Having even taken recourse to changing their faith to save their houses from being razed, the residents of Rampur's Valmiki Basti now hope better political sense prevails. Dhruv Munjal reports
Driving through the heart of Rampur is like driving through the prime esplanade of New Delhi. You are greeted by slick roads, neatly lined by trees and complete with ornate street lights. The pavements, coated in resplendent red and green, look in perfect condition.
A couple of minutes more in the car and I realise why Rampur is unlike any other small city in Uttar Pradesh that is normally marked by decrepit roads and chaotic traffic -- it is the bastion of Samajwadi Party strongman Azam Khan. He was elected from here to the state legislative assembly, and giant billboards donning his image maintain a constant gaze at you as you zoom through the city.
A few kilometres away from Khan's house in the city, residents of Valmiki Basti are anxiously waiting for the local leader to show up. On April 6, houses there were marked with red paint by the local municipal corporation, dooming them to demolition. Residents were told that a 500-metre stretch that has around 70 houses and is home to more than 700 people would have to make way for a new parking lot that would cater to those who pay a visit to a nearby shopping mall. The mall, the construction of which was started in 2006 with the backing of Khan, is now complete and will open its doors once the parking issue is settled.
On April 14, a week after the red paint was daubed on their house, the residents of the colony -- all Hindus -- had "converted" to Islam in a bid to save their homes. Vivek Sindhasi, 20, tells me that a Nagar Palika official, known to be a close aide of Khan, had met some women of Valmiki Basti and allegedly given them an assurance that their houses would not be brought down if they converted to Islam. Desperate to save their homes, the Valmikis agreed to embrace the faith. A maulvi was summoned from Amroha to facilitate the conversions, but he failed to turn up. The Valmikis went ahead with the conversion, sporting skull caps and voluntarily converting to Islam.
They had seen how, curiously, the Muslim neighbourhood adjacent to Valmiki Basti had been spared by the civic authorities. The 132 single-room quarters that are mainly home Sikhs who migrated to India soon after Partition were also left untouched by the parking lot plan.
Sindhasi, however, points out that the "conversion" was a mistake. "We did not have an option," he maintains. "We are poor and we would do anything to save our homes. That's why we went ahead with the conversion." But he says that they reconverted to Hinduism the following day after District Magistrate C K Tripathi issued a written note, allaying fears of any demolishment drive.
A couple of days later, on an overcast afternoon, a group of seven men -- most of them in their 70s -- is seated outside the Shiv Temple inside the colony protesting against the move to raze their homes.
Babu Lal, 74, has been on a hunger strike for the past eight days, consuming only juice and water. “I've been living here since I was born. How can anybody turn up one day and say that our houses will be demolished?” he asks, his frail frame barely clutching on to a glass of water handed to him by a young woman sitting next to him.
The modest houses in Valmiki Basti, painted in red and pale yellow and mostly having two bedrooms, were built more than 65 years ago. Guddu bhai, a native of Moradabad, calls himself a social worker who has travelled 50 km to take part in the protest. Dressed in a white kurta pyjama, the thick mustachioed, 37-year-old says that it is about time somebody stood up for the Valmikis.
Seated on a carpet in a makeshift tent, he says, "For long, there has been injustice against Hindus in Uttar Pradesh. I, through this effort, want to change that." Nalin Singh, an activist with an organisation called the Rashtriya Yuva Kranti Morcha is here for the same reason.
Deepak Kumar, a safai karamchari with the Nagar Palika, feels that the Valmikis are being unfairly targeted. "If our houses are illegal, so are theirs," he says referring to the residences left unmarked. "We are being targeted because of our religion," he says. Deepak Kumar is one of the nine karamcharis who were expelled by authorities after pictures of his taking part in protests were flashed on a news channel. A case has also been registered against 90 residents of the colony for holding protests.
A visit to the city's Municipal Corporation yields little information because most officials choose to remain tight-lipped on the issue. "Only a few of the houses are registered and have proper documentation," says an official who refused to have his name identified. "The others have been constructed on government land. Yes, the houses may be 60 years old, but if they are illegal, then the corporation has every right to raze them."
Amit Kumar, a resident, rubbishes these claims. "The construction of some new houses that came up only a few years ago went ahead only after getting requisite clearances," he says. However, Kumar, who works at an automobile repair shop on Radha Road, says that demolition will have serious repercussions for his family. He took a loan of Rs 5 lakh to refurbish his two-bedroom house only a year ago. "If my house is demolished, then there is no way that I'll be able to repay the loan. In fact, most of us here have renovated our houses after availing huge loans," he says.
Authorities say that if the houses are demolished, then the residents can move into the Kanshi Ram Colony -- a series of homes set up across the state by former chief minister Mayawati for the poor.
Ranjana Devi, a 68-year-old lady who runs a small Kirana shop in Valmiki Basti, says that the houses in the Kanshi Ram Colony are tiny and cannot accommodate more than three people. "What about families that have five or six members? They have no place to go to," she says.
After I spend an hour interacting with the residents of Valmiki Basti, we -- I and a couple of other journalists -- will have to make way for a bade sahib who is on his way from Delhi to meet the protestors. Turns out that bade sahib is Raj Kumar Verka, a Congress politician, who is also the vice-chairman of the National Commission for Scheduled Castes. Motorcyclists and pedestrians are barged out of his way by scurrying policemen as Verka's car rolls into the neighbourhood. Community leaders scamper to meet him as I hear mild voices in the background mumbling: "Koi juice le ke aao (Someone go get some juice)."
After meeting residents for the next 30 minutes, Verka gets on to the protest stage and emphatically announces that he will let nothing happen to the houses in Valmiki Basti and all cases against them will be withdrawn. His words are met with a rambunctious applause followed by chants of "Verka sahib zindabaad!"
Soon after Verka's departure, 70-year-old Dhirsaj Singh tells me that he is happy that someone has finally come and listened to their demands. "Where is Azam Khan? Where is Akhilesh Yadav?" asks Singh angrily. Singh says that nothing in Rampur can be done without Khan's consent, so he does not believe the politician's claim that he was unaware of the plight of the residents of Valmiki Basti.
Other residents say that nobody from the ruling Samajwadi Party has turned up at their locality since the protest started. "They don't care about Hindus," alleges Deepak Kumar in anger. "If they did, then why the double standards? Khan wants to drive us out of here."
While Khan was unavailable for comment, a spokesperson for the Samajwadi Party leader says that if the houses are indeed illegal, then they will have to be demolished. "This has nothing to do with religion. It doesn't matter if you're Hindu or Muslim. If the colony is illegal, then the court will take appropriate action," he says.
Image used for representational purposes only
