Why are we such a great nation

Socho yaar kitna mast desh hai apna,not taunting,but think.

We are spending crores of rupees daily on Kashmir. So many people have given their life and its repercussions are felt all over India. Majority of us know that India is trying to thwart attempts of Pakistan to win over Kashmir yet we have no complaints when an author openly shouts in Delhi that India should free Kashmir. The same lady once wrote an eye watering piece on Naxalism and she famously said that one should not cry over the CRPF personnel killed in the anti-naxal operation as they are getting killed because they are killing the naxalites. Tit for tat. Simple.

We have kept alive Ajmal Kasab so that he can spit on the judiciary. Remember we have also kept a guy called Afzal Guru? He should have been hanged long back. Why? Don't quip that judiciary will take its own course. It will only work as it should if we don't ask it to go slow. But sadly that’s exactly what’s happening. Accepted that terrorist attacks are common in India but even a diehard secularist will say that it’s not daily that you have attack on Parliament or it’s not every third morning that you wake up to find five gun totting men consigning everything that falls in their sight to flames. Parliament attack and Mumbai attack were, are and will remain "a remarkable, out of the blue" incident. And it requires action of the same kind; an action that will be remembered and will serve as a precedent.

Why it is that one leader or author speaks for the whole Muslim community. Who asked them? Who told them that Indian Muslims will feel insecure if the parliament accused is hanged and they will feel anger if Kasab is sent to the gallows? None of my Muslim friends told me so. And I never felt that I should ask them this question because I know they too feel the same like every Indian feels.

Why do these intellectuals say that Kashmir is not a part of India, it never was? Just because they are intellectuals? Didn't we had intellectuals before? Or is Roy the epitome of the Intellectual culture of India? And why shouldn't we condemn her statements? And why is that whoever speaks anything that’s against Roy and her intellectual coterie termed as a Fundamentalist? Why is it that we have adapted ourselves to such double standards? And adapted so well that we don't even realize that we have reached the zenith of hypocrisy and the nadir of having respect for India, which I am sure many of us still regard it as our Country.

Yeah, I am done for now.

But for the tea at Jamshedpur railway platform

I

The quizzed look in her calm eyes made him flinch for a moment and he was transferred to the past when he would look into those same eyes and would find himself drowning without any regret in the blissful ocean of love, trust and care.

It was during a train journey that he had first met her. 

There was nothing romantically unusual about the first meeting. They both had alighted at the Jamshedpur railway station to have tea and by some innovative method, known only to girls, she had managed to miss her train and if it was not for the classical scene from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenege, he wouldn't have known to how to give your hand to a girl who is running to catch her train like a bride escaping from her own marriage.

That was the first time their eyes met and soon the casual glance turned into an attentive stare. Her eyes were like the best thing that he had ever seen. The light blue Kurta, the black cascade of black falling hair and a spread of innocence worth their weight in Scottish chocolate was too much for him to fight against.

His non belief in love was taking a serious dent, for he was experiencing the gravity of love that was pulling him down. Something was happening, he could experience it. But to describe it in words was something he would have miserably failed even if he would have tried.

He was falling in love. And he knew that had no chance of coming it out of alive.

This happened on a quiet day of a warm winter of January, 5 months ago. And soon their love became the talk of the small train.

And as their love blossomed from Bhopal Express to the dim lit walkways of Connaught Place he discovered that she was the more extrovert of two, always cajoling him to hold hands, swing legs, run aimlessly on roads, pushing through crowds. When she was in her full bloom she could make a 5 year toddler look like a man planning his retirement.

Every stare of her, her every word were like a gentle flowing stream or a subtle blowing air of a cold breeze. He was living in a world that was weaved by her, every string, every colour of this world was painted by her for him.

She was last thing that came to his mind when he closed his eyes. Wordly desires lost their identity as the intoxicating potion of love started flowing in his veins.

She was like a hand that was guiding him though this world.

II

And then everything came back from the past to the present. A crowd had assembled around the body that was very still. Yet there was something unusual about it as one could sense that a final wisp of breath was still trapped somewhere inside

The people watching him sighed in amazement as he opened his tired eyes for one final time, as the light inside those once bright eyes dulled the rainy morning.

And for the last time in eternity their eyes met again. She had the same quizzed look which she had at that time 

when he had pulled her on the moving train.

He saw her for the last time and his eyelids fell down; never to open again.

Is the Marathi manoos at Stake?

