The Cancer Train

Passage to Life

The Abohar-Bathinda Passenger ferries a large number of cancer patients from the cotton belt of Punjab to Bikaner, a 350-km overnight journey, for specialised treatment. Nirupama Dutt journeys from darkness to light on the wheels of hope

Indians love train journeys. Well, who wouldn’t in a land so vast and with a population as large with very meagre means? So if you want to catch a slice of true Indian life at the very grassroots, the best place would be a 24-hour journey in an unreserved coach of a train in any direction that may catch one’s fancy. I have known journalists who do this arduous task during election time and come back with sparkling stories about what the people are saying and which way the wind is blowing.A train journey any day or night, and one has had a fair share of it when required and sometimes even when it was not even required, but one had not thought that one would shiver through a journey of ten long hours in the coldest February in the past 35 years, in a passenger train from Bathinda to Bikaner. For someone living in Chandigarh, Bathinda is remote enough as it is on the Rajasthan border of Punjab and Bikaner is even more remote. But this train has earned quite a reputation for itself and not for the happiest reasons and has also been given the nomenclature of the ‘Cancer Train’ back home in Punjab. The cotton belt of Punjab in the Malwa region has an abnormally high rate of cancer. The excessive use of pesticides and ground water contamination are the suspected culprits. The specialised institute for cancer treatment and research in the government-run Prince Bijay Singh Memorial Hospital has come to the rescue of the lower middle class and poor people of Punjab because it gives quality treatment at very low rates.Never mind the name the train has earned for itself; one is still sceptical about finding cancer patients on the journey because after all cancer is no epidemic so there cannot be patients travelling everyday. But the Bathindawalas assure you that there will be many. They prove true and hours before the train arrives, patients and their attendants start trooping into the station. There are old men, women and even children who have come from villages close to Bathinda but there are others who have come from places as far as Raikot near Ludhiana. As we sit on a bench sipping hot cardamom tea to keep the chill at bay because the train is an hour and fifteen minutes late, Sukhbir, a 24-year-old woman of Alluwala village on the Punjab-Sirsa border, joins us. Her husband and an elderly neighbour from the village are accompanying her. She is suffering from breast cancer that was discovered recently and is going to the Bikaner hospital for the first time. Balvinder Singh, the older man in the group, says: “My wife had breast cancer but she overcame it with medicine from the Bikaner hospital.”Gurpreet Singh, a resident of Mansa, tells us: “Cancer has become so common in our parts that now people talk of it as they would of influenza and the only hope is medicine and treatment from Bikaner.” Non governmental organisations and the media have been raising the cancer alarm for quite some time but the Punjab government has been apathetic to it. The cotton-growing Malwa region comprising the southwestern districts of Bathinda, Muktsar, Faridkot and Mansa has shown a high incidence of various kinds of cancer. This is also the region that consumes three-fourths of all pesticides used in Punjab. However, there has been no systematic study of cancer and pesticides.

