Desicritics Category: Culture: Desi

Why Does Ragging Happen?

Freya — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 10:49:35 EDT

I have never been ragged. In Mumbai, thankfully, many colleges either have Anti-Ragging Squads or the seniors are really good people who just mind their business. In my college too, there's no ragging and seniors are real sweethearts. I once ended up in a third year classroom by mistake, but still they all were very nice to me and neither did they tease or bully when I realized my folly. But that's another story.

The recent news of a 19 year old boy named Aman Kachroo who succumbed to the severe injuries inflicted upon him by his drunk seniors doesn't shock me. This is not the first time someone's killed due to ragging. The authorities of Dr. Rajendra Prasad Govt Medical College are trying to pass this off as a suicide case which makes it sound more heinous. I'm sure that either the seniors boys involved here mostly come from rich families who can silence the authorities with their money or the authorities are trying to just protect their image. So, when is this going to be stopped?

Ragging is a part of college-dom. Every college prospectus says that "Ragging is strictly prohibited". But how many colleges actually have no ragging? Very few.

I would first blame the college authorities. It is their college and the students belong to it. Strict steps should be taken against ragging of any form. In residential colleges, there should be more than one warden for every dorm. If possible, they should have separate dorms for juniors and seniors. Alcohol should be banned and there should be raids in dorms regularly. I have studied in a residential school myself and though there wasn't much ragging, bullying surely existed. I had some senior friends who used to proudly boast how they gave "treatments" to their juniors.

Next, I would blame the parents who don't believe their children or don't care. Most parents who have sons have this habit. They have the "ladka-hai-toh-sambhal-lega" kind of attitude. When it comes to girls, parents become overprotective. I say, stop idolizing your male children as supermen. THEY ARE NOT! Males are definitely more physically powerful than females but when 5 grown-up boys or even 5 girls attack a boy who's equally grown up, he cannot definitely do a Shaktiman there. Now, how do you expect your sons to protect themselves?

I cannot blame the first-years much. Though they can do something to protect themselves like forming groups of students who complain the same thing and demand an explanation from the administration. Sadly, there is a different kind of student politics in every institution. There are so many colleges who don't care what's happening or just ignore whatever is happening. There are still parents who think of their children(boys, especially) as superhuman. Only the tormentors can stop what they do. Senior students should be matured enough not to behave in this fashion. They needn't be godfathers to their juniors but at least think about their own future or their conscience which can prick them later.

Poessay: Honesty and Trust

temporal — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 22:01:07 EDT

San's favourite phrase once used to be 'to be honest...' I would wince and say under the breadth "wohi tau" in the acerbic tone of the actor in the sit-com 'office office'.

Why must honesty precede with vocal reaffirmations? Are we less honest without such declarations?

Or are such 'warnings' part of some nefarious truth in advertising or packaging guideline revelations?

Truth has a way of penetrating armour. It does not need a preamble nor a warning. We can feel its piercing pain if it is unpleasant (which it mostly is).

Have you noticed when things do not affect us directly we can afford to be brutally truthful? I call it the BSS - Bitch-Slut Syndrome. (according to the narrator one who sleeps around is a bitch, but if she does not sleep with the narrator then she turns into a slut.)

And when there is a remote chance of it affecting us or a person dear to us than we embellish it with sugar coats. Like David Frum in that essay in the Newsweek where he wanted to bash Rush Limbaugh and blast him into space: but being Barbara's son he stepped around that ardent wish. Oh, he may be a drug addict, philanderer, has several failed marriages, jets in a private plane, is obnoxious, irrational, overweight, but he has a voice and we must respect it as one of the several voices in the republican fold.

We mention rationality, justification, weather, conditions, considerations doing the amazing tap dance on needle head to reveal the truth while trying not to upset ourselves or another person.

***

janay kaun dekhay ga
muskurati aankhion
kay chalakhtay aansoo

(who'd witness
the downpour
of smiling eyes)

Drop by drop, they fall, and morph into layers of disregard...mingling, partying, disappearing, re appearing, fading in euphemisms of memories labeled as past...distant or near...

I wrote reappearing...as in mujh se pehli si mohabbat m'ray mehboob na maang

Is the lover demanding it? Or is it the flutter of heartbeats ignited at a chance encounter with the past lover? A flicker of flame that was once a fire?

But as Faiz continues:

aur bhee dukh haiN zamaanay meiN muhabbat ke sivaa
raahateN aur bhi vas'l ki raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maaNg

There are heartaches aplenty (in the world) other than those of love
There is peace and joy aplenty other than the ecstacy of love
Don't ask me to rekindle that love, O Love

To be honest, agar maaNg bhee lay tou bura kiya hay. Dil ko achcha lagay ga. [tr: to be honest, even if the lover is reminiscing about lost love it has a nice feel about it.]

Trust me!

Ishq-Mohabbat-Pyaar-Vyaar: A Tribute to Filmy Love

Seema Dhindaw — Sun, 8 Mar 2009 03:42:39 EDT

Now that the controversies surrounding Valentine’s Day are in the past, I thought it would be fun to have a glimpse at the strange, comic and unusual things that love compels us to do. Catchy toe-tapping Bollywood tunes, the occasional romantic comedy, and sometimes corny poetic expressions have encouraged many of us to perform otherwise unthinkable, highly embarrassing acts of love. We can look back and laugh at spectacles that love or the illusion of it has inspired. The influence of the film industry, particularly Bollywood, hasn’t made matters any easier for those who have been pierced by Cupid’s arrow. In fact, many a times it is the sole culprit for implanting those bizarre and unrealistic ideas about love during those vulnerable, young growing years.

