Wild Flower

Amrita Pritam

Angoori was the name of the very new wife of the very old servant of the
neighbors of my neighbors. One reason for her being new was that she
was his second wife. In Punjabi, they call a man who marries a second time
duhaju. Etymologically, a man who has entered a second life — a second
life in marriage. The fact that Angoori was in her first life in the marriage
made her new. It was not even a year since she had been given away as a
bride, so she was still new.
Some five years ago, when Parbhati had gone home to perform the last
rites of his first wife, Angoori’s father had come forward and wrung dry his
parna, the towel hung over his shoulder. Now to tell you the truth, no man’s
parna is drenched with the tears shed for his wife. In fact, it is soaked in
water during the last rituals. But if a father comes forward and wrings the
parna of the bereaved husband, he is saying: “I give my daughter in place
of the woman who has passed away. There is no need for you to weep any
more. See, I have dried your towel.” It is a simple rural custom which
replaces the old with the new.
This was how Parbhati was married to Angoori. But Angoori was too young
and her mother was bed-ridden with arthritis, so the ceremony of giving her
away as a bride was delayed. One by one, five years passed and the time
came for Angoori to be given away to Parbhati. He told his employers that
either he would bring his wife to the city or he would move back to the
village. The employers were not willing to feed two persons from their
kitchen. But when Parbhati told them that Angoori would make her own
little kitchen by the servants’ quarters and cook her own food, they agreed
to let her stay. So Angoori came to the city.
For a few days, Angoori kept her face veiled even from the women of the
colony. But after some time, the veil was lifted. Walking about with her
silver anklets jingling, Angoori became quite popular. The jingle of her
anklets was matched by the jingle of her laughter. She would spend most
of the day in her quarters but when she came out, laughter seemed to
jingle at her feet.
“What is this you are wearing, Angoori?”
“This is the anklet for my foot.”
“What is this on your toes?”
“These are my bicchia, my toe-rings.”
“What’s this on our arm?”
“Oh, this is my amulet.”
“What is this that you wear on your forehead?”
“We call it albind.”
“Why aren’t you wearing something on your waist today?”
“Oh! my tagdhi (waistband) is too heavy. But I will wear it tomorrow. Today,
I am not wearing my choker either. The chain broke. I’ll get it repaired
tomorrow at the bazaar. I had a nose-ring too. It was quite big. But my
mother-in-law kept it.”
Angoori would wear her silver jewelry with aplomb and show them one by
one, very happily.
When the season changed, Angoori found her quarters too suffocating.
She would come and sit right outside my house. There’s a tall neem tree
and an old well. No one in the colony used the well, but the laborer working
on the road fetched water from it. They spilled water all about, and it was
cool.
“What are you reading, Bibiji?” Angoori asked me one day as I sat under
the tree.
“Do you want to read?” I asked her.
“I don’t know how to read.”
“Why don’t you learn?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It is a sin for a woman to read.”
“Is it no sin for a man?”
“No, it is not.”
“Who told you all this?”
“I know it.”
“Then am I committing a sin by reading?”
“No it is not a sin for a woman of the city. But it is a sin for a village
woman.”
 Victim in viral video provoked
other kid, Ateneo classmate
claims
A Grade 9 student of Ateneo de Manila University, who refused to be named
for security reasons, has claimed that his schoolmate who was caught on
video being beaten by another student provoked the incident.
According to an exclusive report of GMA News' Arnold Clavio aired over “24
Oras” on Tuesday, the student who witnessed the incident in the bathroom
saw the “bullied” kid bump into his would be attacker and even challenged
his would be a attacker to a fist fight.
“I was there and I saw it with my own eyes, he randomly bumped into him,
asked 'What's your problem? As a result, he was pushed with quite
consideratble force. He said, gusto mo ba ng sapakan? He was really
provoked,” the Grade 9 witness said.
The Grade 9 witness also claimed that he had his run-ins with the victim back
in seventh grade.
“Many many things. Binabastos niya ako sir,” the witness added.
Ateneo de Manila has already dismissed the student in the video after a
firestorm that also saw two other videos of the same kid bullying his fellow
Ateneo students going viral, with one victim kneeling for mercy and another
being asked to kneel and touch his shoes.
The Grade 9 witness maintains that what happened was not bullying and
Ateneo got it wrong in kicking out the kid in the videos.
"Obviously may mga pagkakamali ka na nagawa. You did a fair share of
mistakes. You were quite aggresive there in the bathroom jump... but he is
not an evil...I hope that 'yung talagang nangyari will surface,” the Grade 9
witness said.
"I don't think Ateneo did it because that's the right thing to do. I think they did
it because they fell under the pressure of public ye and they were too afraid
of their reputation and being destroyed because they're keeping a bully,
quote-unquote bully in campus,” the witness added.
The Grade 9 witness already submitted these claims in a formal letter to the
Ateneo president Fr. Jose Ramon Villarin.
GMA News has already reached out to Ateneo to get its side but they are yet
to issue a response with regards to the new claims made by the Grade 9
student.
 Continuity of Hell
Andrés Neuman
translated by
George Henson

