NORTH-EAST: Music gone sour

Did it require an exodus of 10,000 plus from Bangalore to highlight the problems of the North East? Did it require the beating up of a group of N.E. students in Poona to merit a discussion on TV? Did it require the escape of 6,000 from Hyderabad to tell us that there is a region in the north east that is part of India, and that its citizens are Indians too? And did it require an orgy of violence on Sunday in Bombay to drive home the point just how badly we have consistently neglected our north eastern states? Were we bothered about the north east when the region was reeling under a 100-day blockade that drove the price of petrol to Rs. 200/- a litre, and the price of a gas cylinder to Rs. 2,000/-. And this was just last year! Are these citizens discriminated against? Yes, hopelessly so. The answer indeed is a sad YES.

Those from the North East who live and work in ‘mainstream’ India have to bear the taunts of Chinky Chinky Chinese. None occupies a pride of place in industry; none is a prominent lawyer; none, a prominent CA. And with the sole exception of Panjor on CNN-IBN there is none from N.E. India on national TV. (By contrast, the BBC has newsreaders from almost every ethnic group). India Tourism has almost completely ignored this beautiful region from its adverts. Even our dear ManMohan Singh seems to have forgotten that he became PM from Assam!

The only Indians who know just how gentle, and how talented, these people are, are those in government – either in the civil services or the armed forces. Truly deplorable that it needed violence, and Mary Kom, to tell us ‘mainstream’ Indians that there is a very beautiful region with very beautiful people in the North East – and that they are Indians.

VIGNETTES OF TURKEY - TONGUE-IN-CHEEK

Vignettes of Turkey – Tongue-in-cheek

I landed in Bombay in the early hours of an October morning last year, back home from a 16-day 3,500-km long tour of the Western half of Turkey. I came back suffering acutely from culture-shock, and relieved that I was an Indian. Let me explain.

On landing in Istanbul I was struck by the absolute – not relative, but absolute – cleanliness on the streets. Not a piece of litter, not a scrap of paper, and certainly no pan-stains. And this was not just on the broad spaces and wide roads outside the airport, but right upto the Sultanahmet district where I was put up. My shock worsened when I saw the same fetish for cleanliness as I rode through the small towns of Turkey – Kanakalle, Kusadasi, Marmaris, Fetheye . . . Strange, I thought, these guys don’t seem to have anything to do but to keep their surroundings clean!

Next, the silence – long spells of eerie, nerve-wracking silence. No honking on the streets, and if there was someone in the way a very gentle toot sufficed. Even ordinary conversation seemed muted. Yes, the vendors in the Spice Market and the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul did shout, but almost apologetically so.

And then the historical monuments – the amphitheatre, the temples - beautifully preserved and painstakingly restored from centuries B.C. All without a Rajesh etching in stone for posterity his immortal love for a Smita.

All this left me a nervous wreck! I just could not take in the restraint and the restrictions!

And then I pondered. How lucky was I to be in free, democratic India – where I can exercise my fundamental right of freedom of expression. Freedom to litter, freedom to spit, even to piss where I pleased. Freedom to shout and swear and scream, and to make money through corrupt practices.

And the taxi driver who drove me home from the airport yesterday morning epitomised that freedom. I saw his spirits soar as he broke every traffic rule, ran through every traffic light, swore as his taxi ran into potholes left by the BMC as if to remind us of Their existence, left his signature of pan-masala spittle on the road, and honked furiously at invisible pedestrians in his way. And as I inhaled in lungfuls the lovely, sweet stench of Mahim Creek and saw the mountains of garbage all around, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was home.

ASSAM VIOLENCE IN SOUTH BOMBAY

I am agitated, and I must write this. I sensed that trouble was brewing as I drove to my office yesterday at about 2 in the afternoon. As I passed Churchgate station I saw several young men in groups of 4 to 7 walking purposefully towards New Marine Lines. What set this group apart was that they were wearing caps proclaiming their religious identity. This was distinctly odd in Churchgate, I thought to myself, where nobody really bothers about your ethnic, religious or linguistic background. Their body language and gestures as they talked told me that these fellows were in no way going for a peaceful prayer meeting. Little did I realize that they were on their way to Azad Maidan for their cocktail of arson and mayhem.  

This morning as I read the newspapers I was shocked and appalled at the senseless rioting that claimed 2 lives and crores in property-damage. The reason? These guys were protesting the killing of Muslims in Assam and Myanmar (Burma). The organisers? According to the TOI a dozen Sunni Muslim organisations, prominent among them being the Raza Academy.

I got nowhere in my quest to find some logic and reason behind this violence. In fact, I was flooded with more questions than answers that came from all corners of my mind. Why Myanmar, for instance? Why not Syria where Syria’s president Bashar al-Assad is trying to crush a 17-month old revolt against his rule, in which more than 18,000 people have been reportedly killed? Why no protests against the 846 killed in Egypt’s revolution? And why no protests against Tunisia where as many as 300 people have been killed and 700 injured during the month-long uprising in early 2011? And pray, why not against Libya where about 50,000 people were killed since the start of the uprising, according to Dawn of Pakistan? And why not against Pakistan where bombing Shias and Ahmedias has become a state-sanctioned pastime? Why were no protest marches launched against the embassies of these countries, particularly against Pakistan? Is it the contention of the Raza Academy that it’s OK for Muslims to kill Muslims?