A few hours back I was going through a blog of a friend and I came across his recent post in which he has written about how a member of the Thackeray clan, Aditya Thackeray, son of Uddhav Thackeray walking on his ancestral footsteps, forced the prestigious St.Xaviers college, Mumbai to stop prescribing to a book because he felt that this particular book is not worthy and suitable to be taught at the college.

Just for the records it was not a cheap publication that are available at the numerous book stalls on the railway station of Dadar. The book is titled “ Such a long journey” written by the well known writer Rohinton Mistry. It was first published in 1991 and was nominated for the Bookers and won many recognition including the “ Common wealth writers prize”. In 2007-2008, it was prescribed for the BA ( English) course in Mumbai university. And since then it is being taught there. It is a novel about how a family go about their daily life.

But one fine day a boy who is still struggling with the pull and push of attaining puberty, decided that he has to do something to gain some media attention as he was about to start his political career and add more stench to the already nauseous gutters of “India’s secular politics”. As he was considerate enough to not to resort to use of sticks and swords, he decided to go after “Such a long Journey”.

This guy, Aditya has nothing much to write about him. He is a student of the same college from where Rohinton passed out. And by gods grace he has also managed to churn out a collection of poems which he has aptly named “Black and White”.

Its noteworthy to mention that when Rohinton Mistry was penning down the lines of his book, this dude was probably wetting his nappies while listening to the gory achievements of his father and grand father post 1992 bomb blast.

But then creativity and hooliganism runs deep in this family. His father is a photographer, his grand father too is a cartoonist and his uncle as we all know is a painter. So it was but obvious that Aditya too would inherit this creativity and this rogue character. So, I don’t blame him.

This Thackeray feels that the book talks about the Shiv Sena in a negative sense. As far as he is concerned no other reason is required. If the Thackerays don’t like something ; then they don’t like it. And he issues a dictum 'banning' the book. Simple as that.

I won’t talk or write much about Mr. Poet Thackeray because as much as I know this guy by now has gained enough media coverage and I am sure the sycophants Barati around him would add more color and push him more towards the sky for his success in losing his virginity of hooliganism. He passed his debut test of showing his strength without a blood being shed and a office being vandalized.

Welcome to the world of right is might Mr.Black and White . But as a friendly advice, keep writing heart rendering emotional poems, for you have to show the people that you have a tender side too; just like the other members of your clan.

But I would like to comment on the audacity on the part of the university officials. I mean I just can’t stop admiring their ‘bravery’. They just couldn’t stand a college teen hooligan because he was from the notorious Thackeray clan and was going to start his own group of activist , which he has proudly christened “Yuva sena” . This sena will see to it that India’s cultural value or more specifically Marathi culture is not vandalized, burnt or destroyed.

I would like to commend people on their maturity for still regarding the Sena as a political entity. My immaturity suggests that it ceased to a political party long back. I always thought it was a bunch of mentally deranged goons who had decided to conglomerate on one fine day and start a party. Post the 1992 riots my inexperienced mind told me that soon this ‘party’ will disappear from the political scene of India. But as I now see, I was a fool then.

I was in a good mood today as I watched India successfully concluded the Common wealth games. I was enjoying every moments as I felt goose bumps when the army contingent played the band and I was ‘liking’ every facebook status that my friends were posting about the success of the CWG.

But then reality dawned and I realized that still we are what we were. Still we fear some Hindu clans and still we bow too their fancies without even taking a ‘token’ stand.

I have friends in Maharastra and they are much more forward and liberal than me and they are more into activism than me but I just can’t find questions to my answer that why they keep tight-lipped when they should speak.

I am not in Mumbai, many of us are not. But those who are in Mumbai why don’t they say that “ Ok you may not like whats written in the book but that doesn’t give you the right to destroy it”. Is it that difficult thing to make people understand? Does that require too much of courage?

Is being called ‘Bhartiya’ sounds more derogatory than taking pride in being called a Marathi manoos, UP ke Bhaiya aur Tamil Nadu ka Mallu.

You have to decide that , not those bunch of goons who pride themselves in hurting and destroying everything that doesn’t please them.

Its not Marathi manoos at stake, its your freedom to oppose tyranny and to speak your mind out thats the burning question right now.

Dejavu’ing in Patna

Everything is back to the same place where it all started. Couldn't help but loose myself under this sense of Déjàvu. In Patna .

It seems that I have traveled two years back in time. Everything is the same. The same maths teacher who helped me with my IRMA,CAT and PO preparation is coming at my home to teach me maths , again. The purpose too is the same.