I grew up listening to Hindi film songs and religiously watched one Hindi movie a week with my family. When we were too young to know the implications of romance or love, my brother and I would act out the parts of hero and heroine, using trees at the park to play hide and seek which was followed by a high speed chase. We would eventually find ourselves running towards each other only to end the charade in a playful sibling fight instead of breaking into a song. When we didn’t know lyrics we would make them up. If we didn’t know the steps to a dance, we would choreograph our own crazy moves and our parents would watch sometimes in shock and at other times in dismay.

At home, it often felt like our parents were either villains in our lives or the stars of an ongoing Hrishikesh Mukherji film about complex marriages. When mom got upset over something, dad would sing and dance in a comical attempt to cheer her up. My brother and I would laugh in amusement, squeal in embarrassment or even play along. On Saturday mornings, mom made delicious parathas while melodious tunes played on the weekly Indian radio program. We anxiously counted the minutes, our eyes on the clock for the parathas and for the eagerly awaited weekly Namaste America television program that aired with previews of latest Bollywood movies, top ten songs and sometimes a special treat: an interview with one of the stars. Every week, I had a new crush depending on who was being interviewed and my brother had a new fight scene or dance move to play out. When Prabhudeva came on the screen we lost quite a few porcelain items. One of my first crushes was Salman Khan. I had a shirtless poster of his on the wall of my bedroom. That poster made a long journey with me from a small back alley in Rourkee, India and lived through my teen years in L.A. I remember my cousins hollering at me then for picking Salman over Shah Rukh. Today, if I make it back to Rourkee, I know for sure I will bring back a Shah Rukh poster instead. Tastes have changed.

In my teens, thoughts of how I would meet my knight in shining armor and what he would be like were always at the back of my mind. When I looked at Bollywood films for answers, the romances and love stories were fun and exciting, full of song and dance sequences, offering me hope but none or little practical advice. Hollywood portrayed a completely different perspective. Issues surrounding religion, career, premarital sex and race were at the forefront. Titanic, Father of the Bride, Sliding Doors, Sleepless in Seattle and many of Woody Allen’s films made things either too simple, fairytale-like or way too complex for me to grasp. Movies like Silsila, Lamhe and Chandni gave me hope that even if my soul mate was much older, married, missing after an accident or suffering from a predictable bout of amnesia, somehow miraculously and by defying every righteous principle, moral value and perhaps by way of nothing short of a miracle, he would end up being with me.

After watching Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the prospect that I could have a guy best friend who would suddenly start to develop feelings for me years later when I grew my hair out, lost some weight and played basketball in a saree was extremely exciting. After a few years of shooting hoops, it didn’t take me long to realize that wasn’t happening. You’ve Got Mail offered hope of a promising fairytale romance which began after meeting a faceless stranger in an internet chat room. Thereafter began my brief and dangerous love affair with virtual chat rooms. I had my share of terrible experiences and realized that in the online world everything wasn’t as perfect or safe as the movies portrayed. As an adult, when I watch my nieces online, I feel a protective urgency come over me.

I slowly began to lose hope of finding my Prince Charming when one day I watched Dil to Pagal Hai. It suddenly all became crystal clear to me. Learning how to dance would lead me to the love of my life. I had to become just like Madhuri Dixit. A famous Kathak teacher was coming to Southern California for two months and taking her class was my only hope. I begged and pleaded with my parents. My dad made a few ill-timed jokes about California being earthquake prone and my mother politely suggested alternate hobbies that did not require much grace or rhythm. But they finally gave in to my childish whims and soon I was practicing tapping my feet to “tha thayi thayi” and undulating hand movements.

I observed in dismay that the Kathak classes were going too slow and I wondered if all this foot-tapping would break into a full-fledged dance any time soon. I figured I would have to be dancing to a song and not just these random beats in order for the love story to proceed smoothly. Nothing of the sort happened of course and the lessons were aborted within six months. I was left dolefully massaging the blisters on my soles.

After watching Maine Pyar Kiya, I turned to my amused parents and asked them if we had family friends that I could visit for a vacation in India. They did! And they even had a son. But as luck would have it, before my flight even took off, their beloved son had announced that he was in love with the girl next door and by then I wasn’t into love triangles any more. So I spent my vacation falling in love….with India and its people.

Recently, Hollywood, after years of criticizing the blatant escapism showcased by the Hindi film industry, finally caved and embraced the rags-to-riches, love story of Slumdog Millionaire. While controversies over the depiction of poverty in Slumdog continue, as an American, I was more taken by the moving story which spans several years and brings us a saga where tragedy, separation, loss and hardship, are all conquered by the one relentless pursuit of love. In India, love trumps all and I felt like this film captured that spirit.