Dr. D.P. Punia, director of the regional cancer institute in the Bikaner hospital, says: “We do not have any scientific study that can link the use of pesticides with cancer. However, a large number of patients come from the cotton belt of Punjab. On an average 30-plus patients are from that region. The hospital, besides the state of Rajasthan, caters to Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand. Its standing has improved steadily over the years on the back of the quality, yet inexpensive, service that it has been providing.The mood in this passenger train is, quite understandably, sombre and compassionate. Gauri Shankar, the ticket checker, goes around from compartment to compartment making sure the windows are shut and no one catches cold from the draught. “This train is primarily for the sick and the ailing. We try our best to make the journey easy for those who are in so much of pain.” The night’s journey done, the train crawls into Bikaner Junction and anyone in the Punjabi rural attire is plagued by crowds of auto-rickshawalas wanting to be the first to bag all the people heading for the ‘Cancer Hospital’. Kartar Singh, a patient who has come from Faridkot, says: “The train is cheap and it reaches us in time for the hospital. The out patients get themselves examined, take the prescribed medicine and return home by the same train in the night.” There are several dharamshalas around the hospital and attendants can board and lodge there for Rs 20 to 40. The ticket of the train is just Rs 50 from Bathinda. The hospital is well-equipped.However, what strikes one the most is the very humane attitude of the hospital staff. There is no waiting time and treatment is started at once. The sight of a small child receiving radiation can be unnerving but Dr. V.K. Gupta, who is showing us the hospital, smiles and says: “With the treatment the child is going to be completely all right and live a normal life.” Even when the staff is short, patients are treated well and allowed their dignity in the hour of pain. The statistics reveal that a tremendous job is being done at the Institute. In 2007, 6516 new patients received treatment, 51,676 was the number of follow-up patients and the indoor patients were 184,64. As many as 10,961 patients were given chemotherapy in the wards and 15, 753 patients in the outdoor wards and cottages. The day’s job has been done. The patients who had to take the night train back are already there by evening, well before the scheduled departure time. But the train is late as always but sick men and women huddled on benches with blankets covering them wait as they would for a truant child because this train is their partner in the journey of hope from Bathinda Junction to Bikaner Junction.

At the Wagah-Atari Border

Smuggled Salaams At Wagah

Nirupama Dutt


Till 50 years ago, Wagah was just another village in the Majah region of Punjab, located between the historic cities of Amritsar and Lahore. Today, the very mention of Wagah conjures up a different image. The image is one of locked gates, barbed wire and armed guards. It spells the finality of a parting. For, it is here that the ceremonial India-Pakistan border is situated. The two iron gates stand firmly on either side of the narrow stretch of the no-man's land. It was on this stretch of land that Saadat Hasan Manto's Bishan Singh breathed his his last looking for his village called Tobah Tek Singh. The act of dying on the no-man's land was the refusal to accept the Radeliffe Line, which cut one country into Hindustan and Pakistan.

But Wagah still has its share of stories, some written and many others unwritten. Only some days ago, an 85-year-old woman approached the border. Security Force (BSF) jawans with the request that she be allowed to meet her sister who was left behind in Pakistan in 1947 and had been traced only recently. The sister met the Pakistan Rangers with a similar request. Both sides granted the request and the two sisters, one a Hindu woman and the other a Muslim, met for four minutes. Recalling the meeting, BSF Commandant H S Rai says: ``Of those four minutes, the two old ladies spent over a minute just weeping, and in the rest they exchanged a few worlds.''

That's Wagah for you, the last border village of Pakistan. The village this side is called Atari. For some time it was called the Wagah-Atari border. But Wagah was closer to the border than Atari. So why name the divide after two villages? Wagah alone would do. And there is a very interesting side of Wagah. It is not just relatives who reach here to meet. Nor the messiahs of peace and brotherhood bearing torches and candles, and led by Kuldip Nayar and other secular Punjabis as was done last year on August 14, the day of Pakistan's independence – and is being done again this year with an equal participation from across the fence unlike last year.

Nor just the tribe of writers and poets who chose to go sentimental here on the night of December 31 last year. The venue was chosen for the Raja Porus Mela. Yes, the same Porus of Sikandar ne Porus se ki hi ladai fame. Well, Porus was defeated a second time, thanks to the lack of coordination among the Indian hosts, so the Pakistani delegation reached a bit too soon and moved into Calcutta.

Neverthless, the result of the one-sided Mela was the setting up of a memorial, still half-built, which comprises a large marble slab inscribed with two celebrated Partition poems. On one side, there's Amrita Pritam calling out to Waris Shah, the Sufi poet who put in verse the story of Heer, one of Punajb's greatest love legends,in ``Ajj akhan waris shah nu kite kabran vichon bol'' ( I call out to Waris Shah to speak from the grave); on the other, it's Faiz Ahmad Faiz speaking on those who died on the road to history in ``Hum jo tarik rahon mein mare gaye''.

