At the age of five, I traveled from Assam to Kolkata to live
with my maternal grandparents for the sake of my education. I remained there
until I was eighteen years old. During this period — between the ages
of seven and eight — I spent about a year and a half living in a hostel; for the
remainder of this long duration, I stayed exclusively at my grandparents' home.
My grandmother would not allow me to play with the other children in the
neighborhood, fearing that I would fall into bad company and become wayward.
Consequently, from the very beginning, I devoted myself intensely to my
studies. I did not limit myself to the school curriculum; I also read books
beyond the prescribed syllabus. For this reason, I have lived a solitary
existence from the start, and my worldview has been shaped by the books I have read.
Although I did experience a different environment during
that year and a half in the hostel, by then I had already grown accustomed to
solitude; thus, I eventually returned to my grandparents' home. While at the
hostel, I learned the practice of masturbation from some of the other boys, and
from that point onward, it became an integral part of my life.
When I was around ten or eleven years old, the Naxalite
movement was at its peak in my locality. A young man from our neighborhood
joined the movement and fled his home. Furthermore, my maternal grandmother's
youngest brother also quit his job, joined the movement, and subsequently ended
up in prison. I was deeply affected by all these events. Additionally, I read
various books containing stories of individuals who fought against injustice.
Consequently, by the age of thirteen, a desire to fight against the injustice
prevalent in society began to stir within me; however, I did not immediately
take any concrete action in this direction and continued to focus on my
studies.
A Christian missionary used to visit our school to deliver
sermons, sharing how he engaged in social work for the upliftment of the poor.
Inspired by him, I joined him in his social work initiatives. As part of this
effort, I would tutor underprivileged children, and occasionally, I would visit
old-age homes to converse with the elderly residents and offer them assistance.
Confined indoors with my books, my sense of solitude
deepened, and the world contained within those books became, to me, even more
real than the actual world around me. During my holidays, I would visit my
parents in Assam for a month — both in the summer and winter seasons — yet
these visits left no lasting impact on me. On one such holiday, a man took me
to his home and began stroking my penis. I found the sensation pleasurable;
subsequently, he removed my trousers, penetrated me, and engaged in sexual intercourse.
At the time, I was merely twelve years old, and I actually enjoyed the
experience. However, I never visited his home again and continued to practice
masturbation on my own.
Consequently, my character is marked by a sense of solitude.
I never formed any truly deep friendships. In school, however, I used to engage
in extensive discussions with Rajat Roy regarding Marxism, and with Venkat
Ramaswamy concerning global struggles for justice.
Thus, on the one hand, there was a desire to fight for
social justice; on the other, my sexual urges—intensified by masturbation—were
running high. Yet, during my school years, I took no concrete steps in either
direction, and I gradually evolved into a solitary individual.
Whether with my grandparents or my parents, I shared no
close, affectionate bond with anyone. I never received the kind of intimate
love and affection that a child truly needs. While I was adequately provided
with food, clothing, and other material necessities, I was deprived of
emotional intimacy and physical closeness. This, too, contributed to the deep
sense of loneliness within me. It felt as though my parents and grandparents
were merely fulfilling a duty—the obligation to raise and rear a child—but from
the age of five until eighteen, I felt absolutely no emotional proximity to my
guardians. This lack of connection is the root cause of the emotional aridity
that characterizes my personality in later life. I simultaneously harbored deep
empathy for the victims of social injustice, yet remained indifferent toward
those closest to me. I possessed both a spirit of selfless service and a set of
self-centered desires. I would often fantasize about becoming immensely wealthy
or an exceptional athlete, thereby earning fame and recognition.
Due to the interplay of these two influences, my character
was—and remains to this day—riddled with contradictions. Furthermore, because I
consistently excelled in my studies, I harbored a certain arrogance—a
conviction that I was destined to become a person of high stature in my adult
life—and I would constantly weave various dreams centered around this belief.
At times, I would dream of becoming a renowned scientist and winning the Nobel
Prize; at other times, I would dream of becoming the country's ruler and
working for the welfare of the masses.