I find consolation in knowing that I wasn’t alone in my filmi craze. Cousins, friends and siblings were also influenced by the love stories in the popular movies of the time. Unrealistic expectations and dreamy romantic ideas had infiltrated their minds as well. They too have sung in the shower, practiced pick up lines in front of a mirror and danced around the room in a towel like Kajol. I remember watching as my cousins practiced the famous pose of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, standing on the edge of a balcony above a sea of busy city traffic amidst the beautiful symphony of random honks. Much to my delight, on one trip to India, I helped a cousin plan many a secret rendezvous with her lover. Objections of their being together by their parents didn’t stop them from eventually eloping. The rage and tragic aftermath they faced from their families caused them much grief but their ambitious first steps together set off a trend in the family. Five other elopements followed in quick succesion within the next three years. Inter-cultural, inter-religious and inter-racial marriages were becoming more common. Old barriers fell away over the years. Thanks to inspiration from the popular films of the time, stale prejudices began to dissolve, bringing together soul mates across these divisive lines.

So all in all, these filmi influences have had the power to unite, bring positive change and offer hope to all of us who wait patiently to find that one true love. In addition to the cute, comic and sometimes foolish things that films have inspired all of us to do without their influence, life, both in love and looking for love, would not be as much fun.

Poem: Nightingale of Pukhtoonwala (Rehman Baba)

Kashkin — Fri, 6 Mar 2009 07:08:13 EST

Here he rests
The old nightingale
In its peace and grave,
From the descendants
Of an old tribe and its code
The old settlers, at the outskirts
Through years of travel
The poet, in mausoleum of words

The old Pushtu poet
Carried in his words,
The echoes of peace and music
The Old Sufi
Carried in his soul,
The echoes of unity and humility
From the old rivers to its tribes
The imagination that were to capture
For centuries across the time
The old love affair,
With land and its descendants
Now lies in ruins, his words,
The resting place, in holes

Call they themselves
The proponents of change
By destruction and rope,
By death and by smoke
The old echoes still there,
In those fallen grounds
Live I not in the mausoleum
But in those hearts
Of millions that came,
And millions that are now
Never will you succeed,
I am them and they are me,
Bounded by the music
And the legends of this place
Mountains are my witness
And my words, the echo
Of distant past and now yours,

What is it you gained, if gain it is you say,
Maimed you have the old past and its land
The brutality of invaders to the heart that is stone
Inside you, as you have killed yourself
Worry not for me, but for the future ahead
I will always be there in my words
See you must with your own soul
Those moments of peace
As I hear your footsteps in my awake
I am already dead, what more can you do
Killed you have yourself, as I cry for you
In my words, in my land, of distant times
Now the playground, for devil to claim
The imaginary stakes and the real crimes
Remember, it's in you, the old music
Claim it, the nightingales of time!

Gandhi Auction : Vijay Mallya Wins Auction, To Donate to India - Misplaced Priorities?

Amodini Sharma — Thu, 5 Mar 2009 21:10:06 EST

It is indeed the week for stupidity. I refer of course to the efforts by the Government of India to save its “national heritage”. By “national heritage” I do not mean the beautiful, ancient buildings that lie neglected (the last time I visited the Taj Mahal, there were honeycombs on the high ceilings of the entrances – I am not sure if it has been cleaned up), or by the polluted river Ganges, or by the myriad number of things that stand out as being part of India’s national heritage. No, what they mean when they say “National heritage” are MK Gandhi’s possessions which were to be auctioned off.

I am not a great fan of Gandhiji’s beliefs, but I do know that the man stood for simplicity. Gandhi is no longer alive, but he is still alive among us, say many. Gandhi’s legacy is his high thinking; it is not material. The man preached and stood for basic human decency, the ability of each person to be good and to do good. For a man such as him, one of spartan habits, with not much desire of material possessions, would he care for the Government’s efforts? Would he even put his possessions ahead of the people ? Would he actually say – go save my glasses, my sandals, and let rot the real heritage of India – it’s people? I believe that the Government is missing the point.

But they went ahead full steam, missing the point as best as they could. As the “Times Now” channel so succinctly summed up, the GOI had a Game plan, and it was as follows :

- Buy items through direct bidding by the GOI
- Appeal to rich NRIs/American-Indians to buy and donate the items to India
- Negotiate/stop auction

The Government would have bid for the items, if all else failed.

Union Minister for Tourism and Culture Ambika Soni has told NDTV that the Indian government will do everything possible to ensure that Mahatma Gandhi's belongings are brought back to India with or without auction.

She said that Prime Minister Manmohan Singh has, in fact, authorised the government to bid for the items if all other efforts fail.

Wow ! As much as I respect Gandhi, I cannot see how the Indian Government could have thought of using up the Indian tax-payer’s money to buy up these items. Yes, you can get these effects and put them in a Museum where someone will, for a fee, be able to view them. But ask a villager, or a slum-dweller if they’d rather have a pucca house instead, and you’ll see. Ask women who have no access to toilets or basic sanitation if they’d rather have sanitary toilets instead of the ability to view Gandhi’s effects, and see what they say. Or why even go to the villages – ask a city-dweller if they’d rather have better roads, and electricity without load-shedding, than the ability to view Gandhiji’s effects – and you’ll see what I mean. Ask them if they would rather have public servants who treated them like human beings (as Gandhi insisted we all do), rather than the pompous, self-important bureacrats that now rule over India, and you’ll know.