We study the same books, sit at the same place. We talk about the same things, the same political situation in Bihar. And before leaving he always ask me whether Bela is chained in or not, just like the way he used to do two years back.

At that time I had two parrots who would chitchat with me and inquire me about my progress in Quants. Times changed and one of the two died and the other flew away. Now I have two new parrot couple who too like their ancestors don’t mind poking me about my helplessness when it comes to maths.

The same room at my home provides me and Bela with a peaceful slumber as we sleep under the antic Khaitan fan. The age old fan in my room is still yellow and still it works in a silent manner unlike its counterparts who have either passed away or hanging in some obsolete corner and who cry out loud whenever they are switched on. I first slept under its cool air in Rajkot in 1987 when I was still trying to learn to recite humpty dumpty...

Two years ago I was not able to attend Abhivyakti in Bhopal because of my ensuing exams and this time too I will have to give it a miss and I will "miss it" dearly. The heart will require some consoling but I know it will manage, somehow.

II

Its election time in Bihar. The same political atmosphere easily identifiable by the flags on the street and the waves of white Kurtas that cover every corner of the city has engulfed Patna. Two years back it was the General election and this time its the assembly election. Two years back my neighbor Dasji tried his luck as a BSP candidate from Hajipur and lost. The slogan “Jahan hai Das, wahin hai Aas” didn’t help his cause much. 

But still he regards this particular slogan as one of the best he used at that time.

I met him yesterday while he was taking a stroll with his grandson and when I asked him 'which way the political river will flow in Hajipur this time', he replied that he is done with politics. He had decided that he would not contest any election again. Man of emotions and creativity are easily hurt and they find it aimless to bounce back and thats what happened to Dasji, who retired as a DSP and is an accomplished Tabla player.

Somethings I guess have changed.

Udankhatolas of various color and size are flying over the Patna airspace. As the Lalus and the Nitishs try to outwit each other.

For me this is the flight and fight for life and death for Lalu.He won’t form the government in Bihar that is a surety. Nitish kumar will come back again is a possibility that has to come true and will come true. But for Lalu, if he doesn’t performs substantially this time, his political career will be over for good and no amount of minority or Yadav appeasement will be able to bring him back from his political oblivion. He has to win more than 50 seats to command some respectability at the state and Center level.

It would be interesting to watch Congresses performance in the state as the party has decided to go alone this time. It was Rahul Gandhi who was more adamant in Congress going alone in Bihar, and he deserves accolades for that. It was sort of a huge political question that how a national party can be nonexistent in a state like Bihar. The absence of Congress in the state had created a vacuum that had led to the growth of regional parties like RJD and Ram Bilas Paswan’s LJP who were running the state like a fiefdom.

Read somewhere in a magazine that its "Resurgent Bihar" time. Hope this time goes on and on.

I sleep to rise again

People say that I am past my days of glory. They say that my days are numbered now. They feel that I have nothing to give, nothing to take and nothing to smile about.

They say that the last time I shined was years back when some politicians decided that I was shining and they came out with the "India Shining" slogan. And when the truth dawned, everyone lost, including those very leaders who had banked on me to make sure that they enter the revered house, affectionately called Parliament. I was not shining, I was still sleeping on the street, hungry and I was still nakedly poor. And nothing has changed much even now.

But that doesn't mean that I cannot and don't fight back.

They thought that I was a bride without golden ornaments when I had to pledge myself at the World back in the early 90s.

More than a decade later its me who helps out the World Bank when it needs financial assistance. I have bounced back.

One day my neighbour Pakistan thought that I would go down without a fight and Kargil happened. Young boys then turned into men as they fought with courage to reclaim whatever was lost to the enemy. And I bounced back.

Years back I was struck by the pains of Bhopal Gas tragedy. Then recently a fallacious judicial pronouncement that exonerated the accused increased the pain and with that came a rude insult to those who died on that fateful day. Everyone thought that, me, India had lost this time. But it was not to be, as people took to street and announced that enough was enough and this time they will not go down. And I bounced back.

When some insane mind attacked Mumbai, it was not just a part of me that stood tall, rather, it was the whole India who stood as one. Martyrs from many a different state died that day , fighting the terrorist and successfully ending the terrible crisis.

Yet there are times when I myself feel that its better to bid a final goodbye rather than to bounce back again and again. I felt such emotions when incidents like Godhra and post Godhra happened. I felt bad when I see a helpless person being brutally beaten just because he is from a different region. And I feel bad when I see thousands of hungry stomach going to sleep when thousands of tonnes of grains in rotting away.