What makes Wagah special is that every evening at sunset there assemble thousands of anonymous Indians and Pakistanis on both sides of the border to watch the beating retreat ceremonials, which for the past many decades, but for the unhappy times of war, are held jointly, in complete harmony, right from the march past, the blowing of the bugle and lowering of the two respective flags. The ceremony over, people on both sides are allowed to stand at the gates and simply look at each other.

It is for the glimpse of the other that people come with children in their arms and stand there looking at each other in silence and smiles. For, if anyone tries to wave or speak, the guards cry out, ``No waving, no talking. Just stand and look at each other.'' BSF officials explain: ``Smugglers use the waving of hands for a code indicating whether their goods are reaching or not. So, we do not allow the gesture.'' Incidentally, Amristar is known for its smuggled goods market. Pakistani dupattas and scarves, which are particularly popular here, are supplied all over Punjab.

The crowds start gathering there much before sunset and the time is spent over a cold drink and coffee listening to patriotic songs being piped on our side. A popular number that BSF officials like to play is Mohammad Iqbal's Saare jahan se achha Hindustan hamara. One wonders if the other side is playing a latter-day composition of Iqbal's: Cheen-o-Arab hamara.

On a recent visit to Wagah, though, I came across another kind of music. No longer the patriotic songs. The popular numbers in this the golden jubilee year of the parting are Pardesi, pardesi, jaana nahin from the blockbuster Raja Hindustani and Chappa chappa charkha chale from Gulzar's Maachis. But what's behind the popularity of this speck on India's map? To this query, Commandant Rai answers with a smile: ``For one thing, Wagah is included in the Punjab Tourism package. We have at least one honeymoon couple a day. The other reason is the curiosity the people of the two countries have for each other.''

Regular visitors to the border say the atmosphere is very relaxed and the vibes friendly. Says writer Prem Avtar Raina: ``It has to be. The berlin Wall has crumbled and the barbed wire too will melt. The whole world is moving into an era of ethnic states. And it is good that there is a Punjabi for a prime minister here, and there.'' There are others, too, who like to do such wishful thinking. Gurdip Singh, an aged farmer from Bhullar village, stands there muttering: ``It was one Punjab which was cut into two. People on either side speak the same language.''

As the ceremony is taking place, one hears cries of Pakistan Payamdabad from the other side and soon enough people this side cry out, Bharat Mata Ki Jai, with an occasional Bole So Nihal, Sat Sri Akal thrown in. But these are not war cries of death and destruction as they were in 1947, but a hail-fellow-well-met kind of exchange.

``Ladies and children first,'' cry the guards soon after the beating retreat ceremonials. Women and children run to the gates on both sides to stand and just gaze at each other. ``Look at the Pakistani children, they're just like us,'' cries a child from our side.

Standing in the midst of the crowd my eyes meet those of a young Pakistani woman. I smile and she returns the smile, raising her hand in a salam. I too raise my hand in the return greeting of wahlekum salam. The guards do not notice and the thrill is of having smuggled a salam there on the border. Until the barbed wire sprouts folwers, as a Punjabi poet hopes, it will have to be a salam smuggled across the Wagah border.



The border outpost of Wagah today is a honeymoon destination, its greatest attraction being the daily beating retreat ceremonials watched by thousands from both sides of the divide. Swept by the bonhomie. Nirupama Dutt wonders whether Partition was worth the bloodshed.



``ladies and children first,'' cry the guards soon after the beating retreat ceremonials. Women and children run to the gates on both sides. ``Look at the Pakistani children, they're just like us,'' cries a child from our side.

