OFFSHORE FUNDS: The European currency crisis is worrying small and medium Indian borrowers

17/07/2010

By Abhishek Anand

**Troubled markets** Indian companies are now being asked to pay higher interest for external borrowings

CORPORATE INDIA is rattled. Along with hardening interest rates and the newly introduced base rate regime, which restricts lending below a particular level (varying from bank to bank), Indian companies may now also have to put up with selective offshore lending by banks and financial institutions abroad. This comes amidst the worsening economic situation in the Eurozone.
Current signs are that the source of cheap funding for Indian companies is in disarray and they are having a tough time raising funds through External Commercial Borrowings (ECBs) and Foreign Currency Convertible Bonds (FCCBs) from overseas markets. Both took a big hit in the last one month. Consider these figures: according to Reserve Bank of India (RBI) data, the offshore fund-raising plan it had approved dropped to $0.69 billion in May, as against $2.81 billion in June. The drop was a whopping 75 percent; and if the RBI-approved fund-raising in March is taken into account, the fall is even sharper. Last March, all companies got approvals to borrow $4.32 billion from overseas through FCCBs and ECBs.
“The major fund-raising source destinations are the US, the UK, Germany and some other European countries. The crisis in some of them, such as Greece and Portugal, has impacted the sentiment even in other countries. As a consequence, institutions have become cautious and lending to companies is subdued,” Rohit Berry, partner, BMR Advisors, told TEHELKA.

Only companies with a credible track record are managing to raise funds through ECBs and FCCBs

FUND-RAISING through ECBs include loans from banks, buyers and suppliers’ credit, fixed and floating rate bonds (bonds that cannot be converted into equities) and borrowings from private sector windows of multilateral financial institutions like the International Finance Corporation and the Asian Development Bank (ADB). FCCBs are primarily debt instruments which are issued in currency other than the issuer’s — with the option of converting them into equities at some later date. Like other bonds, FCCBs also make regular coupon (interest) payments. As a result, the interest rate has begun to harden — hampering borrowing from overseas. “Interest rates have gone up in the overseas market and even the “AAA” rated companies are having to pay 250 basis point over and above the Libor rate for loans of five years or less. Companies are thus unable to borrow within the RBI ceiling, resulting in lesser overseas borrowings,” says LP Agarwal, managing director, PNB Investments. Effective January 1 last, the RBI has put a cap on the interest that any company would have to pay for borrowings through the ECB route. “Corporates are not allowed to pay an all-in-cost of 300 basis points above the London Interbank Offered Rate (Libor) for borrowing up to five years. For borrowings over this period, the maximum cost which corporates are now allowed is 500 basis points above Libor,” according to an RBI circular issued last December.
(Libor is an average of the rates at which international banks are willing to lend funds to each other.)
However, companies with a credible track record are still managing to raise funds through ECBs and FCCBs. Some of the major ones that have managed to do so are Fortis Healthcare, Lupin, Kanoria Chemicals, Shree Cement, Reliance Industries, Tata Teleservices, Vodafone Essar and Aircel.
“Though companies with ‘AAA’ or ‘AA’ ratings are still managing to raise funds within the RBI stipulated cap, banks are generally treading cautiously and those with lower ratings will have problems raising funds,” says Ashok Bhandari, chief financial officer, Shree Cements. The latter had got RBI approval in March to raise $20 million for modernisation. On the other hand, Reliance Industries got the nod for raising funds to the tune of $800 million in the same month. Reliance Industries plans to utilise the proceeds to refinance some of its old loans.
“Demand and supply apart, companies may be waiting for the various currencies to stabilise. Once the Euro does so against the dollar, we might start seeing higher offshore borrowings by Indian companies,” Ashish Basil, partner, Ernst and Young points out.

WRITER’S EMAIL:
ABHISHEK.ANAND@FWTEHELKA.COM

Short steps out of long shadows

Aastha Atray Banan

13/07/2010

Marathons might soon be a Rs 100 crore industry. A remote Maharashtrian camp is training rural youth to run their way to freedom, finds Aastha Atray Banan
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JAYSHREE SHIVSHANKAR Boragi, 20, runs lap after lap after lap through the stones and brush in the dried river bed. A small dust cloud trails at her quick feet. This lithe girl from Kolhapur in Maharashtra beat 1,600 runners to win the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2010 in the 21 km category. The marathon awarded her more than Rs 80,000 for the effort, while her training programme, the Sagroli Sunrise Project, gave her Rs 1 lakh. The firstyear night school BA student likes to read motivational books like Badi Soch ka Bada Jadoo. Jayshree takes marathoning seriously.
Jayshree’s father died when she was three. Her mother Madhavi took up his job as a Public Works peon — and now won’t touch her daughter’s earnings, even while barely managing her tworoom home’s rent. Jayashree credits her focus to her mother, saying, “She doesn’t even let me help in the house. It’s all about my running. I have to first win the 42 km run [full marathon] and then start training for the Olympics 2016.”
Jayshree is typical of the new aspirants driving the burgeoning Indian scene. Athletics Federation of India (AFI) officials estimate that marathon sponsorship has the potential to be second only to cricket in India. Races have mushroomed across the country: the Pune International Marathon is the country’s oldest and has completed 24 editions. The country’s annual running calendar is now packed with more than 25 long-distance races in the four metros and smaller cities. The Mumbai Marathon started with 1,000 runners in 2004 and clocked 38,450 runners in 2010. “It’s the largest in Asia,” says Mumbai Marathon’s Deepak Pilankar. “It attracts many celebrities but 80 percent of runners belong to the middle and lower classes.” Newspaper reports might lead you to believe that marathons are mainly the picture-perfect realm of the Ambanis and Preity Zintas, but count in executives, homemakers, students — everybody likes a good run today. India has also had some unusual homegrown champs: 4-year-old Budhia, sold by his mother in Orissa in 2006, who once ran 65km at a stretch and whose coach was accused of exploiting him; 90-year-old Fauja Singh, a world record holder in his age bracket, was featured in an Adidas campaign alongside David Beckham and Muhammad Ali; Ashis Roy, who ran his first marathon at age 52, and at 76 completed his 85th marathon in New York.
IN THIS SPIKING scenario, the Sagroli Sunrise Project — a Maharashtrian organisation offering running programmes for rural youth with cash rewards for excellence — has emerged as an unexpected hotbed of talent. Its runners wowed the Mumbai Marathon this year. Alongside Jayshree’s coup, Sunrise runners bagged fourth place in the women’s half-marathon and four of the top 10 ranks in the men’s half-marathon. Part of the Sanskriti Samvardhan Mandal (SSM) — a rural empowerment initiative — the project currently provides 33 runners free education, boarding, lodging and training until class XII.
Sunita Kannaram, 16, is one such runner who came fourth in Mumbai. Her mud house in Khajapur, Andhra Pradesh — no wider than two coffins — is packed with neighbours who’ve come to see her on one of her two annual visits home. Running has taken her to the world outside — she now lives in Sagroli village, across the border, and says she loves beating boys at kabaddi.
Since Sunita’s father died, her sister Sridevi stitches clothes and mother Saraswati works as a field labourer. Their hopes now rest firmly with Sunita. “She can earn more with running than we can doing anything in this village,” says Sridevi, who dropped out after class V. In shorts and a little t-shirt, Sunita alternates between smiling like a child and frowning at all the adulation, then rushes back to school for an English exam. The road back is flanked by jowar crops, and in Sagroli it suddenly opens up into a massive ground — this ‘training track’ is not the usual neatly swept landscape common in the West. This team manages fine blistering through the local thorn bushes, pointy gravel, river beds, equally at ease with the mossy underfloor of forests or the crumbling floor of a hillside. “Training starts at 4pm,” calls out Sunita on her way to tackle her fear of verbs and nouns.
The school itself is an impressive sight in the middle of the badlands. Founded in 1959, the SSM runs an orphanage, a high school and a sainik school on a sprawling campus. It’s home to thousands of boys and girls. The Sunrise Project was initiated in 2004 by entrepreneur Deepak Kanegaonkar, who felt local students have the bodies and stamina for marathons. “They’re used to walking long distances and have the desire to do something, and frankly that comes from being underprivileged – that itself is their strength,” he says. Momentum came when, three years ago, Carlton Pereira, an ex-investment banker from Mumbai, and Sudhir Rao of IndusAge Advisors, Chennai pledged financial aid.

