The buzz in Delhi before the Assembly elections is around the massive lower class consolidation behind the Aam Aadmi Party, which has seemingly turned the contest between Arvind Kejriwal and Kiran Bedi into an ersatz class conflict that is to be expressed through the electronic voting machine. It is to check on this consolidation, and to comprehend it as well, that I set out for the Dalit Ekta Camp, a jhuggi-jhopri cluster tucked in a nook of the upwardly mobile middle class colony of Vasant Kunj, where every flat is a replica of each other, built on top of each other like shoeboxes placed in a footwear shop.
The choice of the Dalit Ekta Camp is not serendipitous. Its 4,000 inhabitants comprise the city’s underclasses, delighted to have fled from the decaying hinterland, yet forever exposed to the grim possibility of their life unravelling. This nearly became the saga of the Dalit Ekta Camp as well: the Delhi Development Authority’s bulldozers were slated to pound their hovels to dust in December until the Delhi High Court ordered that “no demolition” was to take place at least till February 26, 2015.
It is not a reprieve for them from fate’s cruel decree. It has only put their life in suspended animation. They must swing between hope and despair, defiance and submission, their hearts squelching with misery or hissing with rage. This seems just the site where all differences should be subsumed in the struggle to overcome obstacles arising from the sharing of the same economic position. If the Dalit Ekta Camp has not witnessed lower class consolidation, it is unlikely any other area of Delhi would, I assume.
Support and hatred for Congress
I am now at the entrance gate of Sector C-8 of Vasant Kunj, across which, I was told, is the Dalit Ekta Camp. But what I see around are looming blocks of flats and spiffy cars that swish past. It is here I am to meet Siya Ram, one of the five leaders of the Camp’s panchayat. A call to establish contact later, I follow him through a passage between shops to enter a world dotted with one- or two-room tenements, each barely four-five high, built cheek-by-jowl in rows separated by a narrow lane. There are five such lanes, some of which branch into passages even narrower.
I follow Siya Ram into the warren of precarious existence, tailed now by a few others. He rattles out the demographics – there are more or less as many Dalit families as there are Muslim families, apart from one or two households of Yadavs, Rajputs and Kayasths. “All of us,” Siya Ram says, “will vote the Aam Aadmi.” But Ganesh Chaudhry counters, “Not all. But 65% will.” This prompts others to toss their own estimate – 70%, 75%, 80%… it goes on and on. The prediction about the percentage of votes the AAP would poll here never dips below 60%.
But one thing they are all unanimous about – the support for AAP in the Camp has increased substantially over what the party had garnered in 2013. AAP burst into their consciousness when its leader, Arvind Kejriwal, went on a hunger strike demanding a reduction in water and power rates earlier that year. Till then, this jhuggi-jhopri cluster had been the stronghold of the Congress, which had earned the gratitude of its residents because of its pro-poor schemes and the protection it offered them from eviction.
What prompted them to desert the Congress then was Kejriwal’s campaign that the high utility charges were because of its government being in league with the power companies. It neatly dovetailed with his cry against corruption. I mumble the C-word, provoking a litany of complaints, uttered in weary voices.
Don’t I know they have to pay a price to live with a modicum of respectability? They have to grease the palms of policemen even when they bolster their tenements; they have to pay sundry monthly bribes to run their shops, to sell vegetables and fruit from their pushcarts. Forget all these irritants, Sirji, even to erect a semi-pucca temple they handed over Rs 15,000, collected through donations, to a DDA sahib.
AAP’s rule brought hope
A sliver of hope began to glimmer in their lives during the 49 days of the AAP government last year. Those 49 days became for the Camp a line dividing what life was from what it could be. The big bad state suddenly turned benign – the police were at their best behaviour, civil and courteous, no longer appearing at their doors to collect their cut.
But then, as soon as Kejriwal quit the government, they were promptly sucked back into a life of humiliation and exploitation. Pawan looks a tad overage for Class XII in which he studies. He has the gaggle of people titter as he says, “They demanded we pay the arrears, the money they didn’t collect from us in those 49 days.”
I ask the gathering outside the tenement of Chanda, one of the five panchayat leaders: Which of the parties would poll the remaining 20-30% of the Camp votes. “Congress,” Chanda declares, adding, “it has our gratitude, we are today because of it. Our elders voted the party, we too will.” Kush Kumar adds, “All the yojanas of the Modi government were initiated by the Congress, only the nomenclatures have been changed now.”
The discussion now turns into a fiery debate. “What Congress,” a young man argues. “For 65 years, we voted the Congress. We have repaid our debts.” They all nod their heads, barring Chanda, who breaks into a hearty laughter. Apart from the venality of the Congress, they know protection can be provided by either the party which will come to power or one which can organise resistance. India’s Grand Old Party does not inspire confidence in them on either count.
