Farah Naaz was only 12 years old when she first saw a cloud of despair settle over her family. Nine years later, she works at her sewing machine ceaselessly to overcome the doubts her family has battled.
Like many others who are contributing to the battle against the COVID-19 pandemic, Farah has been stitching masks. She started the day the lockdown was announced (March 25) and has till date stitched 1,900 cotton masks--now regarded as one of easiest measures of protection against the virus.
What makes Farah's initiative different is that she has worked without accepting any remuneration and even an appreciation award that came to her through a political party.
Farah lives in Sanjarpur--a small village in Azamgarh, a district which has battled notoriety since what has come to be known as the Batla House encounter. In September 2008, two young men from the district were killed, two others were arrested in a special operation by the Delhi Police. In a version that has been doubted in some measure, all four were held to be terrorists and the masterminds behind many acts of terror in the country. Farah's uncle--the younger brother of her father Shakir Islahi, was alleged to also have been at the Batla House in Jamia Nagar, Delhi, till a couple of days before the encounter. He has not been heard of since. And her family has never been able to emerge from that cloud of doubt that has since settled over them about her uncle's identity and probable culpability.
Farah, a second-year student of the Bachelor of Arts course in the local government college, speaks in measured, modest tones of her work. "This is so small. There are others out there doing far more important work", she tells THE WEEK.
Farah is not the only woman in Sanjarpur who makes masks. But she is the only one who has consistently refused to accept the Rs 2 per mask that civil society organisations, which initiated the process, have offered to the women. When a political outfit chose to give some women a monetary token of appreciation for their work, Farah accepted it, only to send it back through her father with a letter the next day.
"I did not want to show any disrespect to them so I accepted it. But at a time when people do not even have food to eat, I see no reason to keep the money. There will be a future to earn money", she says.
She has asked for that money to be used in whatever way to benefit those most in need.
Farah is the eldest of seven siblings. She studies Urdu, Arabic and English. Her father, who bought the cloth for her to make the masks, is a farmer. He does not think his daughter has done anything outstanding that deserves applause. "When word about this illness first started to come in, I overheard my father and some village elders talk about how they could help. Masks were the easiest contribution to make. I have been stitching clothes at home for years. Who knew my simple machine could mean so much", she says.
Now 21, she had first overheard family elders talk about her missing uncle in hushed tones, many years ago. She could not, however, ask any questions then. "Of what use is the past. Of what use is it to speak about it. The only way forward is to do something positive. It gives me so much happiness that now we are known as the family of the girl who makes the mask,” she says.
And those masks, for Farah, wipe off a taint while battling a powerful virus.