‘Sunita can earn more with running than we can doing anything in this village,’ says her sister Sridevi

Money lubricates the runs. The AFI estimates marathon running to be a business worth Rs 10-25 crore today and expects it to hit Rs 100 crore in 10 years. Both athletes and amateurs run for the money — the 2010 Mumbai Marathon offered about Rs 1.4 crore in total prize money. Some run for social causes and prize money is donated to NGOS. IndusAge reports that the Sagroli Sunrise Project has spent around Rs 40 to 50 lakh since inception for medical aid, travel, protein-rich diet, sports kits, endless running shoes, and its two coaches. Pereira, who’s also planning a gym in Sagroli, says, “The project is about levelling the playing field for the underprivileged. They’re educated along the way, so even if they don’t become champions they can be financially independent.”
The project plans to launch centres in Nashik and Kolhapur, participate in AFI and private marathons, and help all its athletes who finish school get either a job or college education. However, Deepak Bapukumbhar, 23, only hopes his running will at least feed his family — he quit school to pursue running and came 6th in Mumbai. The potter still makes Ganesh idols with his mother in his one room in Karochi, near Kolhapur. “Running is the only way I’ll make a living, but only if I’m one of the best. And only a good coach can make me an international athlete,” he says, glancing at his coach, Pandurang Ishwar Maskar, who only nods sagely in the distance.
Coach Maskar, 65, divides his time between Sagroli and a college in Kolhapur. He likes playing cinematic slave driver — the team watches every flick of his eyes, discreetly topping his teacup, touching his feet before warm-ups. Despite his quick temper, the team seems to esteem him. Maskar believes his scientific approach has been key to their success: “It’s all about training the right way. An athlete can’t take a break of even one day” — daily training from 5 to 8am, then a breakfast of raw eggs, followed by school, then back at 4pm to warm up, stretch and run again for 1.5 hours. The kids hurl faster when they hear Maskar’s booming voice or whistle. After training, the curt old man holds court in a chair with the team standing around him. Later, they mill about and help each other stretch again, gossiping about school and movies.
The marathon runner’s patience is not mythical. Take Rameshwar Govindrao Chidgire, 20, once touted as the next big thing. He didn’t manage a place in Mumbai this year and now suffers from being sidelined — and yet has kept the faith. He says softly, “Everyone’s timing has improved since coach took over.” Along with the optimism there are always the doubts about stamina, injuries and competition — especially from Kenyans and Ethiopians. Jayshree’s mother laments that she sees her daughter only a few days in a month, “Running is such a rough sport. But I have to let her go if I want her to do something concrete with her life.”
It’s getting dusk. Evening practice is just ending. New York City Marathon co-founder Fred L ebow once described the marathon as a “charismatic event” — equal parts competition, drama, camaraderie and heroism. The Sagroli kids understand this intimately even if they can’t quite articulate it. Sunita puts it as her discovery of Mumbai when she first arrived there: “It’s just such a grand city.” It won’t be her last visit. Watch out when Sangroli sets them all loose again.

WRITER’S EMAIL
aastha@tehelka.com

Chasing A Mirage?

Abhishek Anand

10/07/2010

Speedy retrieval of the black money stashed away in overseas tax havens is a distant possibility, says Abhishek Anand

THE GOVERNMENT is making a second attempt to recover the billions of dollars that Indians have stashed away in overseas bank accounts. Recently, the Enforcement Directorate (ED) issued 200 notices to alleged tax evaders, and asked them all to show their income-tax returns for the past five years within a month. Nearly $1.5 trillion is believed to be lying in these banks.
But these are early days yet, and finance ministry officials say it is impossible to say how long it will take to retrieve the concealed money — if any of it comes back at all. It certainly won’t happen in a hurry, most of them agree; though according to Finance Secretary Ashok Chawla it will now become a great deal harder to launder money
Also in the pipeline are eight more Income Tax Overseas Units (ITOUs) — in the US, the UK, the Netherlands, Japan, Cyprus, Germany, France and the UAE to keep a better tab on illegal transactions. Currently there are only two: one in Singapore and another in Mauritius.
The ED crackdown has come a month after the Central Board of Direct Taxes sent show-cause notices to 50 people whose names were disclosed by LGT Bank in Liechtenstein — a tax haven close to Germany.
It was the amendment of Section 90 of the Income Tax Act earlier this year that enabled India to sign informaIt was the amendment of Section 90 of the Income Tax Act earlier this year that enabled India to sign information- sharing agreements with nine autonomous territories — all cushy parking lots for illegal money. Bermuda Islands, British Virgin Islands, Cayman Islands, Gibraltar, Guernsey, Isle of Man, Jersey, the Netherlands, Antilles and Macau have been more than just holiday destinations for affluent Indians.
Negotiations are currently on with 64 more countries, says a senior finance ministry official. The information exchange agreement with Switzerland — a political hot potato — could also materialise soon. Sources in the ministry say the move followed recent demands by influential lobbyist Economiesuisse, which asked the Swiss government to disclose the names of the tax evaders.