I am India, and I am full of stories of happiness and Sadness. Of hope and despair. And When it looks that I have fallen never to rise again I do bounce back.

Every end that happens here is a new beginning. Just like every night signifies arrival of a new morning. I am India.

Always wrong- the Left

Yeah they are the worst because they are more educated than the rest and they use that very intellectual depth and their wisdom to fool the mass. The look on their face when they speak emotes as if they would be the first to sacrifice if anything bad is to befall on this country.

When 76 jawans in Chhattisgarh died the Leftist took out a candle light procession in JNU to express their pleasure. During the previous government on one hand they were supporting the UPA and on the other they were crying foul over the nuclear bill.

Yet they didn't have the conviction to withdraw the support because then they would have lost the power that they had managed to secure after such a long while.

If a particular party is continuously ruling over a state for the past 25 years you expect that the state will have reached a respectable level of development, but thats not the case with West Bengal. Its still lying in the bottom six.

My Leftist friends will say that inspite and despite this, its the Left thats winning in Bengal, again and agian.

And I would say that they are still winning in West Bengal because of their notorious cadre strength, which is so famously prone to physical violence.

They swear by Dass Kapital and yet any journalist or politician will tell you that they are the most wealthiest of the lot. They own a stake in Star News, and most of them have huge farm houses in Mussorie.

Left is a place where the intellectuals suppressed seek a sanctuary , a place where their shits and rubbish is proclaimed as a policy. Like supporting China and showing thumbs down to US. They are the worst hypocrites, living lavishly and strolling in kurtas.

Reading Penguin books, speaking Oxford English, always trying to go against what the others are doing, just to prove that you are different is not very difficult, but implementing the words into action is not so easy, specially if you lack the moral conviction.

Many great minds, economists and writers have wasted their talent by joining Left in fighting what they call fighting the corrupt system. But they have been fooled. The Left is a bastion of the corrupts who play sage.

They just oppose for the heck of opposing.Fools they are, and fools they will remain.

Congress and BJP too are bad but atleast they do what they say. Even if they fulfill 40 percent of their promise of they make, but the leftist are the scourge of the nation and their thinking is destroying talented minds of this country.

Someone who is supporting them should think about what the Communist have achieved. They call themselves the champion of poor but they are exactly the opposite.

They are the worst, the Left.

A Gharghoda of mines and elephants

Corruption and pollution is something that we come across regularly in our life. Be it a small village or a large town and be it Mumbai or Gharghoda every place has come to terms with its share of the “ion” .

Situated in the industrial belt of Raigarh, which should be more appropriately called Jindalgarh, because of the huge infrastructural presence of Jindal company, Gharghoda is the oldest block of undivided MP and Chhattisgarh, coming into existence in 1928.

If Raigarh is famous for Jindal, Gharghoda is famous for two things, wild elephants and coal reserves.

My uncle who stays in the hills of Uttarakhad had not heard about Raigarh before, but when I told him that I will be staying in Gharghoda, he promptly quipped, “Ahh! Gharghoda, the land of the wild elephants.”

Wild elephants are always in news in this part of this world. Mostly for wrong reasons. Some fifteen days back, one women who had gone to collect Mahua seed was trampled by a tusker. Similarly, while travelling to Raigarh on bus, I had the wonderful experience of being stuck in a traffic jam as the highway was blocked by a herd of elephants who were taking a merry stroll on the road.

To look after the elephants we have the forest department people and they are doing a good job of protecting both the elephants and the civilians from each other. They are very prompt in giving compensation in case of causality due to elephants. So everything is fine on that front.

They are also active when it comes to stopping illegal tree felling, of which I have already given a graphical description in my previous post. So far so good.

But the problem arises when Coal comes into the picture.

Due to coal mining, both legal and illegal, forest cover is being vastly reduced, leading to a sharp increase in man-elephant conflict. The elephants are regularly entering villages and destroying crops and huts because their habitat is shrinking.

To combat this the forest department is investing huge amount of money in increasing the forest cover by planting saplings, but its effort is being bearing little result as more and more forest are being cut to pave way for mines.

Strange paradox, isn’t it. One government department in giving money to increase the forest cover, while the other is giving permission to cut those very trees.

Stand at the local Jai Stambh chowk of Gahrghoda and you will come across many huge trailers that are carrying coals and transporting them to the numerous coal power plant near Raigarh. And most of them are illegally mined. And as is very common in our country, this is happening right under the eyes of the law as not more than 200 meters from the Jai Stambh chowk is the local police station.

