Archive for the ‘Personal’ category

Desire to make a movie

May 7th, 2009


Desire to make a movie
Currently, I have this passion and intense desire to make a movie. Already, I have written a movie script of 7K words which Sandy was so kind to encourage so much. I mean, she went out of her way in encouraging me - that is incredible. Ppl go out of their ways in giving money and such, but to go out of one’s way in encouraging… I was touched by her gesture and did feel encouraged by her kind words. VT too was very encouraging, Sandy did not read the 2nd draft but VT did. And yet I remember Sandy as the more encouraging. Anyway, so like I think that it will be a great movie when it is made. And I certainly do hope that it is made. Nishant, Gaurav and Ankit did not cooperate - how I wish they had - they don’t know I had such a vision, such hope. Actually Gaurav and Ankit knew abt the hope part, as generally friends are able to, but they dodn’t know abt the vision that I had. I wrote the script back in November and we were to film in December but that didn’t happen! A few days back I re-read the script and saw such potential in it!

I saw Dil Dosti etc, and Oye Lucky Oye and was soooooo much more drawn into making a movie. That one scene in Oye Lucky Oye when Lucky stands by with his friends at the side of the road and the girl’s black car passes by - a song plays in the background - ‘woh raaja kii.. raajdulaari…’. That scene was cinema at his highest. That scene really was great cinema.

The camera moves subtly, and I think looks through the side window of the car, as Lucky is brought into the picture slowly - he stands by the road, spinning a key chain in his finger and his left elbow rests on the shoulder of his friend. Typical nonchalance and confidence of youth! He holds his own and looks confidently at the black car. Typical belief to be able to achieve anything in life! The girl comes out of the car along with other boys of her school, which is visibly an elite English medium school in the city. While Lucky is a local lad studying in a Hindi medium school and doing local awaaragardi as is typical of boys in the neighbourhood. The exchange of dialogue is a real delight as Lucky’s friend, Bangali explains that the car is fully automatic. Says, ‘aatomatic hai har cheez ka button hota hai isme - button dabaya aur sheesha - shuun (he moves hand forward) shaaa (moves it back to explain the smooth movement of the window), shuun shaaa’. When Lucky’s friend asks him if he could buy a car and make the girl sit along with him, he says confidently, ‘Why not!’

Several others scenes throughout the movie are filmed to perfection. This movie has everything right - everything. I so love this movie and feel deep love, fondness, affection, admiration and respect for the young bunch of guys who made this movie and so delighted in receiving small awards for the movie - like Best Dialogue and such - as they would jump up from their seats in euphoria when they probably would have known in their hearts that theirs was the best movie of the yr. Yes sir, it was. Mumbai Meri Jaan talked abt social issues as did A Wednesday, but they were not great cinema. Oye Lucky Oye was. And they gave the filmfare to Jodha Akbar - best movie - Christ!!

That is something that could buy you real happiness - to have created something great - say, a great movie. Other movies of the year were good like the twain that concerned terrorists attacks; they were important, yes,  but they were not great cinema. Oye Lucky Oye was!


Networking @ Zynga.com poker/facebook

April 7th, 2009

I have been playing poker of late at zynga.com (via acebook) and its

pretty cool. When we start we are given 2K, I reached a million but


now have 60K. That’s the way it goes. So long as you have money you


can make money. With luck, we usually proceed ahead making 25% of what


we already have or lose it. More exactly, we make what we have put on


the table multiplied by no. of ppl at the table. Poker is a very


exciting and popular game. Featured in many movies, noticeably in


Casino Royale. I learnt it by reading instructions. I am quite a pro


at the online version of the book. Half a million ppl from all over


the world play this game everyday at
zynga.com. There are various

casinos and in them many tables of differing minimun and maximum


buy-in money. Depending on what yu have and what yu wanna make, yu can


choose the table. It takes luck and courage to sometimes bluff.