Upon entering college, I spent my first three years immersed
in academics and sports. My habit of masturbation persisted; however, since
there were very few female students in the college at that time, I never had
the opportunity to form a friendship with a girl. In my fourth year, I began
studying Philosophy and bade farewell to sports. Instead, I began devoting my
time to the practice of meditation. I read the Upanishads and was deeply
influenced by the philosophical tenets expounded within them. I felt particularly
inspired to put into practice the principles of truth and renunciation
highlighted in the Upanishads. At one point in 1982, I even seriously
contemplated dropping out of college to join an ashram and dedicate myself to
full-time meditation; ultimately, however, I lacked the courage to renounce
everything.
I also began engaging in social work, which involved
visiting tribal villages in the vicinity of the college to teach the local
children. Furthermore, I started attending meetings held by Naxalite groups.
However, at that time, these groups were not engaged in armed struggle and were
operating strictly within the framework of the Constitution. Discussions during
their meetings centered on the premise that the robust mass organization
required to bring about an armed revolution did not yet exist; therefore, the
strategy was to remain within the constitutional framework, mobilize the
people, and fight for their rights.
After spending two years in this manner, upon completing my
college education, I did not take up any job. Instead — in 1984 — I took upon
myself the responsibility of overseeing the construction of a house for my
parents in Shantiniketan. I devoted two years to this task. During that period,
I continued to read extensively on philosophy and politics.
Thus, while on the one hand I devoted my time to the
practice of Yoga, on the other, I began seeking opportunities to engage in
full-time organizational work at the grassroots level.
In 1985, I arrived in Alirajpur in Madhya Pradesh to
undertake rural organizational work. By that time, I had already extensively
studied the Upanishads, the Gita, and the works of Gandhi, Marx, and others.
Consequently, at that juncture, I resolved to remain celibate throughout my
life and dedicate myself solely to the task of establishing Gram Swaraj
(village self-rule).
Subsequently, until 1991, I worked tirelessly on rural
organizational initiatives while simultaneously continuing my practice of Yoga.
Yet, despite this, my sexual urges would periodically surge, leading me to
engage in masturbation. Reading the Gita and the Upanishads, along with my Yoga
practice, would suppress these desires for a time; however, they would
inevitably erupt once again.
It was during this period that a married woman arrived in
Alirajpur to conduct fieldwork for her doctoral research, taking up residence
in a village called Anjanbara. We initially struck up a friendship, which
eventually evolved into a sexual relationship. My spiritual practice of Yoga
was completely shattered. For years, I had been striving to control my carnal
desires through spiritual discipline, but now they had spiraled completely out
of control. Concurrently, I also began engaging in sexual relations with
another woman in Baroda. I maintained sexual relationships with both women on
an alternating basis. All of this transpired without any form of commitment;
that is to say, there was no enduring emotional bond — the relationship
was predicated solely on physical intimacy. Thus, I was confronted with a
formidable challenge: how to bring my unbridled desires under control. I came
to the realization that I needed to enter into a stable, committed relationship
with a single woman; otherwise, the consequences could be dire.
The dilemma I faced was that I had no desire to abandon my
organizational work in Alirajpur, yet I could not find a woman who was willing
to join me in this line of work. I felt the need to fulfill my sexual urges,
but I was adamant that doing so should not necessitate giving up my vocation.
For me, the organizational work held far greater significance than the
gratification of sexual desires. Consequently — from the very outset — I had endeavored
to suppress my sexual urges, but ultimately, I proved unable to do so. I had
before me the example of Mama Baleshwar Dayal, who remained focused on tribal
organizational work throughout his life and never married. However, because I
became entangled in a sexual relationship, I no longer remained worthy of following in Mama-ji's footsteps.
One potential solution was for me to marry a tribal woman.
However, at that time, I could not find an educated tribal woman who was
interested in mass organizational work. Furthermore—since I was deeply engaged
in organizational work among the tribal communities—I felt that marrying a
tribal woman might create obstacles for that work. Marrying an uneducated
tribal woman solely to satisfy sexual urges did not feel right to me.
In 1991, the Sangharsh Yatra (Struggle March) of the Narmada
Bachao Andolan was organized, in which thousands of people participated. At
that time, several activists from the Ekta Parishad had arrived in the Dahi
block of Dhar district to conduct mass organizational work. At the request of
Medha Patkar, these Ekta Parishad activists had come to the Barwani region to
assist in the preparations for the Sangharsh Yatra. When we joined the
Sangharsh Yatra in Alirajpur, we crossed paths with these Ekta Parishad activists.