The coal is mined from the many a nearby areas and as they make their way to smoke emitting coal plants they have to pass through many a check posts. And rarely have I come across a trailer being stopped for overloading and carrying illegal coal. Most of the trailers are filled more than their capacity and the chance of these huge machines losing control and playing havoc on the street is as much as you and I getting drenched in a rain if we are not carrying an umbrella.

Once in a full moon, a trailer is caught and its details are promptly published in the local Hindi newspapers. Most of the trailers are owned by one of the many big companies like Jindal.

Also having their hands full in this trade are relatively small businessmen who have come from outside and have been wise enough to purchase lands from the local villagers at throw away price and setup their business.

And this is just the beginning. Gharghoda is still a ripe bud when it comes to coal mining. Many new plants are coming up and by 2015, this place will be at its full bloom. When the clean air and green tress will be replaced by carbon monoxide and steel chimneys and when the “Saagun made Belgadi” will give way to “Mahindra Scorpios” and when the local man who walks in cotton loins will purchase a Levis.

May not sound true today, but then Noida is no myth.

Equally true is the fact that these coal consuming factories have taken the necessary permission from the environmental authorities and other concerned authorities before coming up, so they are not to be blamed.

Again a paradox that infects our system.

We allow a factory to discharge toxic waste into the river and then we come up with an authority to clean that very river.

The emission and pollution controlling authority says that they see to it that every thing is done under supervision and Regulation. Sounds just like a holocaust, where they killed selectively, under supervision and in a regulated manner.

I may look like that I from the old age, a Swadeshi, an Opposer of industrialization. Believe me I am not, but what I say here is what is I see here.

The rapid industrialization has brought lakhs of rupees for the local tribes which they have received after selling their land to coal companies. And they simply do not know what to do with it. And some of them lament that times are changing as they feel insecure when they see their neighbour living a life that is more lavish then what they are accustomed to. They don’t know how to face this disparity.

The social fabric is being rewoven in this part of the world as money is pulling someone up and pushing many of them down.

I though draw solace from the fact that I won’t be staying her for long. I will leave way before any of these rivers and trees and green leaves this place, affectionately called GG. And though I may come back , they will not.

Mussorie tale

I have been to many a place where I have only felt love and nothing else.

Mussorie ranks high on that very list. Some times back I went to Mussorie, and it was one of those memorable journey which you remember till you say the final goodbye to the world.

Absolute bliss it was. I stayed at the DRDO guest house, courtesy my ever jovial and lovable uncle, KK, who is perhaps more romantic at heart than me. The DRDO guest house is one of the highest residential place in Mussorie where you can stay. And if you go there at the time of monsoon , you will loose your breath again and again by the sheer simple beauty of that place,which is also called Landour cantt area near the famous Lal Tibba.

From there you can watch the exhilarating view of the majestic Himalayas as it white snow covered peak stare at you in a gentle silence. You can also hear the sound of Himalayan Langurs giving out their mating call which is heard for kilometers. You can watch beautiful Kumaoni girls with red cheeks and a mystifying smile climbing the high hills as if they are walking on plains. Or you can just close your eyes and feel the nature outside as it embraces you.

The beauty of a natural place is enhanced if it has legends and myths associated with it. And in the case of Mussorie, it has many a tales. Some haunting, some not so haunting. Stories of Memsaabs and Sirs that took place during the ear of Raj. The British Raj.

One night after having my dinner at the guest house, I came out and started taking a stroll down towards Lal Tibba. As I was walking, I heard some kind of chanting that was coming from a far distance. It was kind of mesmerizing and I climbed a rock to get a better view of the spot from where the sound was coming. And not too far away, in the middle of deep forest , I saw some foreigners carrying Mashals( torch light), as they danced in a circle and sang songs.

Standing at an elevated position i could only see their body under the faint light of the torch that they were holding. It was something that is hard to explain in words. Dark foggy cold night and people singing ancient hymns. It was an out of world experience. God knows how desperately how I wanted to be a part of that group who was enjoying life in its fullest terms.

Mussorie is home to many a legends. Ruskin bond, the great writer is one of them. And thanks to my uncle, I got the opportunity to meet him once. He is the most well known Mussorian and has written many books on Mussorie. A true gentleman. Also if are fortunate enough you can watch the towering Tom Alter sipping coffee at the historical Char Dukan.