Usually at poker a good player plays not just his hand but the hand of


the others as well at the table. That is to say he knows what they


have and the direction in which they will proceed. It is a game that


brings to the table luck, guile, audacity and bullheadedness to


sometimes bluff, and money. So its got all the features of a good


cards game.



Initially 2 cards are given to every player and there is a round of


betting. 5 cards in all open at the table as the game proceeds, and


thus out of the 7 cards, a hand of 5 cards has to be chosen. The


person with the best hand of 5 wins the pot. Good hands are straights,


triplets, etc.



I have met many ppl from various places at poker tables whom I buddied


at facebook. There is also a chat feature by the side of the table so


ppl at the table can also chat amongst each other so its all very


close to real. Sometimes ppl with less money ask for chips which are


given or not given by others. The money involved is fake but the


humiliation may be real. We can also buy smokes and drinks for ppl at


the table. And other gifts too. I met a lady by the name of Maria. A


greek woman of 28 yrs. I would buy her a red rose worth 5K $ (a lot of


money at poker) everyday, just a couple’a days back. Sometimes Indians


club together and chat in Hindi and ask their fellows to fold their


cards if they think they have the best hand, so that their fellows


don’t lose money. Ditto with other ppl. Conversations could be about


politics or just plain anything. Sometimes bullies try to find their


victims and use their command over the English language to ridicule.


Sometimes white ppl from the west frown down upon coloured ppl and


there is racial abuse. Often the two things combine.



Whenever I meet a Paki and we exchange, ‘we are yu frm?’, I say, ‘I’am


your frendly neighbour’. The reply is usually ‘oh’. A couple of times


I talked with them abt the 26/11 attacks. They said that the media nor


the ppl have believed that 26/11 had a Paki hand. There could be a


possibility, yes, but they won’t believe that they could have done it.


But on the contrary, I did happen to read some news at The Dawn and I


think there was admission.



Then notably, I happened to meet with an Arab female of 20 yrs whom I


befriended with my usual sickening overtures. Later at MSN messenger,


I talked with her on the two hottest topics in Middle East: religion,


Middle East politics. W.r.t. the israili-palistine issue, we agreed


with the most prevelant view that: Both parties are at fault. But


Israel has certainly sinned more. She also said that she thought Arabs


wouldn’t see fault with Palistinians probably because ‘they are


[themselves] Arabs’.



She was very liberal religiously. I said, carefully, ‘are you


religious?’ She replied, ‘I know I am a muslim, but am not that


religious.’ She then nonchalantly said that she does believe in the


Prophet but is not very religious. I think that’s as liberal as


Khushwant Singh’s liberal views on religion! She is a Jordanian and


lives in Amman. A big and important city in Jordan. Later I asked her


abt her and her friend’s attitude towards Saudi Arabia and its strict


restrictions. She said that all Arabs love each other and she too


loves them, although she is not very approving of their culture. She


is a 3rd yr student of Economics in the University of Jordan. She is


stunning.



Often there are all English or all Aussie or all Arab tables. Then


again, ppl meet from various places and the lingua franca is generally


English with the exception of ppl from the Mid East.


Sometimes ppl play quietly or abuse each other or laugh together or


sing together or talk abt the naunces of their different cultures.



Once an American said to me something offensive, a racial comment, so


I said yours is a warring nation and such. So he said, ‘what can we do


if our president was a moron?’



I love to network with ppl at poker and send them friend reqsts at


facebook, which they cordially accept, and just talk and peek into


their albums. Guess my fave hobby is poking sticks down holes.


Afterall.




PS BTW, I have deliberately written this post rather simply sans any


over-arching phrases that bend so much they crack by their own weight.


Actually it was my conversation with fellow blogger, Savi, who


pointedly told me that those posts which abound in those sort of


phrases read as psuedo-intellectual. I think that I could agree to


that.


I think that scathing criticism is 2nd in freshness only to a red


rose. Boy, if only ppl could tolerate more of that without


reservation!










