One is a class III dropout, the other hadn’t travelled outside her village till 2002. Yet today these two women in central Gujarat, ground zero as it were of mad communal violence three summers ago, are models of resilience, fortitude and the unerring ability of Indians to shrug off tragedies and get on with life.Latifa Geeteli, 45, runs the only English-medium school in the Muslim quarter of Godhra, the area from which the mob that set fire to coach S-7 of the Sabarmati Express on 27 February 2002 is supposed to have come. Naseeb Sheikh, 35, lives in neighbouring Kalol. She lost 22 family members in the post-Godhra riots, including her husband and daughter. Today she’s a peace activist, having helped resettle hundreds of riot-victim families in 35 villages, not neglecting even the families of the riot accused.This uniquely empowering mix of reconciliation and resolve is rooted in hard, practical reality. After the riots, Latifa realised “a school with secular education is needed, as our traditional system is retrograde”. Naseeb’s missionary zeal is similar: “Peace is about a mindset that can be ingrained permanently with hard work.”Latifa began with 15 students in 2003, she now has 136, 51 of them girls, five teachers and a principal. And as Godhra town’s English-medium schools were all in predominantly Hindu localities, Latifa’s institution became that much more crucial.But the clergy has repeatedly issued fatwas against her school. So, mindful of conservative sentiment, the day begins with a recitation of the kalma, followed by the prayer Itni shakti humein dena Daata: “Initially they asked why include this prayer usually sung by Hindus.” The school still doesn’t have music and dance lessons as some see this as “unIslamic”. But she’s determined: “We’ll introduce it over time, once the environment is more conducive.” More and more parents are beginning to see the merits of the school: “They feel so happy when their children say the English names for household items.” Wanted: a few more peace keepers like Latifa and Naseeb, and there won’t be another 1984, 1992, 2002. For Naseeb the life-altering moment didn’t come with one big idea—like the need for education. It came amid the ruins of her home and life. The riots still haunt her, as she fights both the cases as well as the frequent cajolements to withdraw them. Unlike Latifa, Naseeb faced no ostracism from her community, but encountered a latent hostility from families of the accused. “They still try to coax me into taking back the cases,” she shares, “I have only one answer. Unless justice is done, there’s no guarantee that whatever happened will not recur.”As Naseeb’s reputation as a social worker has grown, so has the list of help seekers. She’s even helped children of people accused of rioting get admitted to local schools. On a normal working day, Naseeb could be in any of the 35 villages she’s responsible for. Issues of immediate relief have, of course, been dealt with. Now she’s more of a psychological counsellor, telling victim families to be patient with the law, move out of special relief accommodation if they still live there, and wait for the moment of closure.