I am surprised nobody here has yet mentioned the BJP as the possible alternative. I voice my surprise, much to their mirth. Says Ganesh, “If they spend lots of money, then perhaps they might get 20 votes here.” To the BJP, his words might seem a cruel cut, for the Modi government issued an ordinance in December, extending the cut-off date for regularisation of unauthorized colonies from March 31, 2002, to June 31, 2014, which is expected to benefit seven lakh people in 895 colonies such as the Dalit Ekta Camp.
Constant threat of demolitions
It is indeed a reflection of the skewed nature of our politics that India’s ruling party has little resonance among the poor. This is because the Dalit Ekta Camp believes the BJP represents the interests of those who live across the road, in the DDA colony, where they work as domestic help or drivers or sell them vegetables.
This ought to have nurtured a symbiotic relationship. Unfortunately, though, the two worlds facing each other across the road, at times, collide. To the forever worrying flag-bearers of the nation, the Dalit Ekta Camp appears as an ugly protrusion in the orderly sameness of the middle class Vasant Kunj. They began to wonder: Couldn’t the government efface the Camp and reclaim the space for a park or, better still, a shopping complex?
But this coveting of space, not surprisingly, acquired a political spin. On May 27, 2014, the local MLA, Sat Prakash Rana, wrote to the Lieutenant Governor demanding the removal of the Dalit Ekta Camp, claiming it encroached on the green belt. Its residents construe Rana’s environmental activism as politically motivated. The BJP barely manages votes from the Camp; it does mostly of the middle class families. Demolish the Camp and evict its residents, the party will have annulled nearly 900 votes which Rana’s rival stood to poll.
This was why in November-end, once the election to Delhi became a certainty, the police arrived at the Dalit Ekta Camp one night to inform them that bulldozers would come the next morning to mow down their dwelling units. Less than 12 hours to prepare for the effacing of their world.
But the administration had not factored in the elements in the middle class who subscribe to another worldview, compassionate and empathetic. They contacted lawyers to enable the Dalit Ekta Camp to file a Public Interest Litigation in the Delhi High Court. On December 4, 2014, Justice VK Shali issued an order saying the Camp could not be demolished until February 26, by which time the DDA was asked to demonstrate whether the eviction was in accordance with the extant policy, and whether or not it had identified officials who failed to protect the land from encroachment.
The court battle may have merely postponed the razing of the Camp. Tabassum, one of the five panchayat leaders, says, “We are scared. We could still be thrown out.” But before the High Court hears the petition, Tabassum, like other voters in the Camp, will have vented her anger by pressing of the button which will have the jhaadu symbol. The squeak of the electronic voting machine will be a murmuring of the class battle fought through the weapon of vote, obviously, with a little help from the middle class liberals.
Ajaz Ashraf is a journalist from Delhi. His novel, The Hour Before Dawn, published by HarperCollins, is available in bookstores.
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The choice of the Dalit Ekta Camp is not serendipitous. Its 4,000 inhabitants comprise the city’s underclasses, delighted to have fled from the decaying hinterland, yet forever exposed to the grim possibility of their life unravelling. This nearly became the saga of the Dalit Ekta Camp as well: the Delhi Development Authority’s bulldozers were slated to pound their hovels to dust in December until the Delhi High Court ordered that “no demolition” was to take place at least till February 26, 2015.
It is not a reprieve for them from fate’s cruel decree. It has only put their life in suspended animation. They must swing between hope and despair, defiance and submission, their hearts squelching with misery or hissing with rage. This seems just the site where all differences should be subsumed in the struggle to overcome obstacles arising from the sharing of the same economic position. If the Dalit Ekta Camp has not witnessed lower class consolidation, it is unlikely any other area of Delhi would, I assume.
Support and hatred for Congress
I am now at the entrance gate of Sector C-8 of Vasant Kunj, across which, I was told, is the Dalit Ekta Camp. But what I see around are looming blocks of flats and spiffy cars that swish past. It is here I am to meet Siya Ram, one of the five leaders of the Camp’s panchayat. A call to establish contact later, I follow him through a passage between shops to enter a world dotted with one- or two-room tenements, each barely four-five high, built cheek-by-jowl in rows separated by a narrow lane. There are five such lanes, some of which branch into passages even narrower.
I follow Siya Ram into the warren of precarious existence, tailed now by a few others. He rattles out the demographics – there are more or less as many Dalit families as there are Muslim families, apart from one or two households of Yadavs, Rajputs and Kayasths. “All of us,” Siya Ram says, “will vote the Aam Aadmi.” But Ganesh Chaudhry counters, “Not all. But 65% will.” This prompts others to toss their own estimate – 70%, 75%, 80%… it goes on and on. The prediction about the percentage of votes the AAP would poll here never dips below 60%.
But one thing they are all unanimous about – the support for AAP in the Camp has increased substantially over what the party had garnered in 2013. AAP burst into their consciousness when its leader, Arvind Kejriwal, went on a hunger strike demanding a reduction in water and power rates earlier that year. Till then, this jhuggi-jhopri cluster had been the stronghold of the Congress, which had earned the gratitude of its residents because of its pro-poor schemes and the protection it offered them from eviction.