Just Like That

February 10th, 2009


The Bangalore Myth

Yes, in many ways, it is just that. Media polls on youths have to inculde Bangalore, and are mostly done at Brigades. Or Bangalore’s own Cannought Place. A place to hang out, and … err… did someone mention pani-poori, or samosa, or cheese franky? Oh please… we don’t eat them here. We eat fat chicken at KFC and infinitely fat burgers at Hard Rock Cafe for 375 rupees only, that one. At Lucknow, we have had Pizza Hut and Dominoz since ever at Hazratganj, again the parallel that would explain that is Cannought Place. So now, how do they compare? Namely Brigades and Hazratganj. I will give you a clue. At Brigades’ Pizza hut, they have this system going of a bell that you are supposed to ring, on your way out, if you liked the food. So then all those eloquently-speaking-English Pizza Hut guys in red say out loud, ‘Thank You’, which like reverberates as much, if not more, than the bell that preceded it. They might be taking an order from you, but they will turn round in the direction of the bell and take a second to enthusiastically-shout-out-loud Thank You. I dunno if they have that same system at Hazratganj’s Pizza Hut or not, coz I have never been there, nor has any friend-a mine — the reason being we have other places to go, where they give you aalu ki chaat of twenty rupees; imarti topped with rabri for ten rupees, pani-poori a plate for 10; a glass of lassi topped with malaai for ten, and did I mention
Tunde Kebabs? O well, I would like to return Brigades’ enthusiastically-shouted-out-loud Thank You with a more politely said, Thank You, but no Thank You! That aside, if you compare the rest of the street — the principally centrally hanging out place that they are of the two cities — then Hazratganj wins in a big way.

There are places within a city where you find the city, where you would go and say: Lucknow is here! — simple road-side hawkers who sell paani poori, or Chowk ki tang galiyaan, complete with the maze of electricity-stealing-wires running parallel-ly atop you (see picture). As must be certan of a city that is rooted in culture, there are many places in Lucknow where you could go and say: Here is Lucknow! Much like Delhi’s Delhi Hatt or or Kareem’s or some other place else — Delhi being another city rooted in culture. Bangalore, for all its comfortable, commercial living has McDonalds and Pizza Hut complete with their pack of English speaking idiots. What they lack is a paan-chewing old man by the roadside selling the city’s most famous lassi for a tenner, and so cocksure of its taste, he knows you will benignly allow him to top it with a smile and a pleasantry.


A brand new kind of loser — The Man(chester) United fan:

These are a new breed of teeny-weenies — hordes of which have come up in the last year when United won the domestic league and the European league — whose parents live in perpetual fear of one day being asked the big question: ‘Can I have the Rs. 2600 Man United shirt for my birthday/Christmas?’; who root for Man United when they have never seen a football match for the whole ninety minutes ever in their lives. Who at facebook join the community: ‘I hope Man United kick some ass this season!’ Who know nothing about football; in all probability never played it coz their parents sent them to the most expensive schools but without a decent football ground — the stress being on studying — rote learning, that is. These are the kind which traditionally believe in rote-learning, have a mind conspicuously closed to scientific enquiry, are one-of-the-5-big-cities bred blokes who punctuate their sentences with “dude”, and finally who know as less English as they do football.


These are only some of societies’ shades which good ol’
Holden Caulfield would find phony. I would gladly share a ciggie with Holden and mouth obscenities at them till world’s end.