The poor and the backward classes were a great concern of Gandhi’s – he called them Harijan. The GOI is effectively ignoring these very important people in it’s over-riding desire to save Gandhi’s possessions. And look at present day India – is it Gandhian in any sense of the word ? From men who attack women on the roads, and get away with it, in connivance with the police, to the everyday rampant corruption, to the rude, aggressive nature of people who share the same space as you – is it even remotely Gandhian? Is it?

The GOI’s frantic efforts to save India’s “precious national heritage” is not only a prime case of mis-placed priorities – it is also supremely ironical. I would laugh if I were not already so pissed off. When did the GOI last get in such a tizzy over the common-man’s priorities ? Yup – you may not have bijli-pani or sadak, you may not have a functioning judicial system (a backlog of cases which will take several hundred years to clear), or governing bodies who care, but what you do have is India’s pride – Gandhi’s glasses and chappals. Savor them and fill your stomachs.

Does the Government have nothing better to do, or is it so rolling in money that it fails to find better use of India’s limited resources? James Otis, the owner of these articles, seemed to have a better idea than the GOI:

On Monday, Otis had said that he was ready to give the precious articles to the Indian government for "free" if it decided to spend five per cent of its GDP on the poor.

Common sense from somebody at least. Or a slap on the face of the GOI. But apparently this remark of Otis’s didn’t wake it up to the fact that Gandhi’s few material possessions are meaningless when compared to the Gandhian principles – principles which are neither followed, nor observed. What the GOI and it’s bureaucrats do is pay lip-service (and hearing corrupt politicians mouthing empty Gandhisms is making my skin crawl) and now some big moolah to it. Wearing the Gandhi topi, or the Nehru jacket, or saving these “prized” possessions from going outside India, is not saving the “national heritage” in any way. If Gandhi is watching us from somewhere above, I am sure he’s wringing his hands in sheer disbelief.

<b>Update:</b> The items went under the hammer despite earlier indications they would not. The auction was won by Dr. Vijay Mallya for $1.8 million, who plans to donate them to the Government.

Fiction: Burn After Viewing (NSFW)

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 13:01:05 EST

====WARNING: NSFW====

The fan made an irritating clucking noise and rotated above the Kalyan Sabha's chief ominously. The fan had been threatening decapitation since the socialist era but the head of the Sabha, Prakash, liked to live dangerously. Everything around him was perched precariously - the journals, the photos of his wife and kids but what were stacked neatly were pictures of semi nude and nude blondes in his mahogany desk drawer. He had cataloged them by year and by the time he masturbated to them in his office. He, after all, liked to live dangerously.

Dangerously enough to masturbate in his office but not stupid enough to have a whore give him a blow job while he fondled her teen boobs and stared hard at Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch bikini. He had an image to maintain. He was the white kurta guy and those in white kurtas never squirted on prostitutes and definitely not on their all male office staff in their not-so-Oval offices. He snickered at his own joke and fingered the key that was safely tucked in his kurta pocket.

Santosh Shrivastav was due any minute but he wanted to see his dolls one last time. He smacked his lips and felt a slight rise in his shriveled penis. Wait for Santosh or take a peek? It was post lunch time and the chaprasi was asleep and the other workers were snoozing in cool rooms in the arms of their paid by the hour beloveds. And he was bored.

He opened the drawer with one hand and held his tool with the other. Just one look. His index finger began to leaf through the stacked pictures. He knew them by heart - blond with small nipples, blond with big nipples, blond with three breasts, blond on blond, horse on blond and ah! his favorite Asian man on blond woman.

He pulled the picture out and smiled. The boy in his pajama smiled as well. He caressed his dong but the knock on the door snatched him back from the exquisite blond in a motel room to his shabby Sabha office.

"Choot!" he muttered, shoved the picture in the drawer, removed his inappropriately placed hand, tied the nala and turned the key on the drawer.

"Come!" he barked at the door. Stupid Shrivastav came at exactly three in the afternoon. Who comes on time? Only morons, he muttered to himself and grabbed one of the journals.

Shrivastav let himself in tentatively. For a man of his sizable girth, he walked lightly with a delicate elephantine gait. Rumor was he was somewhat gay. Unmarried and a bit of a loner. To put it bluntly, macho men made him nervous and he never showed interest in women.

Prakash didn't like him but he seemed to be the most cultured in his coterie of crass well-meaning bumbling workers. He was the only one who had his finger on the pulse of the urban middle class youth. Pansy Shrivastav was right for the job.

Shrivastav fidgeted on the hard wooden chair and his trouser-covered bums itched due to the holes in the woven strings of the chair's seat. Prakash sir seemed to be busy writing. Shrivastav clutched his file close to his chest. He reminded himself for the tenth time not to fold the file. It held important photographs.

Prakash finally emerged from his supposed work and eyed Shrivastav with a lofty eye.

"Yes, Shrivastavji, what do you have for me?" he asked

"Sir! The women have gone wild." He cleared his throat and nearly rolled the file. He took his white perfumed handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his sweaty forehead. They have started a Kali Sena drive against our Kalyan Sabha and here is a picture they have put up to symbolize their fight."

