At 83—if you live that long, that is—you would naturally look forward to well-earned repose in your twilight years. But M.B. Lal, a former journalist, finds himself battling not just his physical infirmities but also a recurring urban woe these days—the neighbourhood cliques of power-hungry busybodies, otherwise formally known as resident welfare associations (RWAs). In Press Enclave, a south Delhi residential complex that houses many media professionals, including Lal, the RWA had gone to the point of deciding whom he and others could employ as help and even began fingerprinting their entry after a series of thefts. The illegal practice—since only law-enforcing authorities can collect fingerprints—was snipped only in June last year after residents complained to the police.
One can argue that the RWA, rightly concerned about security, may have had its reasons to act vigilante-like, but Lal thinks it is more about keeping the colony under control. "They were paranoid about power, not security, and sought to exercise that power to terrorise members and prevent residents from speaking against them," he says. Members of the committee at Press Enclave were finally replaced in February this year, but not until their three-year term had ended. "Residents were virtually terrorised. Their tyres would be deflated and their applications for repair work held up without reason," says Lal.
Meant to better the lives of residents of the colonies they represent, RWAs today can do exactly the opposite with our lives, when misused by individuals intoxicated with the power—and sometimes the money they can bring. Especially when residents like Lal begin to ask uncomfortable questions.
| | | | | "Our RWA was paranoid about power, not security, and used that to terrorise members from speaking against them."—M.B. Lal | | | | | | |
In Bangalore, those questions came from Mallikarjun L.S., a resident of the city's plush Sadashivnagar. He earned the ire of his RWA when RTI petitions filed by him exposed the association's practice of charging an entry fee for a neighbourhood park as "illegal". "They collected an average of Rs 45,000 per month. How could they when they had adopted the park from the Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike (BBMP) and the play equipment had been installed under the MP's Local Area Development Scheme," he says. The Karnataka State Commission for Protection of Child Rights too issued an order asking all children up to 12 to be let in free. "For what I did, they tried to have me evicted from my ancestral property in the locality and had criminal charges filed against me," he adds. But Jagadish G., the secretary of the RWA, told
Outlook they were not alone in making children pay. "Even the BBMP runs two parks nearby and they charge a fee for entry there," he says. "And after the park was handed back to the BBMP end of last year and entry made free, you have all kinds of people coming in and doing all kinds of nonsense."
Photograph by Nilotpal Baruah
Any interference with parks, often the only open spaces in our cities, is reason enough for RWAs to bare their fangs. Ruling against the Rajinder Nagar RWA in New Delhi, which had opposed the segregation of its park to be developed as a playground, Delhi High Court judge Justice Rajiv Sahai Endlaw in April last year termed RWAs no less than "selfish giants". The same year, there was also the case of Richha Sharma, a social entrepreneur who runs Sunaay Foundation, who bore the brunt of the RWA in B-1 block in Vasant Kunj in Delhi. Her fault? Running a temporary school for less privileged children in one of the colony parks, something that violated the "decorum of the society".
Essentially a middle-class phenomenon, RWAs are besotted with the idea of creating illusory islands of middle-class prosperity that are divorced from larger realities. Several RWAs in Delhi and Mumbai are locked in conflict, often in court, with vendors who have been using public spaces in and around their colonies for years, some even before the latter were built. Harassed now for the mess they create, sections of roads they used to hawk on are metamorphosing into parking lots. Similarly, Lal has failed, despite being a member now, to convince his RWA, which has an annual budget of Rs 40 lakh, to pay its workers even the minimum wage (Rs 7,020 per month in Delhi).
RWAs can also enforce ghettoisation in the guise of enhancing security. In March this year, the Federation of Velachery Welfare Association (East) in Chennai asked its members not to rent out flats to bachelors, especially those from north India, leaving many harassed. This followed reported encounter killings where people from the north were shot dead by the police. "The public also has a responsibility in ensuring security," says S. Kumara Raja, the association's secretary. "We're not against north Indians and it is just an advice, not a forceful order." Communal segregation has long been the gift of RWAs. And no one knows this better than Delhi-based photojournalist Mustafa Quraishi, who blames their tyranny for the "worst three months of his life" in 2005 in Mumbai when he had to change guesthouses frequently, even live out of a car, after being refused flats on rent because of his religion. "Most would say that we are not communal, but the RWA has decided to keep the society this way," he says. To his credit, he never mentioned that he is the son of the present chief election commissioner S.Y. Quraishi.
The April 15 municipal elections in Delhi too brought the focus back on RWAs. A few south Delhi RWAs, together with an anti-corruption NGO, had candidates attend a meet and sign a list of development tasks they had to carry out if elected. Says Shailender Singh Monty, one of the councillors present at the meet, "Some RWAs wanted to dictate terms. Does a signature guarantee execution? There were so many candidates who signed papers without reading them." One of the many "unreasonable" demands he refused to agree to was the creation of three underground parking lots in 100 days. "Instead of being the interface between residents and politicians, RWAs want to exercise more than their fair share of authority. And most seek to join them not to serve residents but to become politicians." RWAs have therefore become increasingly divisive and political as parties lust after their capability to mobilise people and as aspirants think of terms at these associations as springboards to bigger political profiles.
An example of this transformation being Sanjay Kaul, who, thanks to his role as chairperson of the United Resident's Joint Action (URJA), went on to become the BJP's Delhi spokesperson. And he, having used the might of RWAs to campaign against hikes in electricity tariffs, defends their actions. "The civil society gets castigated for not being interested in civic issues. So what's wrong when conscientious and sensible citizens assert themselves?" he asks, especially when public agencies fail to address civic issues or the police fail to ensure security. But must it happen abrasively, riling residents and riding roughshod over those less privileged?
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