If you are in Mussoire you have to go to 4 dukan. They are 4 small shops, located in the heart of Landour, where you find the most mouth watering pakodas and a highly recommended tea. There you can sit, chit chat with the local and the foreigners, watch small pahadi children going to school or just simply watch the sun rising or going down as the time maybe.

Please keep in mind that when I am saying Mussorie, I am implying, the area near the Landour cantt and not the over crowded mall road of Mussorie.

The Landour area is a magic in itself. The climb from the guest house on the gravelled path, surrounded by lush green forest comprising many a tall trees, mostly Pine. The ever present fear that if you are lucky enough you might come across a leopard, who too like you , is enjoying the clouds, that have stopped for few hours to cuddle you in their cold moist arms.

The Landour cantt area also has a language school that is more than 200 years old. Here foreign student come and learn Hindi. This very language school is adjoining a church, which in itself is a marvellous example of a serene construction.

Mussorie gives all this experience for free but in return you will have to promise that you won’t disturb anything. Not pluck the flowers, not harm the butterflies or the trees, not litter the place. And most importantly keep a smile on your face whenever you come across a marvel of nature, be it a tree,animal, clouds, fog or a human being.

The term, love is in the air is literally felt by our soul in Mussorie in no small way. If you are in love or thinking of falling in love go to Mussorie. It has an unexplainable lucky charm that will work for you and this I say on a personal experience.

Mussorie enlightens love in heart...

Iraq - a tale of hope

Finding an Indian in Iraq is no exception, but to find someone who is optimistic and happy is. Living in Iraq is hardly comfortable. Infact you can term it as a living on the edge kind of scenario. It’s a bit hard to experience it in words. Bullets passing by, land mines exploding, cars going turtles right in front of your eyes can make even the coldest of heart miss a beat.

There are according to official figures more than then thousand Indians here. Most of them are doing jobs that can be very easily classified as high threat work. Under the umbrella of darkness, in the middle of a desert, supported by gun totting UN soldiers distinguished by their blue helmet, people like Ram Sharan and Avinash Gupta are braving their only life so that they can earn enough for their family back home and in the process they are doing their job of connecting interiors lawless land of Mesopatamia to the main land of Baghdad.

Some fifteen days back three Indians and four Pakistani nationals were shot dead and then beheaded by suspected members of Al-Qayda. Back in India and Pakistan we might make a distinction between the two nations but in this part a greater insanely hate very easily consumes this very difference that has disrupted the life of both the countries for decades. They both had common friends and when their body was being sent to their respective country, tears that were rolling down too didn’t made any distinction. They were for the Indian as well for the men from Pakistan.

Such is life.

In this part of globe even the bare basic needs of life jumps the fence and becomes a luxury. You will be more than fortunate if you are able to eat more than once in a day and I am not talking about the local, even us, the so called war journalists have to undergo the same fate.

The sun burnt skin of a 8 year old boy, a perpetual quizzed look in his eyes and the pain in his voice when he seeks her now dead mother is the only reason that brings moistness of any kind. Otherwise everything is dry and parched. Hard we may try but the eyes always fail to hide ones emotion.

Hope is a fast disappearing entity here. And I have never experienced such situation anywhere else. People have simply lost hope and those few who have it are now trying to keep it going on until a stray bullet takes that away; along with their life.

The lonely silent as you pass through village after village who were once bustling center where eyes would meet and an accidental stare would turn into an attentive gaze., a place where flour and cakes and balloons were purchased to celebrate birthdays have now become lifeless. All I could see was some slippers and some rags and more blood.

I stop at a house which shows some activity of human presence and I am welcomed by a feeble old man , whose eyes have a unexplainable twinkle, something that makes my spirit soar high .

He goes by the name of Hussein and is the only surviving member of his family. The rest have migrated to Persia and are living happily. He has lived in Iraq since he first clutched his fathers finger when he learnt to walk and he has no fear of anything, only a feeling that who will look after his goat when he is gone . With closed eyes he says that he was born in this soil and will disappear in this soil, a soil that has become red.

All sorts of media is here and countless stories have been told to world about Iraq. When it was Saddam it was he who hogged the limelight and now when he is gone Suicibde bombing and senseless killings make the headline. Blood flowed then too and it has not stopped even now. Only the hands have changed, the bullets are the same and same are those who die.