The current current

November 17th, 2008


Shobha De

I was wondering when exactly to brag abt it, I mean my newfound friendship with Mrs. De. Well, I doubt if she’d call it that, but let me, what does it matter? I don’t think she’d have the time or inclination to make it blossom into a love affair (by that I mean that affection-sharing b/w ppl of diff ages and opp. sex).
Anyhow, it started with my reading her blog-posts, and posting comments. And to EACH of which she replied by email. That linked both our gmails and she automatically appeared at my G Talk. So first when she appeared online, I bombarded her with I think some 3 successive messages requesting her to read me and give a critique. But those messages were not replied. She signed out few moments later. She’d come online on and off day in and day out, when one night at arnd 12, I dediced to ping her; said: ‘Hello, Mrs. De’.
She said, ‘hey’ and a brief conversation it was. That I am not a fan I think kept my heart beats in check; for a change I talked with some sanity. And let me emphasize it was a sentence to sentence conversation, not just me alone, blabbering. In b/w I asked her if she’d like to read me, So the next morning, I emailed her the link to the story and two days later, she replied. Actually I had to goad her somewhat and she gave me the delicate opportunity. Like almost everyday, she replied to my comment via email and a flurry of follow-up emails were exchanged, in the last of which, I requested her to read my story.

The story she read is ‘
Made for each other‘. I think it’s decent and more importantly is quite error free in every which way. She said, ‘poignant and well written’. Dunno how much, if at all any, puppy-love affection we’ll share. She successively sent me three emails, yesterday. I replied all three. Good beginning that, I think, Let’s see… She is online even as I speak; but I don’t ping her, I give her her space. I do note that she’s a human being first and a famous writer next. Besides, everyone is quite simple in his own mind and would I think ideally like everyone to think of him, and treat with him in that simple manner. Mindful of this only I conduct myself normally and with some dignity, and just write one or two line comments/emails to her. Don’t goad her at all, don’t try and kick start a conversation. But I have a very coloured history w.r.t. talking with ppl online, I only hope history doesn’t repeat itself. And so long I speak little, it won’t get a chance to!

JOAN BAEZ

I have discovered this new singer and her name is Joan Baez. She is an NYC born American. she is 61 today and ruled the 60s when she was in her 20s. May be you already know her. I am absolutely in love with her. I must-a heard her song, No Woman, No Cry a zillion times in just a few days. I have read detailed biographies of her and detailed background info abt her songs on the web. There are two important things special abt her. One, she has a supreme soprano voice, and she can sing in three octaves. I dunno what the latter gobbledygook is abt but the same thing I read being said abt Lata Mangeshkar; the article read: ’she can sing in three octaves, most singers can sing only in two’. There are more similarities too. Lata’s father was a great and famous man, so was Baez’s father — an MIT professor who co-invented the electron microscope, in use even today in biology labs. Baez’s sister is also a successful singer, so is Lata’s: Asha. I dunno though if Baez has the same stature in America as Lata has in India. Lata has sung in several languages (22 I think to be precise). Baez has sung in 8.
She even devoted herself to socio-political causes. Notably visiting Vietnam among other countries. Among others, she opposed the Vietnam war. Her father refused to work for and help develop military related technology which left a profound impression on her.
Like her voice — supreme soprano like I said — her beautiful face has a fullness and maturity, too. Her eyes are at once soft and deep.
She is also a songwriter; her best known song, Diamonds and Rust, was written by her.

Do listen to
No Woman No cry on youtube.



There is one word swimming in my mind for quite many days — I have to peg a poem to it asap, so dead with the weight it can fall down on paper and cease to ghost-haunt me. The word is ‘megalomania’.


Blabbering

October 11th, 2008


So, here I am again, with your latest dose of torture, having newly renewed my blogging license**, here I am to exercise its rights, before it expires again, soon.
Prescript: For best results, please close your eyes and read***.

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

This one stars Brando and Vivien Leigh. What an explosive combo! I saw this great classic last weekend. The last weekend was memorable for, oh, so many reasons! In order to better understand the character of Blanche, the protagonist (portrayed most sensitively by Vivien Leigh), I ended up reading (online, i.e.) critical appraisal of the play by Tennesse Williams, from which the movie has been adapted. The play is a most respected one — fetched the writer some sorta American award — and has great literary value in American literature. And to study the critical appraisal of a play of such literary value brought on fond memories of studying English Literature in +1, +2 at school. How I would apply my heart and my mind, to analyze, to interpret in my own way, to critically appreciate, the delicate and finer nuances of the literary work. The pang of this memory was a sharp one; it came like an old memory that suddenly comes to the fore of the mind; I almost immediately turned my head the other way and closed my eyes to sleep, lest it should open the floodgates of too many memories, and too much pain; it was dissolved with the other physical pain in my limbs and was lost.