"What is this?" Prakash gasped. "Is that a woman? Is she showing her buttocks?" His tone went up a couple of octaves and Shrivastav felt like a mouse in a lion's den

"Sir---" he tried to speak up but was interrupted by Prakash

"And where is Kali? This thing looks familiar. Where have I seen it before?"

"Sir, I don't know but it gets even worse. They took out another picture making fun of our demand that women stop wearing trousers."

A grim Prakash reached over and stared at the picture.

"Female Ninjas? Is this how they are planning to fight our soldiers on the road? See!" Prakash thrust a stubby index finger against the picture and pinned it against his mahogany table "See! they call themselves the sluttiest Ninjas! We were right! These women need to be taught a lesson."

Shrivastav cleared his throat " Sir, this one is worrisome."

Prakash crossed his arms against his chest and rocked his chair. Sweat dotted Shrivastav's forehead again. It was getting hot in his boss's office.

"The next one they sent to our office." He held the picture close to his chest and his upper lip quivered.

"Show me" Prakash muttered.

Shrivastav's adam apple bobbed.

"Show me!" Prakash barked and Shrivastav handed him the picture.

Prakash stood up abruptly and his chair fell. The sound of metal thumping against the floor made Shrivastav jump and he delicately eased back in his chair while his chief began to stalk the office. Shrivastav's head sank into his chest. It was getting from bad to worse and it wasn't even his fault.

Prakash thundered. "They are telling us they will ambush us with assault rifles. Get in touch with the Home minister and tell him that these renegade women are threatening bodily harm and have AK-47s. Call them now!!"

Shrivastav seemed to fold over his chair. Prakash turned and looked at his quaking worker "What?! Didn't you hear me?"

"Sir! There is more!"

Prakash walked over to Shrivastav. "How many more?!"

Shrivastav whispered. "Only one sir." He kept his head down and handed over the last picture

Silence prevailed as Prakash stared at the picture. Shrivastav croaked "There was a letter with it. It said - we know about Pamela and others."

"Out!"

Shrivastav jumped up and ran for the door. He wanted out. As he opened the door he heard his boss speak to him for the last time for the day.

"No one is to know, Shrivastav. I will have your balls if this gets out!"

He paused, handing back the first three pictures and saying, "Burn these ones."

Shivastav nodded and left the room with a quiet click.

Prakash straightened his chair and sat down. For once, Pam didn't do anything for him.

Godhra-Gujarat Seven Years Later

Vivek Bharat — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 11:12:08 EST

The English language media in India has never attempted to sincerely fulfill its duty as the standard bearer of free speech in a democracy. Its reluctance to provide a platform for a differing view at odds with its own preset agenda which reeks of bigotry at times is obvious when it pertains to Hindutva. A perusal of English newspapers in India leaves one with the impression that what happened in Gujarat in 2002 was a one-sided massacre of Muslims by Hindus; a hyperbole promoted by selective reporting and bolstered by biased opinion rants. With the 2009 Lok Sabha elections around the corner, there appears to be a subtle attempt to resurrect this disinformation campaign through a rash of articles that recall the horror of Gujarat 2002 through a skewed lens.

Whenever the phrase ‘the victims of Gujarat 2002’ is mentioned in English language newspapers, it invariably refers to the 790 Muslim victims of the Hindu-Muslim riots that ravaged Gujarat in 2002. Forgotten are the 254 Hindu casualties that occurred during the same fracas. Forgotten are the 59 Hindu men, women and children who were roasted alive at the Godhra station on February 27, 2002 in an act of heinous sectarianism that sets a diabolical standard.

Before I proceed further let me make one thing clear. I condemn unequivocally both the Godhra incident as well as the riots that followed. No modern society can tolerate such a display of barbarism and still call itself civilized. My gripe is not with highlighting the plight of the Muslim victims; every act of injustice regardless of the religion or creed of the victim needs reparation. I am concerned with the double standards that our Indian society espouses .The Muslim victims of the Gujarat riots have endless number of proponents each weaving story after story vastly exaggerated for sensational effect that fill volumes of newsprint and occupy endless hours of television time. In contrast the Hindu victims have few advocates and even these scarce voices continue to be stifled by the English language media in India which denies them a just platform for their grievances. I feel compelled to raise my voice to inject a sense of balance in this uneven playing field.

There are some points that I wish to reiterate about the Gujarat riots:

1) Godhra was a deliberate act of evil that was meant to provoke. It did. Without Godhra there would never have been a Gujarat 2002.Whether the Hindus should have exhibited a greater degree of restraint or not is certainly debatable. I would have preferred a massive non-violent protest. However it does not alter the irrevocable fact that Godhra was categorically the epicenter of the communal earthquake that rocked Gujarat.

2) This was not a pogrom by any stretch of imagination. Focus on the death ratio of 790 Muslims to 254 Hindus: it sounds like a riot with sizable casualties on both sides. To comprehend the meaning of a pogrom one needs to scrutinize the death toll in the anti-Sikh riots of 1984: greater than 3000 Sikh deaths to zero Hindus. This fellow countrymen is a pogrom orchestrated by the so-called secular Congress party.

