The Chronicle of a Deceptive Life

 

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.

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.