Laundering of money will now become a great deal tougher

Last year, Switzerland agreed to renegotiate a host of tax treaties with other nations while brokering a deal with Washington to hand over confidential data of UBS clients. But the trillion-dollar question is whether the measures that have been taken so far are good enough. KR Girish, partner, direct taxes at KPMG — a major think tank — is sceptical, saying: “At the moment it is premature to say whether tax collections will be augmented and money laundering mitigated. But yes, the measures could greatly help in tracking the actual source of foreign direct investment and the entities behind it.”
Jagdish Shettigar, Convenor of BJP’s Economic Cell, however, doubts that the initiative will yield results. “The best remedy is to block the creation of black money. Lowering of property tax, income tax, and public funding of elections would substantially reduce the creation of black money in the first place,” Shettigar argues. Brave words — but who will turn the words into deed?
Writer’s Email: abhishek.anand@fwtehelka.com

The next big thing

Aastha Atray Banan

19/06/2010

Want to be a little ahead of the curve in the art world? Five hot curators pick the young artists to keep your eye on
What does sarah Jessica Parker, star of the never-ending Sex and the City franchise have to do with art? As of this month, a lot. Parker has successfully put together Work of Art — a reality show designed on the lines of Project Runway and Top Chef in which a dozen young artists will compete before a panel of judges. It is the fullest flowering of our desire to have no one famous sneak up on us. Celebrity must be achieved between commercials under our watchful eyes. one can wait and see if the show creates new fans for what is still perceived as an opaque subculture. If it does, then it will bring artists back to the popular gaze in a way that they have not been for a very long time. Perhaps not since the 1860s when all of Paris — from workman to aristocrat — paid a franc each to attend the government-organised annual salon. The fiercely competitive salon could make or break an artist’s reputation and ended in parties, suicides and duels. a reality show can only dream of such riches. In the real world, us moderately interested members of the public try to piece together what is happening in the Indian art world. our curators have their own hopeful vision of the change round the corner, the blazing talent walking down the street. It could be this girl animating double helixes in a corner or the boy weaving his mother’s hair. Perhaps even that old-fashioned thing — a painter. We asked five curators to pick their favourites and tell us why. (Inputs from Aastha Atray Banan, Rishi Majumder and Nisha Susan)
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ALKA PANDE PICKS
Tarun Jung Rawat Works with mixed media. Rawat, 36, is steeped in interaction design, fairytales and Edgar Allan Poe
TARUN IS the only sensitive and creative artist working with interaction design,” says Delhi-based curator Alka Pande.
Rawat’s work is influenced by fairytales and writers such as Edgar Allan Poe and Roald Dahl. His recent show was bafflingly named Never Mind the Bullfish, here’s a spot of T— an involved reference to the Sex Pistols and himself —but his work has simple and accessible themes like the girl child, freedom or self expression. His technological homage lies in the use of hidden sensors and moving kinetics embedded in his art which make the work move as a viewer approaches it. “He combines modern electronics and technologies with hand work and traditional colours to create a very fresh and new kind of mixed media. He has evolved a new pictorial language that consists of fables and stories. His imagery is extremely allegorical,” says Pande who admires his strong graphic language. Two of Rawat’s works have recently been acquired for their permanent collection by the Essl Museum at Vienna, a very prominent museum for contemporary art. Pande demurs from talking about how Rawat is doing in the market. “I can’t put a value on his art. Creativity and prices don’t always go hand in hand, especially the big art market bubble which was there two years ago no longer exists.”
OTHER PICK “I also like Akshay Rathore’s work,” says Pande. Rathore trained in Baroda and works with vector illustration, animation, glass sculpture, and lenticular printing. His recent show When She is Away explored the themes of violence. “He works with contemporary media. The future of art lies in exploring such new media,” insists Pande.
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LATHIKA GUPTA PICKS
Rohini Devasher Devasher, 31, explores the space between science and art. Works with multiple media including digital prints, drawing and video
I THINK Rohini Devashar has got incredibly solid training and is technically very sound, and that will really take her ahead,’ says Delhi-based curator Lathika Gupta. ‘I think Rohini Devasher has got incredibly solid training and is technically very sound, and that will really take her ahead. One of her solo shows ranged from showcasing a huge site-specific drawing and prints to a video piece, for which the data was collected via video feedback which occurs when a camera is plugged into a TV and a loop is created between the two. The result is an astonishing array of patterns that emerge spontaneously within the feedback loop, mimicking biological life — tree, plant and cell structures. In Bloodlines, a video and print installation, she creates an family tree of artificial life forms.” Trained in painting and print-making, Devasher’s work explores the ambiguous spaces between science and art or as Gupta says more succintly, ‘She is a science freak’. She is interviewing astronomers asking what draws them to the night sky and exploring the sub-culture of eclipse-chasers. Gupta adds, “Rohini is also doing well commercially — she has buyers that include everyone from the young Delhi art aficionado to American museums.” Devasher’s prints are priced at Rs 2.5 to Rs 3 lakhs.
OTHER PICK Gupta also likes the young artist Shine Shivan. She says, “Shivan is a taxidermist, who makes costumes out of carcasses — he made one out of the ribcage of a horse and uses stuff like his mother’s hair and cowdung in his installations. It’s crazy but he has so much passion.
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NANCY ADAJANIA PICKS
CAMP
Shaina Anand (35) Ashok Sukumaran (36) and Sanjay Bhangar (27).
Together they hate the word ‘collective’ and work with everything
THE ART BOOM and the slump that followed have occluded from our vision the real criteria which make for greatness in Indian art,” says Mumbai-based critic and curator Nancy Adajania. “The media circus has lionised individual artists and forgotten the value of intellectual and cultural capital that art provides its audiences. The next big wave of Indian artists will be collectives like CAMP. CAMP which consists of Shaina Anand, Ashok Sukumaran and Sanjay Bhangar actively attempts to shape the public sphere through dialogue and debate rather than be content with creating commodities for the gallery system. Their work revolves around the politics of resource sharing — like water and electricity.” CAMP loves creating relationships with neighbourhoods. In 2007, for a whole month they hung an electric switch on a tree in Khar, Mumbai. The sign said, ‘This switch allows you to turn on the lights of Flat 23 of the building across.’ Everytime a curious passerby pressed the switch, Anand or Sukumaran would wave from their balcony. “From 2008, they have been working in Jogeshwari to discuss questions related to the right to water, water tanker politics and the dilemma of access to civic infrastructure,” says Adajania. In 2009, CAMP won the Grand Jury award at the Sharjah Biennale, a project which looked at dhows leaving Sharjah for Somalia, offering a way to rethink global capital.
OTHER PICKS Desire Machine Collective (Sonal Jain and Mrigank Madhukaillya), a group based in Guwahati.
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PRATEEK RAJA PICKS
Otolith group
Anjalika Sagar, 40, and Kodwo Eshun, 43, work with video. Their work is dominated by themes of Third World movements
WE THINK THE Otolith Group, who will be showing at our gallery in December, is totally hot,” says Prateek and Priyanka Raja of the Experimenter gallery in Kolkata. In May, the video artist duo Anjalika Sagar and Kodwo Eshun were nominated for the £40,000 Turner Prize, one of the art world’s most glamorous prizes. The Turner prize judges praised their ability ‘to work collaboratively across a range of disciplines, in particular the moving image, to investigate overlooked histories through archival and documentary materials.’ Prateek says, “Their work is different, as their cross referencing is amazing. They use archival footage that’s never been used. For example, they once used a recently declassified video to explored the diplomatic relationship between India and Russia.” The Otolith Group’s work has been admired by critics for its approach that can be ‘playful as well as unflinchingly erudite’.