It is not a war between America and Iraq or Muslims and Christians or Shia and Sunni that have taken lives. They are just excuses, for humans to kill another human,

I desperately seek love to heal my soul that has never been so deeply wounded before. Anything, any love story would do. But there is none. And even if there is, no one is alive to share it with me. I read about Iraq when I was a child. I use to see it as a land of Heer Ranjha. Alladin Jasmine. But it seems like my characters, they too were work of fiction.

Moving ahead as I reach Baghdad I am pleasantly surprised to see a turban wearing sikh who is dancing on Sukhbir and with him are some locals who too are matching their feet with the tall sardar.

The lanky guy is from Bhatinda and runs a grocery store here and plans to stay here till the Indian contingent of Engineers are here. He tells me that everything will change for good; that is inevitable. It changed in Punjab , and it will change here. And he nods his head in yes when I ask him whether he will take good memories of Iraq when he goes back to India.

Then he puts the same question to me.

I say yes; to his invitation to dance too.

Oh Bhopal- II

Mockery of justice was again seen in my country when the judicial pronouncement for the Bhopal gas tragedy was announced .

Digest this , after over 25 years, eight people were convicted for the world's worst industrial disaster and sentenced to two years in prison. One of them died during the course of the trial. The other seven were granted bail. About 20,000 people were killed in the Bhopal gas tragedy of December 2-3, 1984.

The iconic picture of a child, whose face is only visible became the pictorial signature of that unfortunate night and was clicked by photojournalist Pablo Bartholomew. And he too was heartbroken when he heard about the “too little too late” judgement.

Thousands and thousands like him, people from every sphere of life, activists, common man, students, and farmers too are going through a mixture of varied emotions. Anger, pity , apathy, helplessness, but deep inside they have accepted the fact that what has been done is done and nothing can be achieved more. Those who died they cannot be brought back. They simply won’t come back.

This resignation to the situation doesn’t develop overnight, it comes with age and it comes when such incidents happen again and again and still things remain the same. Same politicians ranting, accusing each other, same ways of protest, changing facebook profile picture, showing compassion through status message, forwarding sms . Even the media doesn’t do much. Same channel, same talk show, same gestures, high pitch voices. My earlier post and rants on Bhopal gas leak can be found here.

This helplessness and the feeling alike is not against Bhopal gas tragedy. It has a much deep rooted origin. It is against the whole system.

This has developed through time. When Godhra happened, when violence in Maharastra took place, when hundreds died in a train accident and the railway minister said that it was all related to a political conspiracy to malign her, when a man who should have been hanged long back is kept alive all in the name of minority appeasement, such unique yet identical incidents give birth to this feeling of apathy and helplessness.

Meanwhile political games have already begun.

Congress leaders are in a huddle so as to whom to make a scapegoat. Was it the CM, the PM or a mixture of both that made a way for Anderson to flee India. Not too far, BJP is in another huddle, devising out ways in Patna, where its national executive meet is going on and in Bhopal on how to push the Congress further into a corner.

Then there is a former Supreme court judge who says that he did not commit any mistake by agreeing to head a multi million dollar trust set up by the union carbide after the tragic gas leak.

The same judge in 1996 converted the CBI charge under the stringent provisions of 304-II that provided for maximum of 10-year imprisonment to Section with two-year maximum imprisonment and reduced the charge of culpable homicide not amounting to murder to causing death by negligence.

Clearly the law didn’t take its natural course. But then it would have been naive for anyone to even expect that it will, such was the nature of this high case. Much more than anyone could make out was and is at stake.

In the end what matters is, those who have survived they should be looked after. Those who died, they are not alive, they don’t need any attention but the survivors do. The best way to remember the unfortunate dead would be to make sure that those who survived don't die a painful death. Those who will be born with deformities and weak immune system they will need money and resources to live a life that will be far away from normal. 

Yet since they have life they will have to survive, with or without government help.

Forget Anderson, forget who drove him to the airport, ignore who called whom to arrange for his departure. But let’s not forget those who need life and support. Help them and you will be helping those who died on that night for no purpose. Many of them were sleeping and most of them never woke up again.

Bhopal lost something on the night of December 3, 1984 and nothing but time will heal those wounds that have been felt by generations and will be experienced by many more to come...

Also at http://desicritics.org/2010/06/13/164400.php

Patna diary

I

Congressi politicians are facing harrowing time, not because of the scorching summer heat but rather its the political heat generated by their own colleagues that has kept some of them on their toes.

