Moqit enslaved

05.11.2009. My mobile rang up in library. An angry voice on the otherside. "Are you xxxx lawyer. So you know the boygoing by the name Moquit?". "Yes - whats the matter" I said. "He stole Rs. 1400/- from drawyer and fled. We are beating him up so that other child workers might see- to teach them. He showed your visting card. What he will do I said" I asked the man to give the phone over to Moquit. He was crying badly - his voice shaky. Uncle I told you they will do this to me and they do this to justify beating in public." "Uncle help me. Please come".

This was Mokit's fourth master this year. The other three more or less did the same thing to him; made him work in in-human conditions followed by refusal to pay under one pretext or other, accusations and beatings.
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A Lawyers travail for speaking for human dignity.

Patiala House Courts Complex New Delhi

Lawyer Shah is on receiving end from Hindus & Muslims alike- harassed & awed - all ganged up working in concert and tandem, neighbor-hood to Court. He speaks for oppressed & exploited. Each one of his tormenters cooks his or her own pretext and lies to put him in trouble and subject him to fear of physical injury, fear of false implications, public insult among others. Mr. Shah has strong conviction in human dignity. They say that they would turn him into a zombie.
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Shah is forced to soil his trousers.

Jamianagar Single largest Muslim expanse of India.




Jamaianagar, Delhi: Shah Bhai’s Muslim parda-nashin land-lady, her relatives & locals have created a situation where he cannot defecate and/or piss.Yesterday he was shooed away when he went to mosque urinal, passed little stool in trousers. Not getting alternative because of land-lord cartel.He's been so much maligned in organized fashion. That sooner or later the muck would reach him some how even if he gets room elsewhere.

The landlord politician nexus runs through lower and middle level party politicians and ruffians that may include people around local councillors and M.L.A's with their direct collusion or without.

The nexus is too over-reaching and powerful for any individual to escape.

The marooned boy

Children like these have created millionaires and lakhs of white collar jobs

Children like these have created millionaires and lakhs of white color jobs


It is six month now. I was walking towards Batla House bus-stand on my way to court. I was about 7 minute walk away from the bus stop when a small whirlpool of commotion erupted, about 20 yards or so ahead. People around the place suddenly standing in attention, their faces turned towards the focal point of incident, where a narrow street branched off towards Azim Dairy.



By the time I reached the spot a small circle of score of persons had converged around. I thought somebody had met with an accident.



A small boy dark skin, in an oversize shirt, and under-size pant, lay writhing, twisting and turning, caked in dust as if in a spasmodic attack of epilepsy.



After sometime they hauled him onto a wooden cot lying near by.



A little distance way a shopkeeper was narrating to a group of acquaintances as to what had happened.



"They were two of them, young fellows - stopped their bike over there". He pointed to a spot across the street.” Came over here - one of them held the boy another one rained blows on him- violently -very violently."


In the meanwhile the boy climbed down and sulked in his haunches, badly nauseating wanting to vomit. He changed places several times and finally settled near the cane juice shop dazed and listless. A young help splashed his face with water. The duo seemed to be in the know of each other.


After much gentle persuasion the young help gave in after much reluctance. The two youths who had wounded the boy were sound of the victim's previous employer, who would not pay him wages and would abuse and beat him all the time- would allow him only two hours sleep. The boy was only able to have his dinner around 1.00-2.00 A.M after fixing everything in the shop and would wake him up at the call of Azan.
As I left the place, the boy seemed to have recovered a little. He sat alone, lonely abandoned and marooned, gazing at something in air.