OTHER PICK: “We think Sanchayan Ghosh is a talent worth watching out for.” says Prateek Raja. Ghosh is a site-specific installation artist who uses light and sound to make the audience a part of his work. In one of his works, Sisyphus Effect, the intensity of the light changes based on the movement of the people in the room. While the Kolkata-based Ghosh makes critics in some quarters peevish because of the involved references in his works, others admire his ability to stick his neck out. At least one critic expressed her delight at the body-builder who was part of his Sisyphus Effect installation.
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RANJIT HOSKOTE PICKS
Nikhil Chopra
Chopra, 35, is a performance artist whose work includes tableaux of early British imperial photography
A CRUCIAL MIX of factors will determine who the ‘next big artist’ on the Indian art scene will be,” says cultural theorist and independent curator Ranjit Hoskote. First: the sustained backing of galleries and foundations for the production of art with no immediate commercial returns. Second: the belief of bold collectors both at home and abroad in such work, without expectations of instant returns. Third: the catalytic role of curators in presenting and contextualising such artistic departures internationally. And fourth: acceptance for such artistic positions in the global art arena. Using these criteria, he picked performance artist Nikhil Chopra as someone who has the potential to achieve that major leap in the next few years. “Chopra revisits his ancestral past through elaborate performances, testing the limits of his endurance in situations that are simultaneously private and social,” says Hoskote. In 2009, at an exhibition curated by Marina Abramov, the grand dame of performance art, Chopra played an array of personas from a Victorian dandy called Yog Raj Chitrakar, a Maharaja and a loin-cloth clad ‘native’. More recently he left Mumbai artists bemused with Drum Solo, the performance of a celibrity rockstar.
OTHER PICKS Gigi Scaria, Manjunath Kamath and Rohini Devasher.
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The sting bride

Aastha Atray Banan

19/06/2010

Rani Tiwari had spent seven years failing to meet fat dowry demands. Then inspired by Tehelka she decided to end the greed, says Aastha Atray Banan

**Hidden Half** Rani Tiwari hides her identity and hopes the threats will die down
Photo: Hashim Badani

RANI TIWARI has been flooded with marriage proposals lately — 42 to be exact. But Rani’s sudden popularity has nothing to do with her stunning looks or charming personality. In fact all her suitors have seen of her is a blurred out photograph in the newspapers, or the small figure with a dupatta draped over her face on their TV screens. Rani is the girl who caught her would-be in laws asking for dowry on camera, and now is fighting a case against them.
The petite girl from Gorakhpur maintains a brave demeanour as she sits in her tiny Mulund home, telling her story again and again, her frame slightly stooping, and then drawing up again confidently. Her resolve is apparent, “Even if I have to fight the case for 15 years and at the end they only get to spend a month in prison, I am still going to keep at it. I didn’t do this to prove anything to anybody, just to uphold my dignity.”
Six months ago, in December, the Tiwari family was approached by a pandit, who recommended Nikhilesh Pathak as a groom for Rani. The Tiwaris have been trying to get their only daughter Rani, now in her late 20s, married for seven years now; only to be rejected each time because of their inability to give dowry. They were still optimistic that this match might work out. The Pathaks like them,were UP Brahmins. The father, Suresh, was a government officer while the groom and sisters all worked at call centres. “They looked like a decent family,” says Rani in a wry tone. Her brother Deepak, sighs, “We first did a ceremony to formalise the relationship, where we gave Rs 50,000. But the Pathaks asked for Rs 1 lakh more. And then another 2 lakh 50 thousand for the tilak ceremony. We gave it all. We also bought them clothes and jewellery.” Rani interrupts, “It was not just the money and gifts that we gave them on the ceremonies. The boy’s sister took me shopping, and actually forced me to buy her a sari for Rs 15,000. ”

But the worst was yet to come. Soon after, the father of the groom called and demanded a car. Rani’s voice cracks, “That was the first time I saw my father cry. And that’s the day I decided, that I was going to not take this anymore,” she says, modestly adding that her idea to conduct a sting was inspired by the TEHELKA Defence sting. Her family objected strongly. But Rani was adamant and finally they caved in. “We knew that this marriage was not going to happen now. Though our father had said that if they ask for a Nano, we will try and give it,” says Deepak, who reveals that the family had sold whatever ancestral land they had and borrowed money to fulfil the demands so far.
Deepak recorded all subsequent meetings on a camera pen. “In the tape, which is shot at the boy’s home, you’ll see the boy saying he wants a Swift. The mother says they had bought parking space in their compound and had been waiting to get their son married to get a car!” The Pathaks added new furniture for their daughters’ rooms to the demands.
Although the sting was successful, the days leading up to it were fraught with strife. The Tiwaris were scared of getting caught and worried about being alienated by their community. “But the police won’t register a case of dowry before marriage without proof. So we gave them the proof they wanted,” says Deepak.
The groom and his father were arrested at first, but are now out on bail. They have since made threats to Rani, saying that they would throw acid on her. “They have daughters of their own. Didn’t they ever think what would happen if grooms treated them like that?” asks Rani.

‘In the tape the boy’s mother says they had bought parking space and had been waiting for their son to get married to get a car,’ says Tiwari

Rani, had wanted to be a journalist after she graduated, but that didn’t quite work out. “My parents didn’t think I was cut out for the job of a journalist, so I worked as ground staff for an airlines company for a while. But I think I always had the drive.” Rani’s led the kind of double life that many Indian girls are familiar with. She changed her clothes in the office to neither offend her family nor stick out like a sore thumb at work. Working at a call centre for Rs 6,000 a month, she never thought love marriage was an option. “Our family has always had problems I got caught up in. Also, maybe deep inside, I knew that even if I did fall in love, it won’t be allowed.”
But her very conservative family has stood by her through this big act of rebellion. Her courageous act has also forced her to shed her shyness and face the media. One gets the feeling she does want to set an example, especially because she belongs to a community where rebellion is not welcome. “I did curse the fact that I was a UP Brahmin many times. I also thought of committing suicide. After the sting, I was sure we would have to shift to somewhere, where no one knew us. But the support of the mohalla, my colleagues, neighbours, family and now the public in general has been amazing,” she says with a hint of pride.
There might be 42 grooms vying for her attention now, but Rani is unsure of whom she wants to be with. She also seems wary, as if counting the minutes before a good thing turns bad. “I have not stepped out of the house for months now, because I am scared someone will attack me. All this has made me tired and faithless. I am not sure I will find a husband who will understand that I need to see this through. I plan to fight till they are taught a lesson. The whole ordeal has wiped my mind clean — I can’t even think of what kind of a marriage I want. I just want a happy family who will keep me happy,” she says and one suddenly sees Rani for who she really is — a hurt and frustrated middle class girl who has got a chance to make a difference, and more importantly, a chance to be heard, seen and to matter. This time, she will be the one to choose and reject — she’s earned it.