Anyhow, the movie does successfully take you to another level and you’d appreciate a work that is so far superior to others around it. The last scene when Blache makes her exit being escorted by an old man, with a grotesquely ghastly face hidden in shadow, and when Blanche says to him sweetly, ‘I have always depended on the kindness of strangers’, breaks your heart. The scene is replete with deep meaning and in its tragedy stands mocking at many elements in society that are naturally biased against women. The words Blanche speaks underscore her immoral, and vicious life, rendered waste in pursuit of her basal, sexual desires.

After an argument when Stella leaves the house, Brando’s full-throttle yelling of Stella! Oh, Stella! and hair-tearing, crying symbolize in popular culture the intensity of a man’s raw desire for his woman. This scene, like the one mentioned above are part of popular social memory.

The movie features in the American Film Institute’s (AFI) list of the best 100 movies of all time.

English Premier League

The other event that sweetened the last weekend was the victory of Liverpool over Manchester City, because it was as much a victory of football. Liverpool were losing the game 0-2 at half time and came back strongly to score two goals. They snatched the winning goal in the last few minutes. I knew that if the 3rd goal would come, it would be romantic, and it came. A commentator once said, ‘there can be so much beauty in football’.

This weekend again Liverpool take on archrivals, Arsenal. It’ll be an helluva interesting match to watch!




**Blogging license: It is renewed each time when you read the latest blog entries of your fellow bloggers and make absolutely sure that your comment has helped qualify their blog-posts as something sensible.


*** Yes, that is supposed to be a joke.

A bit of me!

July 19th, 2008


So here I am again with your latest dose of torture. :)

Football

I have a passion for playing football. I just returned from playing football. I am still wearing the studds (the special spiked football shoes). I can play good football and so that makes it beautiful. There is a wholesomeness to the game of football which makes you love the game. After I have played football and thoroughly exhausted myself, tranquility naturally sets in my bosom, my mind becomes totally blank, and my conscience becomes clear as the sky.

I have come to think over time that football is like life, and I am sure that every footballer the world over knows this and understands this, perhaps better than me. Let me try and explain that to you:

It is with a clear, simple and constant joy, the kind that is unaware of itself because it so deep-seated in your being, that you play this beautiful game. It is with that joy that you take the pre-emptive runs in the game, dribble, tackle, play the game… And every one has his own defined role — his own individuality — and is still but part of the team. I think that Life and Football can sit together and Football can coach Life how to play well.

***

I still get dreams of my school days when I was sixteen/seventeen and played football with my school mates. All my football dreams feature my school football ground. I wish to return one day to the smell of wet grass and beaten leather, fill my lungs with the cool winter air, and play football with my school mates with whom I grew up. 


Listening To Grasshoppers

May 19th, 2008

By Arundhati Roy

Genocide, Denial And Celebration
It’s an old human habit, genocide is. It’s a search for lebensraum, project of Union and Progress.

I never met Hrant Dink, a misfortune that will be mine for time to come. From what I know of him, of what he wrote, what he said and did, how he lived his life, I know that had I been here in Istanbul a year ago I would have been among the one hundred thousand people who walked with his coffin in dead silence through the wintry streets of this city, with banners saying, “We are all Armenians”, “We are all Hrant Dink”. Perhaps I’d have carried the one that said, “One and a half million plus one”.* [*One-and-a-half million is the number of Armenians who were systematically murdered by the Ottoman Empire in the genocide in Anatolia in the spring of 1915. The Armenians, the largest Christian minority living under Islamic Turkic rule in the area, had lived in Anatolia for more than 2,500 years.]