I took a strong liking to one of the female activists from
the Ekta Parishad — Subhadra. I observed her organizing the participants of the
march and was deeply impressed by her style of building and managing an
organization. Moreover, during a training camp organized by the Ekta Parishad
in the village of Gangpur following the Sangharsh Yatra, the manner in which
Subhadra debated with the senior leaders also left a lasting impression on me.
I began to feel that she could be the ideal life partner for me.
I wrote a letter to Subhadra expressing my desire to
befriend her, but I received no response. Subsequently, I went to meet her at
her workplace—a village in the Ratlam district. By that time, she had finished
organizing a group of twenty activists in Dahi and had already departed for
Ratlam—accompanied by two other activists—to work on expanding the
organization's reach in that region. Initially, she was quite annoyed that I
was bringing up the subject of friendship instead of focusing on the work at hand.
However, gradually, a friendship blossomed between us, and eventually, we
entered into a sexual relationship. We met during the mass movements that
followed, and eventually, in 1993, we got married at the Collector's Office in
Bhopal under the provisions of the Civil Marriage Act. Initially, I was not in
favor of marriage; however, Subhadra insisted that social recognition was
essential and, therefore, a legally sanctioned marriage was necessary. A few of
our friends attended the wedding, and Ramchandra Bhargava—who was the Director
of Gandhi Bhawan at the time—along with his wife, Rukmini, provided us with
immense support. These two senior social workers stepped into the role of
parents for us.
Even after the wedding, we continued to live apart — Subhadra
in Ratlam and I in Alirajpur — a distance of 250 kilometers. This arrangement
created difficulties; we were unable to live together and would meet only
occasionally. Our relationship was primarily based on physical intimacy, and we
did not know much about one another beyond that. It was impossible to truly get
to know each other without spending a significant amount of time together.
Consequently, we decided to live together in Alirajpur. But the truth is that due to my selfishness, I never felt the need to know Subhadra properly.
On one occasion, Subhadra came to Alirajpur from Ratlam
while I was engrossed in some work. When she asked me to set aside my work to
spend time with her, I replied that I could not simply abandon my duties to sit
around engaging in romantic dalliance with her. This led to our first major
quarrel; in a fit of anger, Subhadra cast aside all her jewelry — including her
Mangalsutra — and headed back to Dahi. Subhadra sought to establish a deeper,
emotional bond, but I told her that if I were forced to choose between our
marriage and my political principles,
I would invariably choose my political principles. This stance of mine deeply
angered Subhadra.
This has remained the primary obstacle in our relationship:
the fact that I prioritize my political principles above the relationship
itself.
I have always prioritized political principles and
work—specifically, the work in Alirajpur. On that particular occasion, I
eventually went to Dahi and managed to persuade Subhadra; however, a persistent
issue remained: I had expected Subhadra to leave her work with the Ekta
Parishad and join me in Alirajpur to work alongside me. For a time, Subhadra
did exactly that, and we both settled into a small cottage — an Indira Awas
unit—in Sondwa. We purchased some basic necessities and set up our household in
that cottage.
However, whenever we ventured out into the region to carry
out organizational work, Subhadra felt that the terrain was extremely arduous,
as it required a great deal of walking across the hilly landscape. Furthermore,
influenced by the prevailing sentiment within the Adivasi Ekta Parishad,
Shankar—a local tribal activist in Alirajpur—declared that there was no need
for "outsider, middle-class activists" like us, asserting that they
could manage the organization entirely on their own.
For a brief period, we attempted to work in Dhar district — another
area under the Ekta Parishad's purview — but we were unable to establish a
viable working arrangement there either. The local Ekta Parishad activists
simply did not wish for me to reside and work within their territory.
Consequently, we decided to embark on a new endeavor
together in a completely new region. At that time, I was suffering from
recurrent bouts of malaria. When a doctor in Indore examined me, he advised
that I would have to leave Alirajpur, undergo a six-month course of treatment,
and, throughout this entire period, sleep under a mosquito net at all times.