WRITER’S EMAIL
aastha@tehelka.com

Nagpada’s hoop dreams

Aastha Atray Banan

19/06/2010

In which a poor Mumbai mohalla and a gang of Muslim girls conquer the basketball courts. Aastha Atray Banan tells the story

**Day/Night** The Nagpada girls at their regular evening practice
Photos: Hashim Badani

AFSANA MANSOORI, 16, looks out of place in her 4 by 4 shack in Nagpada. The leggy girl is dressed in shorts, a tee and sneakers. Next to her, her mother, who works as a domestic help at one of Mumbai’s skyscraper residences, appears diminutive. Their shack — one of many in the tiny lanes of this south Mumbai neighbourhood — is divided vertically by a plank, splitting it into a living room-kitchen and bedroom. Afsana, who is getting ready to cook dinner, describes her everyday routine in a matter-of-fact voice. After school, she cooks lunch for herself, her mother and brother. Her father died years ago. She then heads out to help her tired mother scrub floors and utensils at other homes till late into the evening.
Back home, before cooking dinner and watching a little television, Afsana pursues a hobby — and now potential career — that has left many astounded. Afsana plays basketball for the quirkily-named Nagpada Basketball Association, in short the NBA. “Basketball makes me feel different, that I am not just any other girl. I feel a sense of worth every time I shoot a basket. It started off just as a hobby, but now it’s a way of life. What would Afsana be without basketball?” she grins broadly.

The Colaba girls with their coloured hair were no match for the Bata shoe-stomping Nagpada girls who ran like the wind

**Sisters** Afrin and Sumaiya Sheikh are also Nagpada basketball fanatics

One look at her team and you know change is around the corner in this largely Muslim neighbourhood. The Bobcats (as the girls like to call themselves, fashioned after the famous Charlotte Bobcats, a team owned by the legendary Michael Jordan) or the Nagpada Neighbourhood House (NNH) team (as they are known professionally) is made up of 12 Muslim girls. Formed around three years ago, the team holds up Nagpada’s reputation as the centre of basketball in India. The NNH basketball court — one of Nagpada’s two courts — is where the girls play. Every day the girls begin at 7 pm and practice late into the night. And it shows. A game organised as part of a NBA (this being the talent-hunting National Basketball Association from America) league tournament was eyeopening. The girls were pitted against a team from Colaba, and won without much of a fight. The Colaba girls with their coloured hair, Nike sneakers and short shorts were no match for the oiled hair, Bata shoe-stomping Nagpada girls, who ran like the wind. Whenever the players were caught in a scuffle, the Colaba ‘chicks’ yelled “F***!”, while the Nagpada girls had toothy smiles that seemed to ask, “What did she just say?”
How did this sport — accessible to the rich who can afford the wooden courts and healthy diets — become popular among Nagpada girls. As Abdul Khan, president of the NBA, says, “It’s because these girls have immense drive. Recently, there was a tournament in Nagpur. We could only afford to send one team, so we decided to send the boys. But the girls told me they just had to go. They paid for their train tickets, and that’s a lot of money for them. But it speaks volumes about their dedication.”
NAGPADA (ONCE home to the infamous Dawood Ibrahim) has given the country some of its finest basketball players — among others Abbas Moontasir, who captained India in 1975 when it stood fourth in the Asian Championships. Nagpada’s journey to being the heart of basketball in India started in the 1940s. “An American gentleman, Mr Longfellow became the director of the NNH which had focussed until then on volleyball. But his American passion for basketball overhauled the system. In 1953, Nagpada won a national tournament, and thus started the revolution. It’s like the story of Shivaji Park in Mumbai. Since Sachin Tendulkar emerged from there, every child from Shivaji Park wants to be a cricketer. Nagpada adopted basketball,” says Moontasir. “India needs to take basketball seriously. It’s still neglected,” he says despondently.

**New hope** Afsana Mansoori and her mother at their home

But his disappointment is to be expected. India’s love affair with basketball has at best been indifferent. The sport was first played in India in 1930. The first National Championship for men was conducted in 1934 in New Delhi, and the Basketball Federation of India was formed in 1950. “It still hasn’t picked up in India and is restricted to places like Kapurthala, Nagpada and Bhilai,” says Shankhajweet De, a filmmaker whose next movie traces the history of basketball in India. “The golden era was during the 1970s. Now our teams take part in international tournaments, but don’t get anywhere. But if you make it to a state team or national team, you get a government job, and that’s a great incentive.” BFI’s Maharashtra unit vice-president, Ibrahim Lakadwala, agrees, “Jobs are assured for girls who make it to the state or national teams. India now has many small tournaments. We just had the firstof- its-kind league tournament in Nagpada, where players were divided into clubs, and Rs 1 lakh was given as prize.”
It is something the Nagpada girls are aware of. When you see the girls on the court, their palpable energy draws you in. Off-court, though they work hard, they are also strangely content with what they have. When they discuss Michael Jordan, a team favourite, or talk about dreamy Hrithik or laugh about having boyfriends, they seem to belong on another planet — one where money doesn’t dictate happiness. But money is a big factor. Afsana’s mother Zainab, who was hugely upset when, at 13, her daughter joined the team, expresses pride now. “We came to Mumbai 30 years ago from Bihar. Since my husband died, I have worked hard to send my kids to school. I just want Afsana to stand on her feet.”

Rashid says, ‘I don’t become less of a Muslim because I let my daughters play basketball. One has to move with the times’

