Though i wish it was. Or something sexy like Blogger Fatigue.
Truth is, between playing Florence Nightingale at home, with half my family -- and critically, the maid -- down with viral fever, and trying to set up a complicated shoot about an even more complicated, but nonetheless, very interesting subject (changing face of Dalits in India), I am often finding myself sleep deprived, and worse alcohol deprived. The latter seriously messes me up. I mean the lack of it, just in case you get the wrong idea.
I meant to keep this short and sweet. But just before I go, will leave any unsuspecting visitors to this blog and the usual suspects with these cheerful scraps of info I have been working with.
I meant to keep this short and sweet. But just before I go, will leave any unsuspecting visitors to this blog and the usual suspects with these cheerful scraps of info I have been working with.
Every four hours a crime is committed against a Dalit in this country. Of every four gangrape victims, three are Dalits. The school dropout rate among Dalits is as high as 70 per cent. And simply because they happen to be at the lowest rung of the social and economic ladder, even those crimes which specifically don't target Dalits, end up hurting them the most.
This is not something a Dalit with a raging Ambedkar complex dreamt up. These are government of India statistics. I have never felt great about, or given any importance to, me being a Brahmin. Right now, though, I feel downright ashamed that I was born one.
On that cheery note, my dearest private yet so puiblic diary, I am off and will see you when I see you.
This is not something a Dalit with a raging Ambedkar complex dreamt up. These are government of India statistics. I have never felt great about, or given any importance to, me being a Brahmin. Right now, though, I feel downright ashamed that I was born one.
On that cheery note, my dearest private yet so puiblic diary, I am off and will see you when I see you.
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