Global Gurgaon

The old peepul tree painted by Roopchand and a view of a Mall

Old order Changeth

The new takes over the old way of life in what was once a sleepy little town in the Bajra belt, writes Nirupama Dutt, as she travels from the national highway to the memory bylanes

An old joke of Gurgaon says that tents all set up and mats spread on the ground lured a Jat to a congregation. Like the others, he took off his shoes and went in. Bored with the mystical musings, he soon came out and found his shoes gone. Nodding his head knowingly, he said, "I know it all, this was no mela but a pilan to rob me of my shoes."
Seeing their sleepy old Gurgaon town, the original inhabitants of the place seems to be nodding like the Jat in the joke and saying that this big-bang development in their home town is part of the pilan (that’s how plan is pronounced in the Mewati dialect) to rob them of their identity.
Hip, hot and happening. That is the profile of Gurgaon today. Skyscrapers and new age shopping malls make up the skyline of the city. After a hard day’s work, young executives go dancing and drinking all night at the discotheques. It is the outsourcing destination of the country. Name the group and it is here — from GE to Convergys, from Vertex to American Express. Other multinationals like Coke, Pepsi, Nestle, Hitachi and Gillette too are here in full force. Thousands of professionals have bought homes in the new colonies with fancy names like Beverly Hills, Malibu Towne, Laburnum, Mayfield Gardens, Rose Wood, Princeton and even Nirvana.
If a place has got a complete makeover in a very short time, it is here. In fact, the old is no longer in a position to fight the new, which has taken over as the ‘finest address south of Delhi.’ Ask Ankur Sultania, a young executive in the American Express, what it is to live here and he says, "Gurgaon is the place to be in. So much is happening here. Last night my wife and I danced at the Odyssey till three in the morning and then we drove straight down to my parents’ home to fetch our son to celebrate his first birthday in our South City flat." In contrast, a Gurgaon-born and bred businessman dealing in export of garments says, "Development cannot be stopped but with this one-point development pattern followed in our country, the original inhabitants of Gurgaon are feeling that they have lost their identity completely."
The new is very visible here and one has to hunt for the old. It is a long journey indeed from the mythical Guru ka Gram.
The hot ‘n’ rocking Gurgaon is changing rapidly. — Photos by Mukesh Aggarwal
This is the place where Dronacharya taught archery to the Kaurava and Pandava princes and the village along with some surrounding areas is said to have been gifted to him by Yudhishthira.
Wind through the overcrowded lanes of the old city to reach the new railway road and a tank still exists there in the memory of the Guru. This is the only relic said to date back to the times of the Mahabharata.
After Independence, a crudely made Dronacharya temple too was built but for some reason it is shut. Children play cricket in the compound as it is time for the game all over the country. There is also a college called Dronacharya Government College. There is nothing, however, in the memory of Eklavya who gave the Guru the greatest dakshina of all.
Pass the resort at the 32nd milestone, turn left at a point and one is on the Jharsa road. Much of the land of this large village has been taken over by private builders and the road leading to the village is lined with shops selling just about everything from groceries to light cane furniture.
In the village, a Jat farmer, Hoshiar Singh, who has seen some 75 years, takes us to some ruins which were once a part of Begum Samru’s fort. Samru was a unique woman of the 18th century. A singing girl married to a European mercenary, she acquired sizeable property and owned Badshahpur and Jharsa along with a lot of other property in and around Delhi. Her cantonment was in Jharsa and the British moved to this area to keep an eye on her army. "No one comes to see these ruins. Everyone is busy buying and selling land which is as much as Rs 10,000 a yard," says the old farmer.
The villages which constituted the Gurgaon area also offered resistance to the British at the time of the First War of Independence in 1857. People of the region had to pay a heavy price for allying with the ‘mutineers’ and many of them were hanged to death when Delhi fell into the hands of the British. But all this is history and now it is a race to keep up with the lifestyle that the multinationals have forced on the good old Gurgaon.
Neelima Sharma, a theatre actress of Delhi, who is building her home on the Sohna road says, "We moved to Gurgaon because Delhi was overcrowded and we could afford a little more space here. But the new American culture is somewhat unsettling. My husband, a left-wing activist, and I have decided to paint across our balcony the portraits of Chandrashekhar Azad, Bhagat Singh and Ashfaqullah, who laid down their lives during the freedom struggle."
Such emotion and holding onto the past is a rarity in the new life around Gurgaon. The mood is jet-set even as one drives down the Mehrauli- Gurgaon road with its plush farm houses, designer outlets and eateries. It is lasagne and pizza at Village Shop in Sikanderpur, Thai cuisine at Red Hot Curry and drink and dance at The Buzz. Even the dhabas on the National Highway have been given a makeover. Come late evening and the boys and girls from call centres are seen partying along the road with beer bottles in hand. Anita Singh, a young homemaker who is on the party circuit of Gurgaon, says: "Things are changing everywhere. And Gurgaon is no exception to the rule. In fact the local people here are so backward that they find the good life strange."
The landscape is altered and so is the lifestyle with an influx of a large population from outside. The mood is upbeat as young boys wizz past the old Sadar Bazar and girls in hipster jeans and short tops move around Sector 14, developed some two decades ago by HUDA. The most coveted places are the malls providing the great shopping experience along with movies seen in exclusive cinema halls and lounges.
Pawan Kumar, a real estate agent, says: "The National Highway is the dividing line between two different Gurgaons. On the one side is the old Gurgaon, on the other the new and upcoming Gurgaon. It is a greater privilege to be on the other side and, of course, the property too is more costly there." Such is the rush to Gurgaon even with the expressway only half done and the metro still a few years away. So the millennium city moves on no matter what be the pilan.