Her teammates, Afrin Sheikh (16) and her sister Sumaiya (14), live 500 metres away from Afsana’s house in a slightly larger shack — home to six — in the courtyard of a chawl. Their father, Rashid, drives a taxi and mother is a housewife. The girls have realised that their love for basketball could take them out of the neighbourhood. “We want to get good jobs through basketball, and we know we can. We see the boys playing, and we think, why can’t we? Basketball defines us,” says Afrin in her cramped hut. Her father Rashid was once a basketball player. “I am living my dreams through my daughters. I don’t become any less of a Muslim just because I let my daughters play. One has to move with the times,” he says. He knows the NNH hears complaints every few days from conservative quarters about the girls wearing shorts and being watched by men as they play. NBA president Abdul Khan says, “We tell them we are ensuring nothing untoward happens. These girls need a chance to prove themselves.”
NOT EVERYONE is so supportive. Sana Sheikh, a frail, pretty 16-year-old, who is one of the team’s ace shooters, says, “My mother is annoyed by my wearing shorts. My parents want me to quit and may get me married after class 12.” Sana’s father Yusuf’s only means of income are bets at Mumbai’s race courses, and though he is proud of his son making it to the national basketball camp, he is unsure of his daughter’s fate. “She is playing for now, let’s see what happens,” he says with goldtoothed smile. If she doesn’t start earning, it may be the end for Sana’s basketball dreams. “Her parents are too conservative, and it’s sad because she is one of the best players we have,” says the captain of the team, Sumaiya Sayed, who stays in the same building as Afrin, but on the second floor — a sign in this locality that her family has more money. Her father Sayed works in construction, and she attends one of South Mumbai’s better colleges. “At first, my parents didn’t want me to play, as this area is known for its slums and a notorious crowd. But they know basketball makes me happy,” says the 17-year-old who unlike the other girls, plans to head to Manipal to pursue a medical degree.
But Afsana only has basketball. She says, “I want to become a referee. That gets respect. It will also ensure I am attached to the sport for a long time.” She pauses, “I hope I can get a job with the railways. I need to get out of here.”

WRITER’S EMAIL
aastha@tehelka.com

Rings a bell?

Ajit Sahi

12/06/2010

Activist Teesta Setalvad has used phone records to nail several of Modi’s henchmen in the committee probing the Gujarat massacres, reports Ajit Sahi

**LONE CRUSADER**
Setalvad’s activism is bearing fruit – the ball is now in Nanavati Commission’s court.

LAST WEEK, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) arrested one of Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi’s key police officers in the state for alleged complicity in a fake encounter of 2006. Now, Modi’s bête noire, Mumbai-based activist Teesta Setalvad, has fired a fresh salvo invoking telephone records to show how his government and police connived to allow rampaging Hindu zealots to kill about 2,000 Muslims in Gujarat in 2002.
According to documents that Setalvad submitted last month to a commission of two retired high court judges, Modi’s office and various police officers of the state networked with each other through the massacre on February 28 and March 1 that year. She has sought to establish this through phone calls made by and received by 44 people, including the police officers, and demanded that these be examined.
The officers that Setalvad has fingered include Gujarat’s then Director-General of Police (DGP), K Chakravarti, and PC Pande, then Ahmedabad Police Commissioner who Modi later promoted as DGP. Pande had held the post of Police Commissioner in Ahmedabad at the time of the massacre, and is widely accused of willfully allowing the killings to go unchecked.
[box]
THE WHERE AND WHEN, ON RIOT DAY
Call records from February 28, 2002
5.10 AM
Ashok Bhatt at Narol, Naroda
3.56 PM
Tanmay Mehta (from CM’S office) to Narol, Naroda
3.56 PM
IK Jadeja, Meghaninagar
5.10 PM, 5.14 PM, 5.57 PM
Ashok Bhatt, Narol, Naroda
5.40 PM
AP Patel (from CM’S office) Meghaninagar
7.24 PM
Harsh Brahmbutt (from CM’S office) Narol, Naroda
7.26 PM
Harsh Bahmbutt (from CM’S office) Meghaninagar
[/box]
Setalvad has now demanded that the commission summon officers of the Central and Gujarat IB as also of the Indian Army who had been deputed to quell the killings. She has also asked the commission to summon top police officers of the time, including Pande, to depose. The list includes many of Modi’s favourite police officers, such as then Joint Commissioner of Police (JCP) MK Tandon, Additional Commissioner of Police Shivanand Jha and three deputy commissioners of police.
By targeting these police officers, Setalvad is indeed attacking the core of Modi’s government apparatus, widely accused of complicity in the massacre. As TEHELKA’s exposé of October 2007 clearly established, there was a direct nexus between Gujarat Police and killer mobs of the Hindu right-wing Bajrang Dal, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and the BJP.
Indeed, Setalvad once again lays the blame at Modi’s door, citing the case of three officials who worked with Modi’s Chief Minister’s Office (CMO) then. All three — Sanjay Bhavsar, OP Singh and Tanmay Mehta — filed “hurried” affidavits before the Commission this year but have evaded appearing before it. In addition, Setalvad wants the commission to force BJP and VHP leaders to depose before it too.
Pande received 15 calls from Modi’s office on the morning of February 28, the day the massacre of Muslims began. Setalvad says that the fact that Pande did not leave his officer after 11 am indicates that these calls were made by the “top echelons” to instruct him that the police must not interfere with the rampaging mobs. Indeed, at the same time, Bhavsar and Mehta in Modi’s office were talking on the phone to VHP’s Gujarat General Secretary Jaideep Patel, an accused in the massacres at Naroda Patiya and Naroda Gaam.
For the CM’S office to be in touch with Patel is indeed intriguing. It may be recalled that Patel was in charge from the VHP to escort dead bodies of 56 people, many of them Hindu activists, who had been charred to death in a fire in a train that was bringing them to Ahmedabad from Uttar Pradesh. The train had caught fire outside Godhra town’s railway station, and it is the contention of Modi’s government and the BJP-VHP that the local Muslims deliberately started the fire. It was primarily the VHP’s shutdown to protest the train deaths which stoked the violence against the Muslims and spiralled it out of control. “For the chief minister’s office to be directly in touch with the man accused of leading and inciting the massacres and rapes… suggests collusion in the violence at the highest level,” says Setalvad.
Even then Health Minister Ashok Bhatt was also talking on the phone with Patel that day. Gujarat’s then Minister of State for Home, Gordhan Zadaphia — who Modi has since forced out of the BJP — had been in communication with both Patel and Dinesh, a VHP activist and brother of VHP leader, Praveen Togadia. Another person who was in touch with then JCP Shivanand Jha is Amit Shah. Shah is today Modi’s embattled home minister who, as TEHELKA reported last week, has been running to evade arrest by the CBI in the fake encounter case.
Indeed, Modi’s woes on the 2002 massacres have worsened since the CBI arrested his former Minister for Women and Child Welfare Maya Kodnani over a year ago. Then an MLA, Kodnani and another minister, Kaushik Jamnadas Patel, too, had been in touch with JCP Jha as also several other police officers, right down to police inspector KG Erda, who is accused of facilitating the massacres of Muslims in the locality of Meghaninagar. Another police inspector KK Mysorewala, and BJP State President, Rajendrasinh Rana too were in touch with Kodnani and Patel, among others.
Two questions arise. One, why would so many police officers, from JCP down to inspectors, be talking to so many leaders of the VHP and the ministers? And two, why would the police still fail to bring an end to the violence, especially if it was in constant touch with these bigwigs in the government and the partisan outfit that had called the shutdown?
The connection appears self-evident. Modi has always said that Hindu mobs attacked the Muslims as a spontaneous reaction to the train fire in which Hindus were killed. But so many members of the VHP-Bajrang Dal-BJP stand accused of leading the mobs that killed the Muslims that records of their numerous telephonic conversations on that day suggests collusion among them, as Setalvad suggests.
Indeed, phone calls records also show that VHP men such as Babu Bajrangi, who is accused of the violence in the two massacres at Naroda Patiya and Naroda Gaam, and Atul Vaidya, who is accused of complicity in the massacre at Gulberg Society where former Congress MP Ehsan Jafri was killed, were in touch with each other, too. Bajrangi, who confessed before TEHELKA’s hidden cameras of his involvement in the massacre, was also in touch with Patel and two others of the VHP.