What prompted them to desert the Congress then was Kejriwal’s campaign that the high utility charges were because of its government being in league with the power companies. It neatly dovetailed with his cry against corruption. I mumble the C-word, provoking a litany of complaints, uttered in weary voices.
Don’t I know they have to pay a price to live with a modicum of respectability? They have to grease the palms of policemen even when they bolster their tenements; they have to pay sundry monthly bribes to run their shops, to sell vegetables and fruit from their pushcarts. Forget all these irritants, Sirji, even to erect a semi-pucca temple they handed over Rs 15,000, collected through donations, to a DDA sahib.
AAP’s rule brought hope
A sliver of hope began to glimmer in their lives during the 49 days of the AAP government last year. Those 49 days became for the Camp a line dividing what life was from what it could be. The big bad state suddenly turned benign – the police were at their best behaviour, civil and courteous, no longer appearing at their doors to collect their cut.
But then, as soon as Kejriwal quit the government, they were promptly sucked back into a life of humiliation and exploitation. Pawan looks a tad overage for Class XII in which he studies. He has the gaggle of people titter as he says, “They demanded we pay the arrears, the money they didn’t collect from us in those 49 days.”
I ask the gathering outside the tenement of Chanda, one of the five panchayat leaders: Which of the parties would poll the remaining 20-30% of the Camp votes. “Congress,” Chanda declares, adding, “it has our gratitude, we are today because of it. Our elders voted the party, we too will.” Kush Kumar adds, “All the yojanas of the Modi government were initiated by the Congress, only the nomenclatures have been changed now.”
The discussion now turns into a fiery debate. “What Congress,” a young man argues. “For 65 years, we voted the Congress. We have repaid our debts.” They all nod their heads, barring Chanda, who breaks into a hearty laughter. Apart from the venality of the Congress, they know protection can be provided by either the party which will come to power or one which can organise resistance. India’s Grand Old Party does not inspire confidence in them on either count.
I am surprised nobody here has yet mentioned the BJP as the possible alternative. I voice my surprise, much to their mirth. Says Ganesh, “If they spend lots of money, then perhaps they might get 20 votes here.” To the BJP, his words might seem a cruel cut, for the Modi government issued an ordinance in December, extending the cut-off date for regularisation of unauthorized colonies from March 31, 2002, to June 31, 2014, which is expected to benefit seven lakh people in 895 colonies such as the Dalit Ekta Camp.
Constant threat of demolitions
It is indeed a reflection of the skewed nature of our politics that India’s ruling party has little resonance among the poor. This is because the Dalit Ekta Camp believes the BJP represents the interests of those who live across the road, in the DDA colony, where they work as domestic help or drivers or sell them vegetables.
This ought to have nurtured a symbiotic relationship. Unfortunately, though, the two worlds facing each other across the road, at times, collide. To the forever worrying flag-bearers of the nation, the Dalit Ekta Camp appears as an ugly protrusion in the orderly sameness of the middle class Vasant Kunj. They began to wonder: Couldn’t the government efface the Camp and reclaim the space for a park or, better still, a shopping complex?
But this coveting of space, not surprisingly, acquired a political spin. On May 27, 2014, the local MLA, Sat Prakash Rana, wrote to the Lieutenant Governor demanding the removal of the Dalit Ekta Camp, claiming it encroached on the green belt. Its residents construe Rana’s environmental activism as politically motivated. The BJP barely manages votes from the Camp; it does mostly of the middle class families. Demolish the Camp and evict its residents, the party will have annulled nearly 900 votes which Rana’s rival stood to poll.
This was why in November-end, once the election to Delhi became a certainty, the police arrived at the Dalit Ekta Camp one night to inform them that bulldozers would come the next morning to mow down their dwelling units. Less than 12 hours to prepare for the effacing of their world.
But the administration had not factored in the elements in the middle class who subscribe to another worldview, compassionate and empathetic. They contacted lawyers to enable the Dalit Ekta Camp to file a Public Interest Litigation in the Delhi High Court. On December 4, 2014, Justice VK Shali issued an order saying the Camp could not be demolished until February 26, by which time the DDA was asked to demonstrate whether the eviction was in accordance with the extant policy, and whether or not it had identified officials who failed to protect the land from encroachment.
The court battle may have merely postponed the razing of the Camp. Tabassum, one of the five panchayat leaders, says, “We are scared. We could still be thrown out.” But before the High Court hears the petition, Tabassum, like other voters in the Camp, will have vented her anger by pressing of the button which will have the jhaadu symbol. The squeak of the electronic voting machine will be a murmuring of the class battle fought through the weapon of vote, obviously, with a little help from the middle class liberals.
Ajaz Ashraf is a journalist from Delhi. His novel, The Hour Before Dawn, published by HarperCollins, is available in bookstores.