Such a regimen was simply not feasible in Alirajpur. This medical necessity,
too, compelled us to leave the district. After requesting and receiving a financial
assistance of five hundred rupees from Baba Amte, we moved to the campus of the
Gramodyog Vidyalaya (Village Industries School) in the village of Machla,
located near Indore, where we took up residence. Even there, I suffered from
malaria once or twice, but within six months, I finally managed to recover
completely from the illness.
While Machla offered excellent living facilities, we were
entirely without funds. We managed to scrape by — somehow — by selling copies
of *Nai Chetna* (New Consciousness), a magazine published by the
Alirajpur-based organization, at two rupees apiece; however, this income proved
insufficient to sustain us. We also managed to get by, to some extent, by
borrowing money from friends as well as from my mother and brother. We would
procure kerosene using a resident of the Ashram - Muniji's - ration card and
cook our meals on a stove. Although we lived in conditions of scarcity, there
was immense mutual affection among us, and those were truly wonderful days.
Subsequently, I secured a research project that enabled me
to earn some money. This not only covered our living expenses but also allowed
us to purchase a computer and a printer—acquisitions that facilitated our
ability to secure similar research projects in the future.
We lived in Machla for two years, sharing deep love and
bringing great joy to one another. Those were truly excellent days for us.
During this period, I engaged extensively in writing; my articles were
published in various journals, which, in turn, opened up additional avenues for
earning income through research-related work. After this we were both awarded
an American fellowship aimed at improving women's health. This American
fellowship significantly bolstered our financial stability.
In 1996, to carry out the work associated with this
fellowship, we moved from Machla to the village of Katkut in Khargone district.
There, we built a home within a tribal settlement and began living among the
community. In the Katkut region, non-tribal populations were engaged in severe
oppression and exploitation of the tribal people. However, a dilemma arose: if
we focused our efforts on organizing the tribal community, we would be unable
to adequately fulfill the specific mandate regarding women's health as
stipulated by the fellowship.
Subhadra insisted that we focus exclusively on women's
health initiatives and refrain from undertaking organizational work—such as
mobilizing the tribal community—in the manner we had previously done in
Alirajpur. This difference of opinion created a rift between us. Upon learning
of the fellowship, our former colleagues from the organization began alleging
that I had "sold out" tor American money and had turned my back on
organizational activism. These accusations weighed heavily on me and caused me
deep distress. Consequently — and despite Subhadra's objections — I pressed
ahead with the organizational work, and eventually, Subhadra joined me in these
efforts. As a result, we were both imprisoned, and numerous criminal cases were
filed against us. Although this period generated significant publicity for our
cause, it also led to frequent conflicts between Subhadra and I, as she
remained deeply unhappy about our involvement in such activism. Even after
leaving Alirajpur, I continued to work in the same manner—against Subhadra's
wishes—which did not please her.
This conflict regarding my work persists to this day. The
tribal communities of Katkut and Pandutalab formed an organization and
mobilized so extensively against the government that, ultimately, the
government deployed its full force to dismantle the mass organisation in 2001.
During this crackdown, I was imprisoned for two and a half months, and four of
my colleagues in the organization were killed in police firing.
Subhadra was deeply angered by all of this as well; by that
time, our son, Ishaan, had been born, and she was forced to flee with him—an
ordeal that caused her immense hardship. Thus, my obsessive absorption in my
work created a rift in our relationship.
Following this, we stepped away from activism for a while;
on the one hand, government repression was severe, and on the other, we now had
a child. Subhadra often had to attend court hearings with the child in tow. The
police even threatened the landlord of the rented house we occupied in Indore,
warning him not to rent to us. Consequently, we were ultimately compelled to
build our own home in Indore in 2002.
All our funds were exhausted in the construction of the
house. Once again, we found ourselves in financial distress—this time with the
added responsibility of a child alongside the two of us. Scrambling for work
wherever I could, I secured funding for a research study, and our situation
improved somewhat. I was able to purchase a laptop computer, which became a
means for me to earn an income once again.
However, the discord persisted, as arguments regarding my
work continued to plague our relationship. Due to the demands of raising our
child and resuming her own studies, Subhadra had to remain at home, while I was
constantly out in the field for my work. In 2008, I secured a research project
that required me to revitalize the Alirajpur-based organization, 'Dhas Gramin
Vikas Kendra.'
