By Shruti Pushkarna
As I sat down to write this piece after a gap of nearly a month, I sifted through several topics and ideas that struck in the past few weeks. But a recent experience was freshest in the mind, also because it goes against all the notions of inclusion and diversity that I celebrated in my last column.
Last Sunday, I headed out to enjoy the last of the February winter weekends. And if you are in the Capital, what better place to catch the spring blooms than the Mughal Gardens. Oh wait, I meant Amrit Udyan, the all-new name of the iconic and must-visit tourist destination.
The only way I imagined recounting my visit was to friends and family, and of course Instagram stories of floral beauties. Neither happened. Instead it turned out to be an unexpectedly distasteful experience, yet again highlighting the gaps in access and the utter disregard for anyone with a limitation. Be it the elderly, persons with disabilities or just anyone who appreciates some personal space!
When I booked the entry pass online, I had to choose from various hourly slots which sort of indicated that the entry and exit count was being controlled and monitored. But when I reached the drop off point, the entry gate was hidden behind humongous hordes. Pushing and pulling through the crowds, I somehow managed to make it to the security check, from where I was pointed into another direction to put my purse through an x-ray machine.
Standing in the lines, figuring out where to go, how and where to place my bag and then reclaim it, I wondered how would a wheelchair or a white cane user navigate through this mess. One part of that was quickly answered as I got in line behind a girl in a wheelchair. I saw the caregiver struggling to push her through the damaged pathways, equally hazardous for someone prone to ankle injuries, senior citizens or children.
The worst part, there was no room to walk, let alone breathe and enjoy nature. Amid the unruly herds obtrusively pushing forward to catch a glimpse of the blossoming ranunculus or suddenly halting to capture selfies, my soulful Sunday soliloquy turned into a cantankerous cacophony.
As I held my elbows up to assert personal space, I pictured a person with vision impairment unable to use the white cane to her advantage. Clearly, there was no consideration for a blind person tapping and navigating their way around. If, for once, anyone stopped to help or make room for another, the security guards upped the decibel levels of their incessant shouting, “chalte rahiye”, meaning “keep walking”.
There was only one entry and exit point. There was only one path for everyone to walk on. There was no resting spot or benches to catch one’s breath. There was no chance to sit in peace to take in the botanic view. And of course, in all this, there was no visible means of handling a medical emergency. I thought hard as to what I would do if the person next to me had an asthma attack or fainted. I wouldn’t be able to get him or her to the emergency shed, which by the way, was (un)strategically housed near the exit gate.
How can I forget the steep ramps and the dangerous footpaths? In several places in the pathway, I noticed a sudden drop without warning. Ramps placed next to the stairs had no secure sides, making it dangerously adventurous for a wheelchair user. Plus, they were populated by the general public, mindless of its actual utility.
The last time I spotted the girl in the wheelchair, she was confused on how to enter the Bonsai garden, flooded with people. And this was just the beginning of the nightmare that lay ahead. Beyond this point, she was not to be seen. I assumed she turned around and left when there was still a way out.
Carrying on with my treacherous trek to the exit point, desperate to find my ‘Do Gaj ki doori’, I also encountered littered, wet patches, creating a unique image of Amrit Udyan in my head. The one that will keep me away from explorations for a while.
The newly christened horticultural heaven open to the Indian public for a limited two-month period, is out of bounds for so many sections of the population. How does prefixing Amrit ensure grandeur and joy? How does a citizen take delight in Azadi Ka Amrit Mahotsav, when they are excluded from public arenas? Are the access auditors of Sugamya Bharat Abhiyaan paying no heed?
So why are we publishing this column on an A&M site? Well, we strongly feel that the media can dramatically transform the world of persons with disabilities. And this series can help bring forth issues that the media must champion to create a truly inclusive and accessible India. To write this column, we invited Shruti Pushkarna, a former journalist who now works as Director, EnAble India where she heads North India operations as well as media and communications outreach. Shruti writes for MxMIndia every other Thursday. Her views here are personal. To access the archives of all her 70-odd columns, please visit: https://www.mxmindia.com/category/ columns/shruti-pushkarna/