Northeast Delhi Violence Survivors Live Uncertain Lives As Justice Remains Aloof

The violence left at least 53 dead, nearly 300 injured and hundreds of lives in turmoil.

“Those days will always haunt me. I lost everything,” says 53-year-old Saleem Kassar. The spectre of his older brother’s burning body—set alight by a mob of communally-charged men while he watched, hidden from a second floor window —is something he cannot forget.

The violence, which began at Maujpur following divisive speeches by BJP leaders like Kapil Mishra, Anurag Thakur against the anti-Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), 2019 sit-in protests, first spread to protest sites like Jaffrabad, Chand Bagh, Kardampuri, and later to residential areas like Mustafabad, Gokalpuri, Shiv Vihar and Khajuri Khas, where Hindus and Muslims have co-existed peacefully for decades. The violence changed the DNA of the neighbourhoods.

Saleem, who once owned two almirah factories, three autorickshaws, two private cars and a house on Prem Vihar street of the Hindu-dominated Shiv Vihar, says, “Everything was burnt by the rioters, many of whom were locals who knew me. It was unbelievable.” His house was demolished and burnt too. He now lives in a flat offered by a friend in Mustafabad.

Five people were eventually arrested in the murder of Anwar Kassar, 56. Saleem, however, claims that four of the accused are out on bail and were welcomed back into their neighbourhood with fanfare. He feels that the police as well as the administration are on the side of the perpetrators even today, so he has not returned to the ruins of his old house, where he had lived for 40 years of his life. “My family was the only Muslim family on that street and we have lived peacefully for years. I was very well loved and respected. But now, the ‘Hindutva-wadis’ there will not let me return,” he states.

When the news of violence in Haryana’s Nuh spread to North East Delhi earlier this month and Hindu organisations like VHP, Bajrang Dal and others called “protest” rallies across Delhi, including in sensitive locations in North East Delhi, many in the area were stunned. And scared.

“The police and the government know what happened here. How can they allow such rallies and communally-charged processions so close to us?” Saleem asks. Standing beside him, Shaukat, who survived a bullet in 2020, nods and instinctively touches the scar above his right knee. Three and a half years since the bloodshed, the neighbourhood seems to carry the memories of violence in its body, like the bullet holes on the survivors. Streets that once had a mixed population of Hindus and Muslims now bear marks of segregation—barricades on the streets and men patrolling with saffron flags on bikes amid the sounds of azaan from across the street. Many of its former residents have left.

A Changed Neighbourhood

Established in 1997, the North East district of Delhi with its three administrative subdivisions—Shahadra, Seelampur and Seemapuri—has a sizeable Muslim population (27.24 per cent as per Census 2001; of which 63 per cent are literate). There are also a large number of migrant workers, both Hindu and Muslim, living in the area where broad “nallas” divide the neighbourhoods which are further bifurcated into localities by lanes that cut into each other at all angles.

In 1992, after the demolition of the Babri Masjid, some parts of the district, especially Seelampur, saw communal violence, deaths and curfews. But Saleem says that at the time, the atmosphere was different and that violence did not spread to so many residential localities. “In 1992, the Hindu community that lived with us was supportive and both communities assured each other of peace. This time, it wasn’t an angry mob that attacked us. It was an empowered mob,” Saleem states, adding that from their slogans, it was evident that they had been promised support by powerful people. “They knew nothing would happen to them,” he says.

Saleem and other victims add that violence can sometimes be inevitable. But what is perhaps more painful is the lack of justice thereafter. “They call it riots to show that all communities were involved in the violence and that everyone suffered. But some sections suffered more be it religious minority or the poor,” says Shaukat.

A baseline survey of North East Delhi dating back to 2008 and commissioned by the Delhi Minorities Commission says: “While the frequency of occurrence of poor households (annual income below Rs 50,000) was fairly high across categories in the district, it was the highest in the 43.74 per cent category which comprised households drawn from minority-concentrated localities.” The report also notes that households belonging to the most affluent income group were largely concentrated in areas where minority concentration was the weakest. Some of the worst rioting that took place in 2020 occurred in majority-dominated or mixed neighbourhoods where Muslim homes and establishments were attacked. The data can perhaps help understand the impact of the Delhi violence on the population of North East Delhi. In April 2020, the Delhi government set up the North East Delhi Riots Claims Commission (NEDRCC) to look into the merits of the claims of victims and disburse compensation. However, several victims feel the compensations were not enough.

Fighting For Justice

42-year-old Arif, a tailor who previously had his shop in Maharam Chowk in Mahalaxmi Enclave, says that he lost seven sewing machines, the shop as well as all his other tailoring equipment. He has seven children and the shop was his only source of income. He just received Rs 5,000 for the damages and at present, he and his children do manual labour and odd tailoring jobs to make ends meet. The children have been forced to drop out of school.

Asghar Zaidi, a social worker who lives in Babu Nagar, used to own an electrical shop which was looted and burnt and all his documents, including his educational certificates, were destroyed. “It’s like I never went to school or college. My identity was in those documents,” says Asghar, a father of five young daughters. Asghar also got Rs 5,000 as opposed to his claim of Rs 6 lakh.

It’s not just damages, but also injuries and deaths that victims say were not compensated enough. Shaukat Ali, 48, was shot in his right thigh on February 25. Shaukat—who has two children—used to split wood to make cooler coir. Though his injury has healed and he will be able to walk again, he cannot do manual labour anymore. He is in deep debt due to loans he took during the Covid-19 lockdown to pay rent and feed his family. “The Commission decided that my injury is not serious enough so instead of Rs 2 lakh, I was given Rs 20,000,” he says. On the other hand, Mohammad Sameer’s family claims they have spent Rs 10 lakh on his treatment at private hospitals, even though they received only Rs 2 lakh as compensation.

All of these victims have petitioned the Delhi High Court for enhanced compensation. But after three and half years, their faith in the legal system as well as civil society is declining. Mishika Singh, a lawyer and legal rights activist who founded the Neev Foundation and has been helping the violence victims file their claims in court, says that the process has remained stuck in a loop between courts and the claims commission. “When we approach the court, we are told to approach the commission. The commission says it has received 2,500 cases, out of which it has given recommendations for 1,500 cases which are with the court. Even finding out if our client’s case has been assessed is a long process. The delays only add to the problem of assessing claims for damages that occurred years ago,” she says.

Meanwhile, after losing two years to his injury and Covid-19, Sameer has passed Class 10 in 2023 through the National Institute of Open Schooling (NIOS). He now aspires to complete his Class 12 exam and pursue MBBS. “Becoming a physiotherapist can help me heal myself and help others from this type of injury,” he says with nervous optimism, as he sits up to greet his visitors on a narrow cot inside the rented house where he lives with nine family members including his parents and sisters.

Sameer’s mother Shahana Parveen is proud of her son’s spirit. But she remains unsure about the future. “We barely earn Rs 10,000-15,000 a month and pay Rs 7,000 for rent. And Sameer’s treatment is expensive,” she says, as she sews sequins onto a lace belt and flings it on top of a pile of similar belts. “I get 50 paisa for each belt I make. My husband sells scrap and cooler grass,” she says. “We are trying to support him because he lost everything for no fault of his. But who knows how long we can sustain his education and treatment,” Sameer’s mother concludes as she fixes her thick glasses and goes back to her needle.

(This appeared in the print as 'Scarred Forever')