Consequently, the routine of traveling back and forth to
Alirajpur resumed, becoming a reason for the escalation of our domestic
conflicts.
Subsequently, funding began to flow into Dhas—initially from
the Tata Trusts in 2008, intended for advocacy on behalf of migrant laborers,
and later, in 2011, from ActionAid, to support work focused on tribal rights.
To oversee these initiatives, I frequently had to travel to Alirajpur;
occasionally, Subhadra would accompany me. Later, I took Swapan Bhattacharya to
the Kakrana school, where he subsequently took up residence. This development
further increased the frequency of my travels to and from Alirajpur.
In truth, apart from the physical intimacy inherent in a
marital relationship, I harbored no genuine love for Subhadra. Not only was I
perpetually engrossed in my work, but I also constantly berated Subhadra,
accusing her of being idle and of hindering my own work. Due to the demands of
our respective work, we never truly got to know one another; this pattern
persisted unchanged from the very beginning of our relationship to this day.
Meanwhile, Subhadra was struggling to secure admission into
a PhD program. Despite numerous attempts, she was unable to gain admission at
any institution in Delhi, Mumbai, Indore, or Ujjain. Concurrently, as our
colleagues in Alirajpur were not performing their duties effectively, the
burden of managing the ActionAid project fell increasingly upon my shoulders.
Exasperated by this entire situation, Subhadra insisted that I sever my ties
with both Dhas and Alirajpur; complying with her demand, I withdrew from those
engagements.
Throughout this entire period—from 2008 to 2015—I undertook
a significant amount of consultancy work, through which I earned a substantial
income. It was during this time that I began writing on Facebook; moved by my
posts, various individuals began contributing funds to support our work.
Gradually, this activity gained momentum, and writing on Facebook became akin
to an addiction for me. As people continued to donate increasingly larger sums,
this addiction only intensified. Finally, in 2015, Subhadra secured admission
into a PhD program at the Ambedkar University in Mhow, and she subsequently
became fully immersed in her studies. Furthermore, at my insistence, Subhadra
began working on issues related to women's health; through this work, she
eventually came to realize that women's health can only truly be improved if
their nutritional intake and dietary habits are properly addressed. To achieve
this, it is essential to practice organic farming correctly. In line with this
objective, Subhadra began practicing organic farming in 2015 in the village of
Pandutalab, located in Dewas district. Consequently, Subhadra became extremely
busy; on the one hand, she was pursuing her PhD studies, while on the other,
she was engaged in the work of expanding the organic farming initiative.
During this period, my own sexual urges intensified
significantly. As a result, I began watching a large volume of pornography on
the internet. Furthermore — and not just that — I would constantly stare at the
breasts of young women passing by on the street. Conflicts between Subhadra and
me regarding our work escalated, and the emotional distance between us widened.
Subhadra argued that I should abandon my work in Alirajpur and focus solely on
the work in Pandutalab, but I was unwilling to accept this suggestion. Thus, I
would satisfy my heightened sexual urges by masturbating—often three or four
times a day—while watching pornography. Although we were indeed living together
under the same roof, our relationship had effectively broken down; I made no
effort to keep it alive—in fact, due to my preoccupation with the work in
Alirajpur, I only created further obstacles within it.
Had I, at that time, stepped away from my work in Alirajpur
and focused instead on mending my relationship with Subhadra, things could have
worked out. However, I could not break free from my addiction to Facebook or my
attachment to Alirajpur; consequently, our arguments and the emotional distance
between us continued to grow. We were living together physically, yet a vast
chasm remained between us. We no longer engaged in meaningful conversation; our
interactions were limited strictly to discussions regarding work-related
matters.
In this manner, a merely functional relationship limped
along between us—one punctuated by occasional, explosive arguments. The fault
lay entirely with me; I was unwilling to give up Alirajpur, just as I was
unwilling to commit to building a loving relationship.
