Alienation, distrust and exodus loom in the aftermath of Delhi riots

Distrust among communities may lead to permanent displacement for thousands, write Arindam Majumder and Somesh Jha

Dilshad grew up in the alleys of Shiv Vihar, where he moved in when he was  six. Now, 32, he has never felt more alienated in the community he has known forever.

He was lucky to be away at work on February 25, when a mob armed with petrol bombs, knives, sticks and guns started rampaging through the narrow lanes of his colony, burning down houses and killing people. 

On March 5, more than a week after the communal riots in India’s capital broke out, Dilshad, who works as a mason, returned for the first time with his 11-year-old nephew and two friends — only to vacate his rented house. His cramped accommodation in gali (street) number 11, nestled amidst Hindu households, didn’t feel like home anymore.

“My landlord, who doesn’t belong to my community , told me that there is no reason to fear and I should stay back. But ab man bhar gaya hain yaha se (I have no desire to be here),” he says as he moves his furniture into a tempo.

Naresh Chand and his wife in front of what remains of their house in Shiv Vihar

Shiv Vihar, a locality in north-east Delhi, which was the epicentre of the riots, has mixed inhabitants belonging to both Hindu and Muslim communities. Residents say that they have lived together peacefully for as long as they can remember. Geographically, it is located in the intersection of Hindu-majority Karawal Nagar and Muslim-majority Mustafabad, with an open sewer acting as a natural divider.

Ever since the violence, thousands of Muslims have fled Shiv Vihar leaving their homes built with their life savings and taken refuge in shelter homes or  relief camps built in Muslim-dominated areas. 

Conversations with them  reflect the paranoia and fear that has engulfed them. “My heart is still pounding. I will not go back and instead stay in Mustafabad,” says Shiv Vihar resident Ahmed (name withheld), who now lives in Eidgah, which was converted into a relief camp in Mustafabad last week. The fear and weariness in his voice was palpable. He refused to reveal his name, saying “if I do that, they will come for me.” Five years ago, Ahmed had borrowed money from his relatives to purchase an autorickshaw, the source of his livelihood. With his daily earning of Rs 800 to Rs 1000, he supported his family comprising his wife and a son.

Charred remains of Ahmed’s autorickshaw

While recollecting the horror of the day, when he saw a mob  armed with weapons chanting religious slogans that made him flee the locality, Ahmed wanted to be reassured that that he was indeed talking to journalists and not to rioters.

Two days after the violence of February 25, when he returned home from a relative’s place where he had sought refuge, he found his one-room flat, which also had an autorickshaw parked outside charred beyond recognition. Only the shells of crumbling iron remained of his vehicle. His neighbours, with whom he shared a cordial relation, were safe — their house unscathed.

“Once when their daughter fell sick late night, I rushed her to the hospital in my autorickshaw without charging them any money. Today, they haven’t even checked on me,” Ahmed says, with a sense of remorse.

Ahmed’s neighbour, Amit, too,  hasn’t resumed work as a sales man for a global retail chain since the violence. He has been keeping a vigil outside his house to protect his family. He puts the blames for the violence on sit-in protests against the Citizenship (Amendment) Act, or the CAA, which seeks to grant citizenship to non-Muslim victims of religious persecution from Pakistan, Bangladesh and Afghanistan. Before the riots, the Seelampur-Jaffrabad road, used by Amit to commute to work, was blocked by the anti-CAA protesters.

Dilshad’s friend helps move his belongings

“If you have a grievance against the politicians, block the roads in front of the prime minister’s or (home minister) Amit Shah’s residence. Why are you creating inconvenience to us and inviting troubles?” he says, pointing to the houses belonging to the Hindu community that were also vandalised. But he refuses to mention Ahmed in his conversation, only acknowledging that his neighbour lived in a rented accommodation.

In the lanes of Shiv Vihar  the fault lines between the two communities have widened. While most contend that the riot was led by “outsiders”, the way the homes were targeted fuels their suspicion that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of the locals. “We left our homes with lives in hands. After that, our Hindu neighbours must have pointed out the Muslim households,”  says Mohammad Nazar, a school teacher.
 

Anti-CAA protests had been taking place in Seelampur and Mustafabad peacefully since the middle of January. In Brijpuri area, adjoining Mustafabad, Rajesh Kapoor’s 37-year-old shop was vandalised and goods worth Rs 10 lakh were thrown into the drain. The wall fence opposite his shop, which is a boundary to a water treatment plant, is plastered with slogans and graffiti against the anti-CAA protests. The most prominently visible slogan from his shop says : “Tere guroor ko jalaegi, woh aag hu, aakar dekh mujhe mai mustafabad hun (I am the one who will ignite your pride, I am Mustafabad).”

Adjoining the Kapoor stores, many other shops and houses were burnt down. One such belonged to Virender Chudhary, a 69-year-old doctor who has moved to his village in Meerut after his house, a three-storey building, was set on fire.

But there were some who lost more than a roof over their head. When Nizamuddin and Jamaluddin decided to come back to Shiv Vihar on their motorbike to check on their house, they were stopped meters away and beaten up by a mob, their vehicle torched. Nizamuddin is hospitalised in GTB Hospital with multiple fractures along with stitches to his head, while Jamaluddin succumbed to injuries on the  evening of March 3. Driven by anger and grief, his brother Kamaluddin decided to visit the house in Shiv Vihar on Thursday after the burial to see what his family members couldn’t. 

At first glance of what had remained of their house, Kamaluddin shrieked in horror. His friends, who were waiting downstairs, rushed inside the house and found him sobbing uncontrollaby. The room was vandalised, lockers broken, jewellery box emptied and lakhs in cash stolen. It is now a matter of time before, he says, he will move out of the locality.

A Srivathsan, academic director at the CEPT University, Ahmedabad, who has done extensive research on housing policies, says that besides religious animosity, it’s the fight over resources in low-income colonies that make them so prone to riots.

“Keeping aside the political and religious reasons, one also needs to remember that residents of poor colonies have limited access to resources and livelihood. For example, the migrant labourers of a particular community have the option of getting employed in limited number of construction sites. Such fights become a flashpoint where the stronger group pushes out the weaker group for greater control over resources,” he explains.

On the face of it, Srivathsan’s words ring true. North-east Delhi is the most densely populated district in the national capital, with, according to Census 2011, 36,155 people per square kilometer, compared with the state average of 11,320 and the national average of 382. Poverty is rampant with the area having among the highest number of ration-card holders in the state, and the most number of fair price shops.

The riots may only sink the area deeper into the vortex. Shiv Vihar resident Mohammad Zaid, a street vendor, who has moved to the Mustafabad shelter home after living with his relatives in Chaman Park immediately after the riots, had stocked goods worth Rs 12,000 for the summer. Now, he is left with nothing.

He would go and set up shop in predominately Hindus areas of Johripur and Jagdamba three times a week. “We ate from the same plate. Now some of them do not even reply to my text messages. How will I go back and do business in these areas?” he says.

In the country today, about 62 per cent of the 110 million unorganised workers in the non-farm sector are counted as “own account enterprises.” These are people like Zaid who are mostly street vendors.

The only glimmer of hope is the resilence shown by some residents who are reluctant to uproot themselves. Looking at the rubble-strewn roads across his house, Nazar, the school teacher, says: “Aag se nahi dare toh kya raakh se darenge (if fire coulnd’t scare me,  what can the ashes do?)”