3) Anti-Hindu violence during the Gujarat riots was not only widespread but ugly as well. Hindus too were also the victims of police inaction. I quote not from any parochial source but from a report by the Human Rights Watch.

a) “Hindus have also suffered greatly from the violence in Gujarat. In addition to the fifty-eight people killed during the torching of the Sabarmati Express in Godhra on February 27, 2002, over ten thousand Hindus have also been made homeless as a result of post-Godhra violence……”
….Sanjay Pandey, "Riots hit all classes, people of all faith," Times of India, March 18, 2002

b) “In Ahmedabad, violence broke out on March 17 when Dalits in the Danilimda area were attacked by Muslims. On March 19, it was Modasa, a town in Sabarkantha district. A police officer's son was stabbed and two communities went berserk.... The stories only got more macabre. In Himmatnagar, a young man who went to a Muslim-dominated area to do business was found dead, with his eyes gouged out. In Bharuch, the murder of a Muslim youth led to mass violence. Next the Sindhi Market and Bhanderi Pole areas of Ahmedabad, hitherto calm, were attacked by mobs. This phase, really, was one of Muslim mobs attacking Hindus.”
Udhay Mahurkar, "Gujarat: End of Hope," India Today, April 15, 2002

c) “A resident named Harki Bhen added: Kerosene bottles were thrown in through the roof. They threw it through the windows and the openings in the walls. We called the police thousands of times but they told us, "Sir is out". In the morning the mosques began announcing that Islam was in danger, that there was poison in the milk. This is their code word. We are the only Hindus here, poison here means us. The rioting lasted between 2:15 p.m. and 5:30 p.m.”
Human Rights Watch interview, Harki Bhen, Ahmedabad, March 23, 2002

d) “Human Rights Watch visited Mahajan No Vando, a fortified Hindu residential area situated within the Muslim dominated area of Jamalpur, on March 23. Mahajan No Vando was the site of a retaliatory attack by Muslims on March 1.
According to residents, approximately twenty-five people were injured in the attacks and at least five homes were completely destroyed. Residents closer to the periphery of the fortified compound and its entrance also suffered extensive property damage. Muslim residents attacked the compound from the higher Muslim-owned buildings that surrounded it using light bulbs filled with acid, petrol and crude bombs, and bottles filled with kerosene and set some Hindu-owned houses on fire. According to the residents, who had collected and saved the remnants of what was thrown in and showed them to Human Rights Watch, "There was acid in the glass bottles and in the light bulbs that were thrown in. They used solvent petrol, kerosene, and acid. They filled some Pepsi bottles with them."
Human Rights Watch interviews, Mahajan No Vando residents, Ahmedabad, March 23, 2002

With accusations and counter accusations swirling in the air in the aftermath of the riots, it was essential to have an enquiry commission that would clear the air and ascertain the truth. The Nanavati Commission was constituted on March 6, 2002 by a decree in accordance with the Constitution and submitted its report in September 2008 after painstakingly interviewing 1106 witnesses and examining 46000 affidavits. The commission was chaired by GT Nanavati, a retired Supreme Court Judge with stellar credentials and unquestionable integrity. Moreover Nanavati’s track record as an investigator par excellence was supported by his successful one-man enquiry commission into the anti-Sikh riots that brought many a guilty to book

The Nanavati Commission made two important observations:

1) That the fire in coach S-6 of the Sabarmati Express at the Godhra railway station on February 27, 2002, was a “pre-planned conspiracy” of the local Muslims.

2) The report stated: “There is absolutely no evidence to show that the chief minister, his council of ministers or the police officers had played any role in the Godhra incident or that there was any lapse on their part in the matter of providing protection, relief and rehabilitation to the victims of communal riots.”

Certain sections of our media have tried to underplay the conclusions of the Nanavati Commission by invoking the assertions of the Banerjee committee. However, the Banerjee Commission sanctioned by Lallu Prasad Yadav in 2004 stands disqualified as a legitimate vehicle, being debarred by the Gujarat High Court which deemed it as ‘unconstitutional, illegal and null and void’. Additionally, the haste with which this commission submitted its interim report, within 4 months of its inception, raises serious questions about its depth and accuracy

There have been other self styled impromptu ‘tribunals’ orchestrated by private organizations with a preset agenda. These carry no legal brief, only murky the situation further and have no place in a functioning democracy. They cannot be taken seriously.

Effectively, to date, the Nanavati Commission remains the only valid commission of enquiry into this matter. A judicial enquiry commission headed by a Supreme Court Judge represents a powerful and impartial instrument of a democratic process. To negate the findings of one is to question the very basic tenets of our democracy.

When we accept the culpability of Jagdish Tytler emanating from the previous Nanavati commission and indemnify the criminality of Madhukar Sarpotdar on the basis of the Srikrishna Commission, why is it that certain sections of our society balk at the exoneration of Modi by the present Nanavati report?

This smacks of double standards. Findings must be respected even if we do not agree with them: for that is the basis of a mature democracy.

Ref:
Human Rights Watch Report, April 2002.

India's Post-Independence Fight For Freedom

Aditi Nadkarni — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 00:55:37 EST

Let me cut right to the chase here. This is unacceptable. Let me say it again for emphasis. It is not just bothersome or even upsetting. It is unacceptable. In the 21st century, in a democratic, secular nation, what has been going on, festering like a recurrent lesion, sprouting in every part of India, is just, simply unacceptable and will not do.