During the time my father was in the hospital, it made sense to leave
the car in the hospital’s underground garage. I would stop at the top of
the entrance’s small abyss and let my white Opel slide down the ramp.
I’d stop to press the button, pass underneath the bar, and begin to look
for a spot. I always found one.
I detested going to the hospital, feigning a serenity that I didn’t have,
squeezing into the gigantic elevator boxes, breathing that air which
was too clean—ammoniac, unreal, disinfectant—until arriving at the
fifth floor. Walking between the beds of sick people as if in a
minefield—don’t touch me, don’t let death touch me—and then Hello,
dad, how’s everything, everything okay?, you rest. I hated going to the
hospital, although I did like descending into the garage and slowly
maneuvering my white Opel. Sinking into the asphalt bowels gave me
a strange sense of calm. I’d turn on the car’s headlights, and that gray,
red, and yellow interior, the symmetry of the walls and columns,
became a dependable realm with its safe rules and oneiric silence (do
we dream sounds?).
Fortunately, at the end of a few weeks my father improved. So my
family and I agreed on daily shifts that allowed everyone to rest. I
noticed how much happier we all were, that the hours were going by
more quickly. However, I also noticed in myself a certain nostalgia for
the hospital’s underground garage. The unspeakableness of this
feeling prevented me from varying my routine right away. But the
moment arrived when, on the days when I didn’t go, I began to
experience a new anxiety that was impossible to fight: the anxiety of
the absurd, when you realize that the absurd is real. More and more
frequently, I’d go to the hospital on my days off. My family praised
endlessly my ability to sacrifice. My father was elated. I felt like a
burrowing animal.
They released my father one morning in April. Once at home, his
convalescence became more bearable for him and less demanding for
everyone. I was so happy to see him around us in such a good mood
and so eager to get better, but at the same time something was lacking
in me. After a few days of useless resistance, I accepted that I should
go back to the parking garage. At first I attempted it with some garages
downtown. But I immediately realized that it wasn’t the same: the
ramps, the spiral lanes, the stairs were utterly strange to me. I yearned
for the hospital’s gray, red, and yellow passageways, where I had
learned to feel safe and had come to know them as if I had been their
architect.
I parked there whenever I could. As I would get out of the car, a
seductive immobility forced me to make an honest effort to keep
walking toward the exit and emerge outside. It was almost summer.
Soon after, I began to spend a good part of my time in the hospital’s
underground parking garage, with the Opel’s seat reclined and the
radio on. It was cool down there. Knowing that I was close to sick
people helped me remember that I was healthy, that I could leave
whenever I wanted.
I wasn’t able to enjoy my dark residence for long. On June 22 I
collapsed, and since then I’ve been under observation. The scare hasn’t
had consequences, among other things because when that good man
found me lying on the ground, the ambulance only had to drive down
the ramp then back up to get to the hospital. The worst part of being
here is the heat and the uncomfortable mattresses. The care is good.
There’s even a nurse whose name, from what I was able to find out, is
Rosa, but unfortunately, she has an attorney boyfriend who always
waits for her in the bar across the street from the hospital.
It’s hotter today than ever, my sheets are drenched. The doctors have
assured me that they’ll release me today or tomorrow. My father visits
me more than anyone, more affectionate than ever. He comes at
breakfast time, leaves after lunch, and sometimes returns for my
dinner. Tonight, for example, he’s promised he’ll come. He was so
happy. Before he left, he said: I think I’ll come at eight. And it’s no
bother, son, don’t worry, it doesn’t take long at all in the car. Besides, I
always find a spot in the hospital parking garage. Have you noticed
how easy it is to park down there?
Human rights defenders also killed
under Duterte administration
T A GLANCE
Karapatan, a human rights organization, reported that at least 134 have
been killed since Duterte took office in June 2016.
The most targeted human rights defenders are farmers.
2017 was the bloodiest year for human rights defenders under the Duterte
administration.

MANILA, Philippines – The recent slay of National Democratic Front (NDF)

consultant Randy Malayao is just one of the many attacks on human rights
defenders (HRDs) in the country.
Malayao worked with peasant groups in Cagayan Valley, pushing for the
welfare of farmers and fisherfolk, and fighting against militarization in
remote areas. (READ: Murdered activist Randy Malayao yearned for lasting
peace)
Many other HRDs who have fought for similar causes have been under
threat in spite of the existence of the Bill of Rights – 22 sections under
Article III of the 1987 Philippine Constitution that afford Filipino citizens
protection from threats to their life, security, and privacy, among others.
But rhetoric and reality do not always match. Human rights violations have
persisted from administration to administration even with the so-called
“human rights Constitution" in place. (READ: Things to know: Human rights
in the Philippines)

Killings densest in Mindanao

Karapatan, a human rights organization, gave Rappler a list of those killed
under the Duterte administration alone. There have been at least 134 killed
since July 12, 2016, the latest of whom was Malayao. Karapatan told Rappler
that some names have been excluded from the list at the request of the
victims’ families.
The following map shows the provinces where HRDs have been killed since
Duterte took office in June 2016.