Mulberries, guavas and the old peepul tree

"There was an old peepul tree in the heart of our village. A platform was built around it for the village elders to sit on. We would often play there and eat the tiny yellow peepli fruits. How we loved that tree!"

So says Roop Chand, a seasoned artist from Dundahera village, who was born to a land-owing peasant Brahmin of the Jangehra clan with a lineage of idol-makers. If memory fights forgetting, it is at his studio-home where the millet fields of his father once stood. Sitting in the artistically built square home, which also serves as an art centre founded by him here some three decades ago, choked between workshops making Maruti parts in Gurgaon’s Udyog Vihar, he recalls: "We would bleed the kikkar trees for gum and make ink of it. And there was the game of kai danka that we played among the lashurha trees. The den could not catch anyone who climbed the tree."

In the small garden round his place with sloping roofs is a wild mulberry tree. "Mulberries and guavas grew aplenty in this region. My father grew bajra, jowar and vegetables. We had two workers and my mother and five of us boys helped him in the fields," says the 70-plus artist. He recalls going to the old mosque in Sadar Bazaar with his father, who used get bullock carts made there. "There was a tank by the mosque and I would drink water from it. Once I was doing so and a man said ‘See a Hindu child is drinking water from a Muslim tank.’ My father chided him saying that I was too small to know the religion of water."
"I studied in Coronation Government School in Gurgaon. Some parts of its beautiful Victorian architecture are still there. The most unhappy time was that of the Partition when I saw trucks full of corpses and people fleeing," recalls this chronicler of Gurgaon. "But the elders of our village saved our rangraenj (dyer) Dalmira. His son still lives in the village." With a chuckle, he tells of the 1857 stories handed down by his ancestors, "The villagers caught hold of the British officials here and turned them into farmhands for a few days before Delhi fell. They did not prove to be good workers and when bajre ke roti and onion were served to them, they thought that the roti was a plate."
Roop Chand, who graduated from the J. J. School of Art, Bombay, in 1958, still paints the landscape as it was in the days of his youth from memory. Taking a swig of German beer, he says: "Much has changed. Prosperity has come. People who could barely eat two meals by tilling their small patches of land now have cars and bungalows. There has been development but we have lost our green fields and fresh air." — N.D.

March 19, 2005, The Sunday Tribune.