In case you are wondering who it is that's going to stand up to it: we are. We will not allow our freedom to be violated and we will make sure we protect the independence we fought long and hard to get the first time around. We have come a long way. We have seen the change and been the change. So who better than our pioneering, hot-blooded breed to stand up to the revolting and shockingly regressive acts of a few who feel threatened by progress.

They are just acting out of fear. It is obvious, isn't it? They attack in packs, afraid to be the lone ones incriminated. They target women and assault safely from behind the vague curtains of culture. But we all know that it isn't their culture that is in grave danger. Their position, their power and the extent of their bullying is in great peril. The places where they once ruled the roost are now turning into big, bustling cities making them feel like small, insignificant fish in a big sea.

Institutions and companies have transported the educated, smart crowd into the vacuum in which these bullies once enjoyed unfettered omnipotence. Now, in place of the void, there is a young, vivacious bunch of professionals, men and women who work hard and party hard and do so shoulder to shoulder. These people are harder to manipulate. This crowd has not just taken over, they threaten to pull into their growing ilk, the younger ones too. Business are bending over backwards to accommodate the needs of this new species and everything that once belonged to the bullies is now up for grabs. So they are retaliating. They are like petulant little children who couldn't have all that they demanded, hated sharing and so now are acting up. Therefore it is up to us, the educated class to teach these spoiled little brats to grow up and stop reacting so bizarrely to change. We must do it in a manner that is as different from theirs as is humanly possible.

So now comes the big question: how do we do it? How do we make our presence known? The answer may seem too simplistic because it sits smack in front of our faces. Think about it: we travel through these cities like one stream of blood, flowing steadily, keeping the city alive, stuffed in trains, piled into buses, walking along the teeming streets. Even partying and a trip to the movie theater is all the more fun with a group. We work in teams and are all the more effective for that. We discuss films, fashion, clothes, the economy, the job market and even our health problems. Yet this fear of walking out on the streets of a free country seems like a personal problem, like we were alone in that walk, like when a bully arrived with his little gang and punched us in the face, we would be all by ourselves and the world around us would just suddenly go blind. What we forget is that in this lonely fear too, we are still together. In this anger against the unfairness of the situation, we are together. We can if we decided, be together in the one resolute determination of not letting a handful of insecure men undo all that we have put into making our cities. So the answer is simple. Whatever it is we do, we do it together.

We celebrated Valentine's Day battling fear and took the threats in our stride defanging the demons with the pink disarming humor of our proud underwear. With the International Women's Day approaching, it is time to get serious. In our busy, routine lives we have underestimated the power of silent, non-violent protests. All it takes is for people to stand at a side-walk with banners to get word around. Some major struggles were won with this strategy and somewhere along the line we just shrugged and rolled our eyes at the quiet potential of public demonstrations and satyagrahas. Maybe we started taking our precious freedom for granted and needed to be reminded that we simply cannot. We have to earn it and when someone tries to snatch it, we fight for it.

It is important, I feel, in today's world to use media smartly. Instead of constantly criticizing media's inadequacies, we could use it as a tool. Find a niche and throw yourself into the swift current of this ever growing medium. Find a female leader in your area who is looking to make an arrival on the political scene. Do a little research. If one political party is making your life difficult for wearing jeans and celebrating Valentine's Day and there damn well must be another party that will fight for your votes, or can be persuaded to do so.

Find a celebrity who is willing to make your cause their own or give your movement their support and voice. Find a television network, a newspaper or a magazine that will run your story and provide your opinions with a voice. Find an artist who will put your thoughts into a slogan or a creative, riveting poster. Write to your city officials, your ministers and drown their offices in letters of your indignant protest. Just remember that one or two voices are easy to be ignored. If you are fuming over a coffee mug at your kitchen table, take that rage to a medium that will express it in the most noticeable manner possible.

Haven't we whined about a dysfunctional system for too long? When has this "system" ever worked? Maybe we just don't realize that we are one of the appendages of this faulty system. If the system is not working, we, as a group could propel in into motion. What will it take for us to get off our bums and make a placard with a strong message on it? This is not a women's liberation movement at all. Genders cannot be fighting alone in a battle such as this one. It could be your sister wearing jeans, coming home from work. It could be your teenage daughter walking back from school or college, the neighborhood aunty who brought you food when you were sick, a dear friend or your colleague. Most importantly, it is them today and it could be you next.

Let us review what the odds are of your being targeted next. You have a very high chance of being next on the hit-list if you answer 'Yes' for any of the following questions. Are you considered an "outsider" in Bangalore or a non-Maharashtrian in Maharashtra? Do you party? Do you meet up with friends at pubs? Do you wear jeans or clothing that may not be considered "Indian"? Do you eat pizza or meat? Do you drink alcoholic beverages? Does your religious persuasion always match that of the political party currently raging a mini-war in the nation you know of as secular? Do you send children to convent or English medium schools? Do you have a spouse of a different religious persuasion than yours? Do you have friends of the opposite sex? Are you married to the girl you are driving home from work or who you happen to be having dinner with? Are you non-conversant in Marathi in Mumbai or in Kannada in Bangalore? Are you a blogger or a journalist who expresses their opinions about politics, culture, media and religion? In spite of your qualifications and the six figure salary, do you have no clout with the local law enforcement or political activists? Before you fall asleep at night you should take a moment to wonder which one of these labels will be tagged onto your identity and turned into a vice or a disqualification; which one of these labels will plant nagging fear into your routine as you go about working to make a living, partying to rid your stress and walking on the streets of a country whose freedom you celebrate once a year on a public holiday. India did fight a freedom struggle years ago and it is high time that yet another quest for independence begins.