The Mullah and the innocent thief

As I descended the last stairs in its open cemented compound, facing the main gate, I was instinctively drawn towards the spot where a motley crowd of around 100 faithfuls had gathered around a person wearing loose blue shirt, red threads tied around his wrist. The man was terrified and was making weird gestures. He was the same man who distributed free Urdu News paper: " Aftab-e hind" to the faithfuls every Friday. I too had collected the newspaper from him a number of timesin the past. "pickpocket", "thief" such words bandied in the crowd. The cloud dissipated. The Mullaji - one of the maulanas and caretakers, a young man in his 30 had beckoned the poor man from inside the mosque compound. He refused his biddings. The Mullah had sprinted towards him. He made a bid to flee in panic. He was caught. As Mullaji grappled with him he laid himself flat on the sidewalk. The faithfuls coming out of the mosque after offering friday prayer lifted into the compound holding his hand and feet and without giving a second thoughtbeat him up. That was the end of the matter with him."Your manner of beckoning him must have been intimidating that made him panicky, given he is a poor fellow and belonging to another community." I said angrily.The Mullahji retorted : " The same treatment would have been meted out to you if you had behaved like him""I would have thrashed you if you had done so with me" I said."you'd have known if it had only happened." replied mullaji dirisively.Some lawyers from our court who had come to the mosque to offer Friday prayer approached the site and asked me to leave the place because they were afraid about my safety.As I was leaving the mosque the mullahji passed highly derogatory and provocative comments. He also was making fun of my weak frail and poor dress to the accompaniment of laughter of the crowd of faithfuls there and additions and polishing up of taunts.This happened day before yesterday on Friday the 24th June 2009 at grand Jamiat mosque situated at I.T.O New Delhi.Remorseless Mullaji.

Child slavery in modern society

I would suggest begging to these children rather than working.

Previous Sunday. The boy was not more than 12 year old. He works in a road side canteen in a predominantly Muslim locality called Jamianagar in New Delhi consisting a population about of 2 lakh faithfuls- a prosperous place indeed.The muscular man rained blows with his fist on the boys head. The boy begged for mercy and whimpered and shrieked in pain. After the first round was over.The man started with his leg and knees. Twisting both the hands backwardsHe started hitting the boys chest with his knees. Then he dragged the boy to the cabin where they keep utensils and groceries. and slammed the door.After he came out of the cabin he had an iron grill in his hand which is used to pierce chunks of meat and roast them on of embers. There was complete silence inside. I presume the boy had lost conscious if not died. The owner of canteen his two sons and relatives and faithfuls eating there did not bother to pay any attention. People went about their chores as matter of factedly.The inquisitor was insisting that the boy must have spat on the canteen floor to which the boy denied.

There are a plethora of incidents -like these - and even worse -I come across day in and day out in Delhi.

The Tout's Fate

Tragedy of a TOUT Our court has always been full of touts. Still you have them in hundreds. I do not know what was so special about that one- there was nothing I say! They had tied a manila rope around his waist. His face was blackened with coal tar and his head was half shaved off. Obligingly and without resistance, he walked slowly ahead of them and stopped at every few feet. A group of lawyers in an unkempt trailing crowd, like a comet, tailed him. They talked among themselves jostled and laughed with vibrant gestures. He walked obligingly like a leashed pet monkey ahead of his master, stopping every few feet though the crowded lane, bi-lanes and then stepped into the broad squares of the court complex, brimming with public, lawyers, prisoners and police officers, honored with glimpses of shame. I was gripped by a queer sense of un-easiness and discomfort. I sprinted ahead to read the placard hung by a thin nylon thread from his neck. It said "I am a tout’. A chill ran down my spine when I peeped into his wet eyes -no eyes had spoken to me such a sorrow and dejection- no not even of those relatives grieving over their dead bodies. That poor man, the middle stature man was paraded for hours in the court complex, the rope being passed to the hands of some other and yet some other of the lawyers as time and distance progressed Hundreds of them watched him- the police, the judicial officers, the public, the lawyers of all ages and sex. Nobody asked a simple question: "there are so many what is so special about this gentleman" and” Who has empowered them to take law in their own hands and mete out a punishment not in the law books of the world’?. The police and the public may be afraid because that was the citadel of the advocates where they rule the roost. But why no lawyers stopped and barred their way. There were powerful lawyers still more powerful called Bar Association. After many months near the canteen, I heard somebody say that the poor man never returned to his home. I am sure that they did not kill him. God knows what he did to himself or what he is doing to himself and where? Believe me sirs I am a witness and this is one the heart rending episodes that keep taking place in our court premises of 5000 registered lawyers who are called officers of the court, in the capital of the country and the crown of our city .The office bearer of the Bar are beggars who have begged and spent a fortune to win -poor fellows have no choices to make and seem not to have hearts also.