Meanwhile, I continued to write extensively on Facebook,
garnering considerable praise and acclaim; concurrently, the organization
continued to receive substantial funding. I developed a sense of arrogance—a
belief that I possessed the ability to earn both immense public adulation and
financial wealth. Subsequently, in 2021, I fell severely ill with COVID-19; it
was Subhadra who nursed me back to health and saved my life. However, in the
post-COVID period, a massive argument erupted with Subhadra regarding work.
Thus, although fame and financial success were pouring in, our personal
relationship continued to deteriorate steadily. I was unwilling to give up the
work in Alirajpur.
In 2021, following the COVID outbreak, I struck up a
friendship with a woman from Chennai on Facebook and flew there to meet her. I
engaged in sexual relations with her at a hotel in Mamallapuram. This was a
grave error. Since masturbation — while watching pornography — was no longer
sufficient to satisfy my sexual urges, I succumbed to temptation and engaged in
sexual intercourse with that woman. This affair continued for four years,
during which I traveled to Chennai five times solely for the purpose of sexual
encounters.
Instead of resolving our conflicts and strengthening our
bond, I resorted to lies and deceit to indulge in illicit sexual pleasures.
Rather than nurturing our relationship, I deliberately widened the emotional
distance so that I could freely pursue a life of luxury and sexual
gratification. I would lie, claiming I was traveling to present a paper at a
conference, while in reality, I was heading to Chennai for sexual liaisons. I
would stay for two days, engaging in sexual acts four times a day to satiate my
lust. I had entered into marriage primarily to ensure a permanent medium for
sexual intimacy, not to build a loving and emotionally fulfilling partnership.
When sexual intimacy ceased within that marriage, I turned to deceit to seek
sexual gratification elsewhere. Thus, despite remaining within the marriage, I
effectively absolved myself of its responsibilities, living a life of unbridled
self-indulgence.
In 2022, a film based on our love
story was produced by Amazon. In it, I flawlessly portrayed the role of a
devoted husband. Yet, the reality was that I had become physically and
emotionally distant from Subhadra, and I was merely playing a false character
on screen. In fact—around the time of the filming and even at the time of its
release—I had traveled to Chennai and engaged in sexual relationship with the
woman there. This marked the absolute pinnacle of my deceit.
I operated under the assumption that since Subhadra never
checked my emails or mobile phone, she would remain completely oblivious to my
illicit sexual activities, and I could continue this behavior indefinitely.
However, I was finally caught in July 2025, and all my arrogant sexual
escapades were exposed. Yet, I remained unyielding; unwilling to humble myself
or leave Alirajpur, I fled from home. A few days later, I returned, but I was
not fully prepared to embark on the path of genuine self-improvement. I could
not bring myself to agree to align my actions with Subhadra's expectations.
Instead, I fed misinformation about Subhadra to the activists in Alirajpur—as
well as to my own brother—thereby further diminishing her standing and
reputation. I adopted an extremely cruel attitude toward Subhadra, driven
solely by my own self-interest and a desire for unbridled indulgence. This
caused her immense suffering.
For me, escaping the responsibilities of marriage and family
life—and achieving a sense of "freedom" through lies and deceit in
order to pursue my own arrogant pleasures—was of paramount importance.
Consequently, in December 2025, I once again fled from home to Alirajpur. I
returned a few days later, yet I remain unable to shed my ego.
I had married Subhadra with the expectation that she would
leave the Ekta Parishad to join me in Alirajpur — working alongside me while
simultaneously catering to my sexual desires. This was an act of male
chauvinism. I believed that I was a superior activist and that our work in
Alirajpur was of a higher caliber than that of the Ekta Parishad. This
chauvinistic arrogance persisted even after I eventually left Alirajpur — at
Subhadra's insistence — to move to Indore and Katkut. The reality is that
neither my male chauvinism nor my attachment to working in Alirajpur ever truly
left me; consequently, I have consistently maintained a dictatorial attitude
toward Subhadra. That is why —even after being caught engaging in sexual
relations with another woman — I fled to Alirajpur on two separate occasions.
This male chauvinism is the root cause of my downfall. Despite numerous
conflicts, I consistently disregarded Subhadra's counsel and continued to act
according to my own whims, creating a vast emotional distance within our
relationship. I hereby offer my public apology for these reckless and imprudent
actions of mine which have deeply hurt Subhadra.