As a civilized society, we must remember that curbed freedom is a disease, an epidemic that does not spare a gender or a certain religion. It has uprooted saplings of modern, free thinking from Afghanistan and left it barren under the regime of the Taliban school of thought. This disease feeds on your fear and on the social inertia that has settled over our generation. An active, proud and independent public cannot let this inertia set in. Let it be known that this disease feeds most of all on the little disabling voice in your head which tells you that this is not your struggle, that it isn't your battle to fight. Sadly, this malady spreads, swallowing in its wake our hard-earned progress, until the feeble voice in your head is one day replaced with the grim realization that your own struggle has arrived. The assailant and his prejudice have changed form and you are the next prey. And there is nobody left to fight for you or with you.

Women Assaulted In Bangalore For Wearing Jeans

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 08:40:01 EST

Miscreants are targeting women in jeans in Bangalore. Hard to believe, isn't it?
The women were hounded, assaulted and threatened for being in 'Western attire'. What is happening in Bangalore? After being perceptually on my guard in Delhi- a city best known for its crimes against women I find Bangalore too heading down the same dangerous route.

A few weeks ago a group of women and men had been badly injured by a group of thugs at a pub and the night shift police allegedly tried to hush the matter up. The incident made news and then the matter easily slipped the mind of laidback Bangaloreans.

But the bully is still out there trying its best to subjugate the Bangalore spirit of -live and let live.

Is it time we civilians began to bear arms? The gun culture has never been part of the urban Indian society but more and more people are now wondering how they can best protect themselves against these miscreants.

Those against the gun culture are quick to say that more accidents and crimes of passion are caused by gun possession than actual self defense but I ask how do we protect ourselves when these thugs ambush us and even if they are caught the law enforcement watches from the sidelines and worse still turns on us?

Two out of the three victims of these hate crimes have registered complaints against the men who assaulted them. The police should take caricatures of the thugs out in public, our chief minister (highly unlikely) should offer harsh condemnation of the acts and we women should have some form of protest put up as quickly as possible against this sort of bullying by impotent thugs.

Here are a couple of safety tips that women should follow:
• Do not roll down your car window even if someone asks for direction.
• Always keep your car doors locked.
• Always keep your cell phone charged.
• If you are being chased while in a car try to remain in a crowded area and keep a look out for police.
• Avoid lonely roads and parking lots, listen to your instincts.
• If someone grabs you scream your head off
• Try getting a pepper spray
• Learn basic self defense techniques
• Always be aggressive. Bullies generally lay off bullies. A vulnerable looking woman is an easy prey.

These thugs are obviously individuals who have taken inspiration from the Mangalore goings-on. This has nothing to do with religion but a nasty chauvinistic mind set that is intimidated by emancipated women. This is not the time to give in to cynicism or indifference. We have to voice our protest.

The power of public outrage is the best defense against hooliganism. Speak up and be heard!

What Does Slumdog Do For The Real Slumdogs In Dharavi

Vijay Sappani — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 06:06:53 EST

I liked it, in fact I loved it. Slumdog Millionaire is a true adaptation of reality in the slums of Dharavi, one of the biggest slums in the world, in a city that houses some of the richest billionaires in the world too. The movie won 8 Oscars, made millions in revenue and opened to the eyes of the world to reality of life in a slum. What's next ?

Here is a video of a real kid from a slum in India showing his linguistic skills and here is in his teenage years, still doing the same thing. (HT - Currybear.com). This is reality for the children and very little change comes to them.

Politicians have come forward to rehouse the two children who still live in the slum to a housing colony, but nothing has been said or done about those thousands who still languish in the slum, not complaining but cheering for the success of Slum dog.

I was in India last December working with children in slum schools, part of my decade long initiative on right to basic education through my organization Asha for Education. In my experience, I have seen movies, actors, politicians come and go, but little has changed for the lives of the children in these slums from these people. About 65 millions Indians live in slums, almost a quarter of the urban population and more than one third of Mumbai residents live in slums. Now don't get me wrong, some of these slums have electricity, running water, TV's and even a few have computer centers. That is not the norm but the exception.

Its an irony that on the day of Slumdog winning 8 Oscars, India announced its next ambitious space project to send a manned mission in 2015 at a cost of $2.5 billion, a pittance to its growing wealth. It is great that India is doing it. while it is important that India grows in stride by sending satellites to Moon and Mars, it is also important to send their children to school, give them a chance to get a decent education so that the next generation at least does not have to languish in the slums. India's growth and prosperity will not come just with technological advancements, but its abilities to use them to bring people out of poverty and improve the quality of life for the millions who still in unacceptable conditions. It is important that the Indian diaspora, that is among the wealthiest and influential in the world, should hold India accountable for and contribute towards it through non governmental agencies.

These children don't need money, they need an opportunity for education to compete in the real world. They need skills that can get them a decent job. They don't need any one's sympathy, they just need a fair chance
and I think it is fair to say, we can do it!