***
In a way, my battle is like yours. But while in Turkey there’s silence, in India, there is celebration.
***

I am not here to play the global intellectual, to lecture you, or to fill the silence in this country that surrounds the memory (or the forgetting) of the events that took place in Anatolia in 1915. That is what Hrant Dink tried to do, and paid for with his life.


***
Most genocidal killing from the 15th century onwards has been part of Europe’s search for lebensraum.
***

The day I arrived in Istanbul, I walked the streets for many hours, and as I looked around, envying the people of Istanbul their beautiful, mysterious, thrilling city, a friend pointed out to me young boys in white caps who seemed to have suddenly appeared like a rash in the city. He explained that they were expressing their solidarity with the child-assassin who was wearing a white cap when he killed Hrant.

The battle with the cap-wearers of Istanbul, of Turkey, is not my battle, it’s yours. I have my own battles to fight against other kinds of cap-wearers and torchbearers in my country. In a way, the battles are not all that different. There is one crucial difference, though. While in Turkey there is silence, in India there’s celebration, and I really don’t know which is worse.

In the state of Gujarat, there was a genocide against the Muslim community in 2002.

I use the word Genocide advisedly, and in keeping with its definition contained in Article 2 of the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. The genocide began as collective punishment for an unsolved crime-the burning of a railway coach in which 53 Hindu pilgrims were burned to death. In a carefully planned orgy of supposed retaliation, 2,000 Muslims were slaughtered in broad daylight by squads of armed killers, organised by fascist militias, and backed by the Gujarat government and the administration of the day. Muslim women were gang-raped and burned alive.

Muslim shops, Muslim businesses and Muslim shrines and mosques were systematically destroyed. Some 1,50,000 people were driven from their homes.

Even today, many of them live in ghettos-some built on garbage heaps-with no water supply, no drainage, no streetlights, no healthcare. They live as second-class citizens, boycotted socially and economically. Meanwhile, the killers, police as well as civilian, have been embraced, rewarded, promoted. This state of affairs is now considered ‘normal’. To seal the ‘normality’, in 2004, both Ratan Tata and Mukesh Ambani, India’s leading industrialists, publicly pronounced Gujarat a dream destination for finance capital.

The initial outcry in the national press has settled down. In Gujarat, the genocide has been brazenly celebrated as the epitome of Gujarati pride, Hindu-ness, even Indian-ness. This poisonous brew has been used twice in a row to win state elections, with campaigns that have cleverly used the language and apparatus of modernity and democracy. The helmsman, Narendra Modi, has become a folk hero, called in by the BJP to campaign on its behalf in other Indian states.

As genocides go, the Gujarat genocide cannot compare with the people killed in the Congo, Rwanda and Bosnia, where the numbers run into millions, nor is it by any means the first that has occurred in India. (In 1984, for instance, 3,000 Sikhs were massacred on the streets of Delhi with similar impunity, by killers overseen by the Congress Party.) But the Gujarat genocide is part of a larger, more elaborate and systematic vision. It tells us that the wheat is ripening and the grasshoppers have landed in mainland India.

It’s an old human habit, genocide is. It has played a sterling part in the march of civilisation. Amongst the earliest recorded genocides is thought to be the destruction of Carthage at the end of the Third Punic War in 149 BC. The word itself-genocide-was coined by Raphael Lemkin only in 1943, and adopted by the United Nations in 1948, after the Nazi Holocaust. Article 2 of the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide defines it as:

“Any of the following Acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: killing members of the group; causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life, calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or part; imposing measures
intended to prevent births within the group; [or] forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.”

Since this definition leaves out the persecution of political dissidents, real or imagined, it does not include some of the greatest mass murders in history. Personally I think the definition by Frank Chalk and Kurt Jonassohn, authors of The History and Sociology of Genocide, is more apt.