The caste based census issue is something that has wedged a deep divide between the political class in between the UPA itself. As can be read, even the intra party members of Congress are looking north and seeking south. Check Ajay Maken's blog on http://ajaymakenthoughts.blogspot.com/2010/05/letter-to-all-young-mps-on-caste-based.html#comments to find how atleast some of the politicians are not behaving like political opportunist.

Then there is the issue of naxalism on which Congress is divided; again. Digvijay Singh feels that they are mislead ideologues while Chidambaram feels that they are nothing but terrorists.

Then it was Mr.Tharoor who was confused between what he wanted to be. Whether a loyal lover, a dedicated politican or a chirpy twittu. Well he was not even sure that why was he made a minister or why did he come to India in the first place. But as things ended the way it did, he must be a relieved man. Mr.Tharoor, you are still miles away from the honesty (pun intended) that is required from a person to succeed as a political entity in this part of the globe.

Another maverick, Jariram Ramesh had to say sorry to the Prime Minister when he openly criticized Chidambaram for his dealing of India's international relation with China.

Manmohan Singh is literally rocking on how to deal with the naxalites. Should he follow Sonia Gandhi or tow his trusted lieutenant Chidambaram. Whom should be fix the blame on for the recent train mishap? Should he agree with the Railway Minister, Mamta Banarjee who says that it is a political conspiracy to malign her or nod his head by going with the cops and say it was the maoist.

Couldn't stop humming Koi rasta to dikha...khuda ke liye....

II

It is not that only on the national level our political structure is showing signs of going haywire. At a more local front, in Bihar too things are not looking good.

Recently a police officer was appointed as Bikramganj DSP. That shouldn't have made the news, because routine transfers seldom evoke curiosity but in the present case , the newly appointed officer is himself on the run from the police. Even before he could assume charge as Bikramganj DSP, a police team from the district police headquarters was sent to arrest him.

The concerned officer who was earlier attached with STF, Avinash Prasad,is wanted by police in connection with a criminal case for last two months and an arrest order against him is pending in the court of law.

About 2 weeks earlier in a similar sort of comical yet serious incident, which raised fingers on the Policing situation in the state, Bihar Human Rights Commission (BHRC) ordered the state government to pay Rs 40,000 each as compensation to ten persons who were jailed on fabricated charges of murder and kidnapping in two separate cases. The commission has also recommended appropriate action against the then SPs who had submitted a false report.

Again nothing new as such incidents do happen in our country, but what has made this incident serious is the fact that in its reply before the SHRC, the police department said that it was because of the "pressure" on the SP to come out with a result soon due to submission of a representation by the kin of the supposed dead victims in the chief minister's Janata darbar, that led to the gross error on the part of the officers, which included a young IPS probationer.

Bihar Chief minister is undertaking a "Vishwas Yatra" of the state so as to prepare for the state assembly elections that are due soon. Speaking in front of the mass, Nitish is bringing out the achievements of his government, but hard he tries, he is not able to say how he has been time and again let down by his subordinates. The biggest let down was couple of years back when Kosi breached its bank and his officers were caught napping. What happened afterwards is a painful history.

He has a reputation for being upright and high on discipline but that qualities are not channeling down to the lower level. His efforts to put Bihar back on tracks have been successful, albeit, if he got more cooperation of his support staff of government employees the result would have been far better.

Nitish Kumar has all through the last four and a half years focused on Good governance but as the political finale approaches, it seems the state has not progressed much on that front. Corruption has not come down inspite of the fact that a proactive approach was adopted to tackle this disease, including setting up of fast track courts.

The various state departments in Bihar are still to come out of the 'high' that the previous regime gave them. They still feel that they have every right to prolong and unnecessarily delay work of the common men. They still believe that bribe is a part of their salary.

For their routine work they expect that they will be offered cash. And believe me, antics adopted in MunnaBhai won't work here.

I personally had this experience of being asked for bribe for a legitimate act when my cousin who is seeking job of his father on compensatory ground was asked for money in return for moving his file ahead. Not going into the details, a feeling of anguish comes when you think that how can these people be so senseless and shameful. And you feel bad when you think that how will those thousands of illiterate people who have no one to lean on will arrange for ten thousand rupees to join a job which is their legitimate right and whose monthly salary is maybe four thousand rupees.

Losing hope is very easy and to rekindle it is herculean. And right now, after going through the many a such shattering experiences time and again, I am moving towards the easier approach.

It will be easy to change Bihar, but not so easy to change the people here, who for years have lived on situations that have eaten away some of very basic human tendencies.

But then Hope dies when you let it die...just like love.And I am not very good at letting things die.