Why were so many senior policemen present in areas where massacres took place?

ANOTHER QUESTION that Setalvad has raised is about the presence of six persons from Modi’s office in the Meghaninagar area of Ahmedabad on February 27. According to the telephone call records, they were in the area during 2-5 pm that day, while Modi was visiting Godhra. Then Health Minister Bhatt and Mehta from Modi’s office were at Narol Naroda between 9 am and 5 pm. “It was at these locations that violence spilt over in broad daylight the next day as policemen watched,” Setalvad says.
In fact, on the day of the massacres at Gulberg Society, Naroda Patiya and Naroda Gaam, phone records show that the officials from Modi’s office, and ministers Bhatt and IK Jadeja, and even DGP Chakravarti were located in these areas. The question arises: what were these bigwigs doing in those areas, and why could they not stop the killings?
There are also graphs showing the locations of officers from Modi’s office and senior policemen in and around his residence in Gandhinagar, Gujarat’s capital, “corroborating the fact that secret/illegal meetings did take place, where instructions to allow free reign to the organised mobs led by men of the VHP/Bajrang Dal are alleged to have been given,” says Setalvad in her statement to the commission.
Now the ball is in the Nanavati Commission’s court. Given that the Commission gave a near-clean chit to Modi in an interim report in September 2009, Setalvad may be staring at an uphill trudge.

WRITER’S EMAIL
ajit@tehelka.com

Baby’s Day Out

Aastha Atray Banan

20/05/2010

Welcome to the age of the pundit-approved caesarean birth, says Aastha Atray Banan

PHYSIOTHERAPIST Swati Kumar, 30, was adamant that her baby be born before 10.30 in the morning on April 22, 2010. The usually easygoing mother-to-be adopted this firm stance on her punditji’s insistence. “He told me if my son was born at this time, he’d do really well in life and be a happy-go-lucky character,” she smiles. “My son is lucky to be a muhurat baby.”
Swati is one of the increasing numbers of parents who are consulting their pundits for auspicious timings and dates to give birth to their C-section babies — the “muhurat babies”. Parents believe that a child born at the blessed time and date will be fair, most often male, and someone who will look after them in their old age. Though it may seem ironic that many of us cling to religious diktats even as ‘modern’ India blazes ahead, doctors and patients alike defend the practice, saying it promotes parents’ happiness.
Dr Rishma Dhillon Pai, consultant gynaecologist at Mumbai’s Jaslok and Lilawati hospitals, says, “I did find it extremely amusing in the beginning, but if it adds to the mother’s happiness, what’s the harm? In a C-section, it’s possible to choose a date, so let them fulfill their wish. Sometimes I feel they want me to check my watch before cutting the cord as well!”
But Pai does moan about the pressure that she faces to arrange schedules that will please everyone. She also says that almost 90 percent of all C-section babies in India are born based on a muhurat. “Parents,” she says, “will move heaven and earth” to make sure their baby is delivered at the designated time.
It’s not just stubborn parents Pai has to deal with. Sometimes, the couple’s well-wishers also join in the muhurat baby brigade. “One couple had been given a strange time of 3.30 am, and I said ‘No.’ They actually found people I had connections with and made them call me! I had bureaucrats calling me up as well urging me to give in,” she laughs.
But is there any danger in waiting for a date and a time for the baby to be born? “Absolutely not. We give the patients a week to choose a date from, which is ideal for the mother to give birth. Even though it’s not medically dangerous, it can be very stressful,” says Pai, recounting a high-tension yet hilarious incident. “A high-profile, extremely wealthy couple decided on a specific date and time. I booked the operation theatre with buffer time of an hour before and after the operation, so that there was no crisis. But as luck would have it, the doctor before us had a complication and took much longer than she was supposed to. The couple went ballistic and started breathing down my neck. We finally went in with only 20 minutes to spare of the muhurat, and I delivered in the last three minutes!” she says.
With all the trouble people are going through to bring the sanctified muhurat baby into the world, we do hope they live up to all the hype.

WRITER’S EMAIL
aastha@tehelka.com

Grist For The Mill

Aastha Atray Banan

08/05/2010

Mahesh Manjrekar’s newest film about Mumbai mill workers proves that blockbuster Marathi cinema is here to stay, says Aastha Atray Banan

FILMMAKER MAHESH Manjrekar regards himself as a straight-talking man, one not afraid of telling the blatant truth. Better known for his slick Bollywood productions, the director has been leading a renaissance in the Marathi film industry. So when allegations of him adding too much violence and sex to his latest Marathi movie, Lalbaug Parel (City Of Gold in Hindi), crop up, the 57-year-old says calmly, “It’s a democracy, and everyone sees a particular event differently. Why do we run away from sex and violence? Why is it only okay if Quentin Tarantino does it?”
Lalbaug Parel, which deals with Mumbai’s once prosperous mill district, now dotted with malls, aims to gather some sympathy for mill workers and their families. Mumbai’s textile mills date back to the 19th century, when they were developed to produce cheap cotton textiles for Britain. But by the 1970s and 1980s, most of the mills shut down amid stiff competition and prolonged lockouts. And in 2006, India’s Supreme Court gave the go ahead that 285 acres of land occupied by defunct textile mills could be sold to private builders.
The film follows one such family struggling to make ends meet. The family head, Anna — portrayed brilliantly by Shashank Shende — lives with his wife (Seema Biswas) and works as a mill worker. The eldest son, Baba (Ankush Choudhary), is a struggling writer, the second son Mohan (Vinit Kumar), is more interested in cricket and the youngest, Naru (Karan Patel), is regarded as the local bhai, while daughter Manju, played by Veena Jamkar, works in a beauty parlour. In their effort to survive, the women sleep with strangers and men turn to crime. The movie also sheds light on the nexus between the mill owners and politicians that sealed many mill workers’ fates.