And why no sympathy (this is the least that I expect) for the 250 Hindus seeking asylum in India following reports of forcible conversions? Are these guys trying to create a communal wedge, this time in Bombay? This was the one thought that came to me in the utter confusion following yesterday’s madness in my backyard.

The only voice of reason (Where are the others? Why are they silent?) that I read was that of Maulana Wahiduddin Khan in Mumbai Mirror. “A large number of Bengali Muslims migrated from Bangladesh and settled in the area. It is strange how the government failed to check this illegal migration. . . It is the Muslim tendency to maintain their cultural identity wherever they settle. I think this is not a correct practice. They do this in every country”, said he. These Raza guys will undoubtedly brand him a traitor. Instead of burning public property in Bombay, these guys would do well to go to the jungles of Assam and try to alleviate the suffering of their co-religionists. And never mind if they ignore the original locals who are equally affected, if not more. At least someone will be given succour.

If only the Raza Academy had sent sms’s to protest against corruption and other social ills and gathered in thousands as they did yesterday, they would have been part of the mainstream and of the nation-building process. Alas!

As for the police who were roundly thrashed by these miscreants, they have their images on camera – of a few of them at least. Why not chuck them into jail along with the ringleaders of this Academy and throw away the key? But I know this won’t happen. 2014 is not very far away.

The Red Light syndrome

I was a little disappointed, and a little sad, at reading the small pocket news item a few days ago in the Bombay edition of the DNA. It concerned the penalty of Rs. 3.75 lakhs slapped on Subodh Kumar, the previous Municipal Commissioner of the BMC by his successor and the present MC – for using a red light car 3 months after he retired. Mr. Kumar IAS was apparently an officer of high integrity, a quality that is in shorter supply than clean air in Bombay. Builders hated him, and tried their best to ease him out of that post. They could not because he had the full support of the CM himself. That itself is a sure indication that the man was incorruptible. And then he threw it all away by doing something absolutely silly! He got someone to give him a car with a beacon, 3 months into his retirement.

This is what bothers me. As a probationer at the Mussoorie Academy I looked upon with amazement and awe at the sight of the DC of Dehra Dun travelling in an entourage of 8 white Ambassadors, red lights flashing even at two in the afternoon. We who were strolling on the Mall were ushered to one side to see the Great Momo zip past us. The colonial masters left in 1947, only to be replaced by desi masters of a poorer quality. Subodh Kumar unfortunately, though of impeccable integrity as widely reported, did not forget similar incidents that he must have experienced in his long career in the IAS.

But why blame the babus alone for this? Some 20 years ago I was in HQ when we had appointed someone who is now a well-respected Senior Advocate in his early seventies to argue our case at the High Court. His condition: he must be driven to the High Court and back in the official car with the beacon flashing. At the behest of the Chief Commissioner I invited this advocate to have tea with the CC. When the CC called me to his room it was in time to see this advocate finish his tea and tell the CC fawningly with an embarrassingly false smile what a privilege it was to argue for the Government, and yes he would bill us the taxi fare!

A few years later I had a similar experience when I invited an HRD expert with a leading confectionary company to address our officers at the Training Division at Mahalaxmi. “Of course, you will send me the office car, wont you?” I sent him the diesel Matador van that should have been junked decades earlier. That was the last this expert and I saw of each other.

When I was posted at Ahmedabad a college friend who was settled there since long had a strange request to make. Could I join him and his family for ghar ka khana on a week day, he said with emphasis and finality? Sure, I said, would be delighted. “But just a small request please, if it’s not too much of a bother. Could you come in your office car, the one with the red light? And could you please pick me up from my office so that we could go together?” As we neared his house in a society at Satellite there was one more request. “Could you please ask the driver to switch on the siren?” Disappointment was writ large on my friend’s face when I told him that my car did not have a siren. The following day he called and in a state of excitement thanked me profusely. His stock had shot up by leaps and bounds in his housing society that evening!

So, I guess we all like our Red Light Areas.

VALUE OF HUMAN LIFE IN INDIA

Just what is the value of a human life in India? I seethe with silent helpless rage when I see on the news channels that a young newly born's life is snuffed out in Jallandhar. Why? Because the parents could not pay Rs. 200/- to the hospital to keep the baby on the incubator! The CM's reaction on TV? "Aise haadse toh hote rehte hain"! Incredible! Reminds one of R.R. Patil's famous line after 26/11 "Chhote mote banaav hote rehta hain".

A young under-aged spoilt brat slams at 80 kmph his father's Honda into an elderly Mr Maroo on his morning walk, hits a couple of policemen and rams into two taxies. What happens? He is out on bail - for Rs. 15,000/-. That's what Mr Maroo, an industrialist in Bombay, is worth.

And what about the families of our soldiers who died fighting the enemy - both within and on our borders? Has the government, or we, spared them a thought?

And the value of those who are victims of hit-and-run incidents, and those caught in the cross-fire of riots, and those who die of jaundice and dengue and malaria only because the municipalities cannot enforce cleanliness and hygiene? Ha ha, you guessed it. Rs. 0.00.

Are we living in a civilised society of Manoj Kumar's Mere Desh ki Dharti sona ugle ugle heere moti, or Naipaul's Area of Darkness?! I'd like to ask just one question to our freedom fighters? Can you honestly look into the mirror today, in 21st century India, and say "Our fight was worth it"?

Yes, friends, I am in a state of depression right now - but I know I will bounce back, because "Aise haadse toh hote rehte hain". In the meantime the words MERA BHARAT MAHAAN seem to be a very cruel joke.