 9500 rupees, and along with whatever materials he had at home he left for Singhu.

A few weeks around Lohri his sales are better. When his mother reminded him that he shouldn’t miss the festival sale period he promised her to be back in 3 days. 9500 rupees won’t last that long anyways.

Couple of social media channels covered his popcorn langar. The videos circulated around and reached his village. At the end of the third day, as he was getting ready to pack-up and return, he received a phone call from his village panchayat. They thanked him for showing them the way. And told him that a tractor-trolley from the village was on its way. He won’t need to shut down for the lack of funds. The popcorn langar will continue for as long as he would like to continue.

‘Then it will continue till the farmers are here.’ What about your promise to your mother to get back in three days? ‘She is very happy now. She said I can do sewa as long I need to.’

Two weeks after reaching here, he continues the sewa, as youngsters from his village join him and help. A few elderly from the village sit in the trolley, watching them with pride. It took a Paras’ touch to turn their youth into gold.

The roaster has run the cycle, the corn is ready, it puffs and expands and bursts out. Corn like masses. Masses like corn. All it takes is a touch of Paras.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#5

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HOME AT LAST

She has spent her day walking through the lanes of the tractor-trolley township. It has never been like this for her. The food is aplenty. She picks and choose – she is developing a taste! Now she walks back to her resting place. In the harsh winter, the little corner with plastic and rugs underneath and a plastic overhead is the most comfortable it has been for her ever.

He returns to his tent after a day of volunteer duty at the stage. She gets up and rush to him, she squeaks like a little child, her tail hasn’t wagged with this much excitement ever. He pats her, humors her, plays with her.

Back in Punjab he has already adopted two strays. He hasn’t named her yet, but it appears a third one is on her way to join the other two.

Where there were highspeed vehicles all day long, that could crush her without a pause in their journey, the stray has found a home.  Where humanity was passing by, in a rush of madness, the stray has found a human.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#4

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