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‘For me, weaving chairs with blind eyes is like knitting dreams’

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Bareilly :

People sitting in the veranda of the district magistrate court, waiting for their turn, are absorbed by the dexterity of a certain visually impaired man who can always be seen hard at work, knitting chairs, heedless of the arguments and appeals in the courtroom. Patiram’s (he goes by his first name) fingers move flawlessly, weaving bases of wooden frames of chairs. The moment he finishes a chair, onlookers applaud with amazement. “For me, knitting chairs with blind eyes is like knitting dreams,” he says.

Patiram, 36, is one of the few men in the country that are working hard to keep alive the art of weaving chairs, which is on the verge of disappearance. An optimist, Patiram says he never let his blindness stand in the way of his dreams. He was determined to achieve things on his own instead of being favoured for his disability.

“I have been in this profession for the past 16 years. Today, I have a job, a beautiful wife and a son. Life is all about struggle and working hard to make your dreams come true,” he says. Sitting on an empty jute bag, he steadily adds layer after layer of white plastic threads, creating strong supporting bases so that those using the wooden chairs can sit comfortably.

“I am never bored with my job. I never complete a chair hurriedly. I know that even a single misstep in knitting can cause discomfort to the person sitting on the chair. I knit every chair as if it were my first,” he says.
Patiram’s chairs are used in the collectorate and all six tehsils of the district. There are 181 plastic-knit wooden chairs in the collectorate and 90 in the tehsils. Every time a chair needs repair, Patiram reaches the tehsil concerned to fix it.

Life was never easy for Patiram, who has been blind since birth. His father was a small farmer and mother a homemaker. A native of Mau district, Patiram studied up to class VIII and then left for Banda in 2001, where he completed a one-year course in chair knitting at an institute run by the National Federation of the Blind. “Since I didn’t get enough work to make ends meet, I took to teaching chair knitting to visually impaired persons at a school in Mau, which had been started by a close aide of former MP Kalpnath Rai. After Rai’s untimely demise, the school was closed due to lack of funds. After a seven-month stint there, I reached Rajkiya Kaushal Vikas Kendra in Gorakhpur, where someone introduced me to the manager of the center and I got a job there,” Patiram recalls.

Life in Gorakhpur was no easier on Patiram. He was paid a meager Rs 10.75 on the days the centre didn’t receive any orders to knit a chair. “It was a hand-to-mouth existence. I spent 10 years there only because I didn’t want to become a liability for my family,” he says.

Patiram then got to know that those with experience in chair knitting were eligible for government jobs. “I applied for my first government job in 2011 in Allahabad but couldn’t get through. I kept going to several interviews for the next three years in several cities, including Varanasi, Lucknow, Bahraich, Bareilly and Muzaffarnagar, but had no luck. Finally in 2014, I came to know of a vacancy that had been created in Bareilly after the retirement of one Zamir Ahmed. Thanks to my hard work and luck, I was selected for the post of kursi bunkar there,” he says with a smile on his face.

As living alone became difficult for him in Bareilly, he suggested some relatives to get him married. “I knew it would be hard for anyone to accept me as a husband because of my blindness, but I never lost hope. My cousin’s husband found a girl for me and when I first met ‘malkin’, I told her, till my last breath, I would never let her down. I’m not sure how that impressed her but she accepted my proposal and we got married in April, 2016.”

Patiram now earns around Rs 25,000 a month. His wife’s name is Mina but he calls her “malkin” (mistress) out of love and respect. He says he has a happy life with his nine-month-old son, who is a handful. “My son pulls at my plates when I sit down for a meal. His antics amaze me and fill me with joy. My only concern is his health, especially his eyesight, as doctors say that the first 11 years are crucial for a child with a blind parent,” he says with a deep breath.

source: http://www.timesofindia.indiatimes.com / The Times of India / Home> City / by Pankul Sharma / June 30th, 2018

The 200-year-old Meerut cemetery where nine British soldiers lie

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Historical Links / Pre-Independence, Records, All, Travel, World Opinion
A sketch depicting the death of Col. John Finnis in Meerut in Illustrated London News, 1857. | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons

The oldest grave here dates back to 1810

Robert Robinson, 56, lives in a graveyard, in a one-room structure, with little walking space left between his bed and fridge. In white pants that have yellowed a bit, Robinson meets me at the gate but is reluctant to let me in.

“You need to get permission,” he says, but eventually opens the gate for me and even walks me through the cemetery. The recent ‘thunderstorms’ have uprooted dozens of trees and they lie supine on the graves. The air is thick with the fragrance of seasonal flowers, the ground infested with snakes. There is so much goat and nilgai dropping, it is difficult to walk.

I am at the vast, 200-year-old St. John’s Cemetery in Meerut, Uttar Pradesh, where dotted within the foliage are thousands of graves, of which nine are of British casualties in the 1857 uprising. Robinson is the caretaker here. On one side of the cemetery are the graves of the British, on the other side are those of Indians. The graves are an amalgam of Mughal and colonial architecture, many with domes. In some, the inscriptions are still startlingly clear, as are the motifs and sculptures.

“Look there, by the yellow tomb. That’s the oldest grave here — dates back to 1810,” says Robinson. He then points to the grave of Colonel John Finnis, the first British officer killed in 1857 on May 10, the first day of the uprising. His gravestone reads: ‘Colonel Finnis, who fell while endeavouring to quell the mutiny in the 20th regiment, May 10, 1857, 53 years.’

Graves at the 200-year-old cemetery. | Photo Credit: SANDEEP SAXENA

Vincent Trecar, 48, was killed on the same day, as was John Henry George Taylor, the 57-year-old captain. Both their graves are here.

‘Captain of the 20th regiment who was killed by his own men on the 10th of May 1857, 35 years, with his wife Louisa Sophia aged 30 years, who was barbarously murdered the same night while trying to make her escape with her three infants from her burning house to the European Line,’ reads the gravestone of Donald Macdonald.

There is a tall memorial gravestone with more than 100 names of European soldiers carved on it — soldiers who died between 1888 and 1905, during their service in India.

I ask Robinson if the families of these officers ever visit these graves. He hands me a visitor’s register where I see no entries in the last three months. “Who has time these days?” he asks.

Amit Pathak, a Meerut-based historian, a radiologist, and author of 1857: A Living History, who conducts tours of the 1857 uprising-related sites in the city, has a particular attachment to St. John’s Cemetery.

The 200-year-old St. John’s Cemetery in Meerut. | Photo Credit: SANDEEP SAXENA

Entire villages were burnt down by the British army in and around Meerut. Of the 50 British army personnel killed during the mayhem here at that time, 32 were buried at the cemetery, says Pathak. “But we could trace only nine graves, those that were cemented. The rest were made of mud and lost with the time.” Graves of British men who died in 1857 can be found in Delhi and Lucknow as well.

The historian recounts the particularly tragic story of Louisa Sophia, the wife of Donald Macdonald, a British officer who was killed. “She was at home when one of her servants helped her escape by covering her in a burkha along with other women of his family. But while escaping from the backdoor, they were caught. She was asked to identify herself, and when she said “Hum hain” (It is I) in Hindi, she was gunned down.”

Her English accent had given her away.

The writer is a U.P.-based crime and political journalist with a penchant for human-interest stories.

source:http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> History & Culture / by Ishita Mishra / May 26th, 2018