One of the directors responsible for bringing audiences back to Marathi cinema, Manjrekar heralded an era where Marathi films began raking in the moolah. After critically acclaimed Bollywood movies like Vaastav, Astitva and Viruddh, Manjrekar directed the Marathi De Dhakka in 2008 — one of the highest-grossing movies in the Marathi film industry. His next venture, Mi Shivaji Raje Bhosale Boltoy, where he played Shivaji, broke records by grossing over Rs 35 crore. “We now have an audience and Marathi filmmakers just have to not get complacent,” he says.
But Mangesh Kadam, who directed Adhantar, the play that Lalbaug Parel is based on, is critical of the film: “The struggle of the mill worker has not been portrayed with the right intensity. Their emotional turmoil doesn’t come through.” Manjrekar is unfazed: “I have the right to show what I want to show. A director will never think another version of his product is better than his.
The director is aware of Bollywood’s cruel reality: you only exist till your film is a hit. But he is optimistic. “I remember when I had no money and had to sell my wife’s jewellery. But I kept the faith. My only aim is to make movies about people I know and have met, otherwise you just become a DVD filmmaker. When I feel self-pity, I tell myself there are people worse off. It’s time to just be grateful.”
aastha@tehelka.com

The Marriage Of Abundance

Aastha Atray Banan

08/05/2010

None of these people thought there was a wedding in their future. Until a website flew them past their weighty issues, says Aastha Atray Banan
NARESH SIDHU’S parents had been looking for a bride for their “slightly” healthy son since he turned 27, four years ago. They contacted marriage bureaus and put up his profile on matrimonial sites. Nothing worked out. Naresh and his family knew the reason behind this embarrassment — Naresh is what we term “overweight”.

Unwavering Filmmaker Jharna Jhaveri at her Delhi home
Illustrations: Anand Naorem

“At the time, I weighed around 90 kg. It was always the same routine — parents of girls looked uncomfortable as soon as they saw me. Later they would call up and say ‘this rishta (match) won’t work out.’ They wouldn’t even let me meet their daughter,” says the 31-year-old businessman from Delhi with a wry smile. Without telling anyone he registered on the website conspicuously named overweightshaadi. com. A few weeks later, to his astonishment, he found a girl online who shared his interest in music. “I found someone who saw my inner beauty, and I saw hers. She is less heavy than me though. But we clicked. I told the whole world, and everyone was happy. We got married last year and it’s been the happiest time of my life.”
Sidhu’s happiness has Gurgaon-based sisters Aditi Gupta and Megha Singhal to thank. They started overweightshaadi. com in 2008 after they witnessed the similar plight of a cousin. “All our relatives were after her to lose weight. But she had a sensible argument — what if she lost weight, found someone, but then put it back on? Would the guy love her then?” Today, the website gets 10 to 12 new registrations a day, and has around 60 members active at any given time.

In our country with its severe malnutrition issues, it’s difficult to process statistics that show that some Indians are getting fatter by the day. But According to the Nutrition Foundation of India, half the women and more than a third of the men in New Delhi’s high-income group were overweight. And a 2009 BBC report says around 70 million Indians are classified as overweight. Our society, already obsessed with body image, has certainly not figured how to deal with this new phenomenon.
The distaste for obesity in the context of marriage is highly visible in popular culture. In the recent Shoaib Malik-Ayesha Siddiqui-Sania Mirza nikah triangle, two ‘facts’ emerged — that Ayesha refused to leave her home because she was obese; Shoiab left her because his teammates said she was too fat. Pop culture peddles the idea that fat people are losers who can’t find love. The popular Zee TV soap, 12/24 Karol Bagh, for instance, features a worried mother who so bemoans her fat, 30-year-old daughter’s fate and thus agrees to get her married to a yellow-toothed sleazeball in gold silk shirts. The latest Gurinder Chaddha movie, It’s A Wonderful Afterlife, also chronicles the fat, dark heroine’s search for a husband.

POP CULTURE is darkly echoed when Naresh remembers life before marriage, “I couldn’t take the rejection any more. The atmosphere in my family had become unbearable. I registered because on this website my weight wouldn’t be an issue. And once a person accepts you are fat, they will look at your other qualities to decide if they want to be with you.” To ensure this openmindedness, overweightshaadi. com prides itself on its screening process. “I personally screen every registration. We don’t allow 18-year-olds looking for a date or pranksters on the site as this is serious business,” says Aditi.
Gitanjali Singh, is one of the many parents who also wondered about the seriousness of the website. She had spent five years looking for a match for her 75-kg daughter. She says, “I was totally against it. But when I saw my daughter’s profile getting reactions, it gave me hope.” Another mother came to Aditi anxiously with a 35- year-old daughter who weighed 105 kg and was close to a nervous breakdown. Aditi says, “Two months after registering, she found a match.

‘I found someone who saw my inner beauty, and I saw hers. She is less heavy than me though,’ says Naresh Sidhu, a Delhi businessman

Ask Aditi whether people who are genuinely attracted to the overweight — register, and she equivocates. “Thin people who are okay with marrying heavy people do register.” Certainly not everyone on the site is fat. Sanjana is a quiet 23-year-old who works at an MNC in Mumbai. She is mildly plump and has grappled with fluctuating weight problem since she was a teenager and is now fed up. “I want a grown up man who will look beyond my weight,” says Sanjana. “My parents were apprehensive when I registered but I was adamant.” In retrospect, she was right. Sanjana is now dating 27- year-old Angad Sood. Sood weighs over 90 kg and Sanjana rejoices that they are both passionate photographers. Sood, who works as a chartered accountant, says he had got used to people making fun of his weight, but had told himself it was “all okay”. “Like all Punjabi mothers, my mother also used to get really hyper, and so I registered on a site where I am not judged by my weight.” Angad feels lucky to have found Sanjana. He will not allow janampatris and caste to come between them now. He says. “I am a Punjabi, while she is a Jat, but imagine allowing that to come between us”
But caste and religion still plays an important role, even among those who feel matrimonially persecuted. Aditi says, “Parents call us personally. A Tamilian will want a Tamilian and a Gujarati a Gujarati. They have caste and religion requirements, and that’s a sad truth.
Even on overweightshaadi. com, a little difference in weight could make or break a relationship. Rajesh Singh, a cheerful 25-year-old diction trainer. He weighs 85 kg. He registered after many rejections from prospective brides. Without any qualms he says that given the choice of two girls, all other things being equal, he would choose the thinner one. “You may think I am being hypocritical, but I am just honest. It’s natural to think like this,” says the Delhi boy. He plays tennis for fun but doesn’t worry about losing weight himself. He wants to live the good life and eat well. “I have seen people living on lettuce leaves. Nothing is worth that.
The now happily married Naresh recognises the irony of his own search — after all despite being overweight himself, when his parents had put out an advertisement looking for a bride, they had listed the old clichéd requirements: “Wanted: a thin, tall, extremely beautiful bride.” It is just that he had not expected he would be judged as well. He had found it difficult to attract girls since school but had not thought the same rules would prevail in the marriage market.
All paradoxes apart, overweightshaadi. com could be credited for making “overweight” or healthy (as the site refers to them as) people feel less alienated in a world where a person’s worth is figured on a weighing scale. As the fat comedienne Dawn French once said, “If I had been around when Rubens was painting, I would have been revered as a fabulous model. Kate Moss? She would have been the paintbrush!”
aastha@tehelka.com