Delhi (Women’s Feature Service)

 We have to marvel at how the world has changed since r*** was a four letter word, and young Lotika Sarkar(1923-2013), the first woman lecturer in the Faculty of Law,
University of Delhi, shocked the department by teaching rape to her students.

This is what happens when you let women into hallowed institutions of
learning: They don’t understand that, even when they are allowed to be
seen, they may not be heard about the obscene. This was our LS-given,
early version of the Vagina Monologues, without the theatre. Shift to
the present: I suspect some will tell us that the battle to take rape
to the classroom is far from over; except, thanks to LS, it is prudery
that is on the back foot now.

When the letter protesting the ‘Mathura’ judgment was written, it
constituted many firsts. It was the first time that an ‘open letter’
was written to the Chief Justice of India – braving its contempt
powers. A first for law teachers – Upendra Baxi, Vasudha Dhagamwar,
S.P. Sathe and LS – questioning the legitimacy of the court’s
decisions. The first time the cover of silence shrouding custodial
rape was torn asunder by the written word. It is one of the
contradictions of those times that, in the wake of the ‘Mathura’
letter, the law was changed to make it a crime to reveal the identity
of a victim of rape. Yet, ‘Mathura’ remains ‘Mathura’, while Tukaram
and Ganpat haunt the peripheries of feminist consciousness. Such is
the stuff of which iconisation is made.

A while later, LS was to advocate caution in shifting the burden of
proof: A matter that continues to need explaining, and demands debate
– especially with the state having used terrorism as a causative agent
for extraordinary laws!

In a haze of cigarette smoke, in a room in Delhi’s Centre for Women’s
Development Studies, dwarfed by the personalities of the two women in
it, sits a third listening to a narrative unfold. “When they set up the Committee on the Status of Women in India (CSWI), no one in government expected the report that we produced,” chuckles Vina Mazumdar. LS smiles wryly. No one in the committee had anticipated the work, travel and discovery either. Soon, though, they had formed
teams, and were coursing in all directions, meeting women of all ilk
and hues, life experiences and dispositions all over the country.
Before they knew it, the women they met unalterably radicalised them.
The Status of Women in India Report is testimony to what they learnt
from the women who spoke to them.

It was on reservation in legislative bodies that LS and Vinadi
dissented. You see, we had not gone looking for how the political
system should be changed for women. But wherever we went, women would
raise the problem of political participation. The report had to reflect what they were saying. The Note of Dissent was to resurface years later with the Women’s Reservation Bill.

Thinking back, this was a casual conversation while taking time off
for a smoke. If this is the stuff of which feminist gossip is made, it
is no wonder that the women’s movement is now so articulate about how
the law needs to change, and where it needs more thought; a far cry
from a government that seems clueless that neither patriarchy nor
paternalism can provide answers to the women’s question.

Feminism, as feminists know, has its share of mirth, even when it is
serious business. The serious business of feminism was on display when
LS was co-petitioner in the public interest petition on the Agra
Protective Home. ‘Protective home’. We know what that means. The
conditions were abominable, the rules were like those of a punitive
institution, and codes of civilised conduct seemed to stop at the
doorstep. In 1994, when she was over 70, it fell to LS to pursue the
case in the Supreme Court. She was daunted, but determined. What was
at stake? In illustration: Now that the ‘Home’ was under the court’s
scrutiny, it had directed the District Judge to file a monthly report
on the ‘Home’. In this document that was accessible to anyone who
cared to look at court papers was the record for every woman in the
‘Home’, tying up her identity with her HIV status. On August 30, 1994,
the court directed that all persons testing positive be segregated! On
October 10, 1994, armed with a doctor’s opinion, LS stood her ground
with a reluctant court to change its earlier order. Fighting prejudice
is an everyday task for the feminist, right? It tired her out, and she
did the rest of the case with Muralidhar – Murali to LS – by her side,
but she stayed the course.

There was no fuss about LS. Just meticulous preparation and grounded
work. Ask Gobind, Khem Singh, Dayalji in the Indian Law Institute
library, and they would tell you that “Madam worked very hard.” And,
they would say, in voices tinged with affection and respect that they
were happy to take the books to her, but, no, she will go to the racks
and get the books down herself. Mutual respect, no hierarchy,
unacceptance of nonsense, and a deep sense of fairness. No
pre-judgment, no prejudice; but excellent judgment.

Students who are now teachers speak of being ticked off by her, and
then treated to a cup of coffee in her room. There was never any
malice, jealous self-interest or meanness about her. Sure, there were
those she did not like or trust – but isn’t that what judgment is
about? There is just one person about whom I have heard her say ‘he
should be punished’, and that after extraordinary provocation. Need I
say more? With her friends, it was affection, jollity, respect and a
free exchange of thought, opinion and … well, lunch.

Have you had payesh with mini-oranges? What about lauki in milk with
ginger and an indefinable something? Or palak in a million
combinations? Ah, that tomato chutney – we have to find another name
for it that will do it justice. The three-tiered dabba was not hers
once she reached ILI, CWDS, perhaps the Law Faculty too? Her most
delectable concoctions were made from – guess what? – leftovers. The
thing is, it was true. A visiting friend may leave some mushrooms in a
form that does little to add pleasure to the palate; overnight, it
would become a creation whose recipe must be written; except, it had
just one ingredient – leftovers!

Politics and pleasure were on the same canvas. Who among us remembers
LS, laid up after a hip surgery, spending the evening before 2006 was
to arrive, with friends, wine and chocolate cake, discussing a freshly
minted Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act which, she
angsted, she needed to understand.

When Anthony Lester writes, about LS, that “she changed my life
……. But for Monu, I would not be a human rights lawyer”, he is
expressing a sentiment oft-voiced. At the release of LS’s Festchrift
(1999), I am told, the hall was full to overflowing. As the
proceedings drew to a close, as indeed they must, there was a
spontaneous standing ovation. I didn’t hear it then, because I wasn’t
there. But, after four years of sharing a home and being witness to
her inexhaustible charm, cheer, comradeliness, compassion, concern,
quiet – very quiet – dignity, trust and fairness, we know why the
applause will never stop.