Genocide, they say, “is a form of one-sided mass killing in which a state or other authority intends to destroy a group, as that group and membership in it are defined by the perpetrator.” Defined like this, genocide would include, for example, the monumental crimes committed by Suharto in Indonesia (1 million) Pol Pot in Cambodia (1.5 million), Stalin in the Soviet Union (60 million), Mao in China (70 million).

All things considered, the word extermination, with its crude evocation of pests and vermin, of infestations, is perhaps the more honest, more apposite word. When a set of perpetrators faces its victims, in order to go about its business of wanton killing, it must first sever any human connection with it. It must see its victims as sub-human, as parasites whose eradication would be a service to society. Here, for example, is an account of the massacre of Pequot Indians by English Puritans led by John Mason in Connecticut in 1636:

Those that escaped the fire were slaine with the sword; some hewed to peeces, others rune throw with their rapiers, so they were quickly dispatchte, and very few escaped. It was conceived they thus destroyed about 400 at this time. It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fyre, and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stincke and sente thereof, but the victory seemed a sweete sacrifice….

And here, approximately four centuries later, is Babu Bajrangi, one of the major lynchpins of the Gujarat genocide, recorded on camera in the sting operation mounted by Tehelka a few months ago:

We didn’t spare a single Muslim shop, we set everything on fire…hacked, burned, set on fire…we believe in setting them on fire because these bastards don’t want to be cremated, they’re afraid of it…. I have just one last wish…let me be sentenced to death…I don’t care if I’m hanged…just give me two days before my hanging and I will go and have a field day in Juhapura where seven or eight lakhs of these people stay…I will finish them off…let a few more of them die…at least 25,000 to 50,000 should die.

I hardly need to say that Babu Bajrangi had the blessings of Narendra Modi, the protection of the police, and the love of his people. He continues to work and prosper as a free man in Gujarat. The one crime he cannot be accused of is Genocide Denial.

Genocide Denial is a radical variation on the theme of the old, frankly racist, bloodthirsty triumphalism. It was probably evolved as an answer to the somewhat patchy dual morality that arose in the 19th century, when Europe was developing limited but new forms of democracy and citizens’ rights at home while simultaneously exterminating people in their millions in her colonies. Suddenly countries and governments began to deny or attempt to hide the genocides they had committed. “Denial is saying, in effect,” says Professor Robert Jay Lifton, author of Hiroshima and America: Fifty Years of Denial, “that the murderers did not murder. The victims weren’t killed. The direct consequence of denial is that it invites future genocide.”

Of course today, when genocide politics meets the Free Market, official recognition-or denial-of holocausts and genocides is a multinational business enterprise. It rarely has anything to do to with historical fact or forensic evidence. Morality certainly does not enter the picture. It is an aggressive process of high-end bargaining, that belongs more to the World Trade Organisation than to the United Nations.

The currency is geopolitics, the fluctuating market for natural resources, that curious thing called futures trading and plain old economic and military might.

In other words, genocides are often denied for the same set of reasons as genocides are prosecuted. Economic determinism marinated in racial/ethnic/religious/national discrimination. Crudely, the lowering or raising of the price of a barrel of oil (or a tonne of uranium), permission granted for a military base, or the opening up of a country’s economy could be the decisive factor when governments adjudicate on whether a genocide did or did not occur.

Or indeed whether genocide will or will not occur. And if it does, whether it will or will not be reported, and if it is, then what slant that reportage will take. For example, the death of two million in the Congo goes virtually unreported. Why? And was the death of a million Iraqis under the sanctions regime, prior to the US invasion, genocide (which is what Denis Halliday, the UN Humanitarian Coordinator for Iraq, called it) or was it ‘worth it’, as Madeleine Albright, the US ambassador to the UN, claimed? It depends on who makes the rules. Bill Clinton? Or an Iraqi mother who has lost her child?

Since the United States is the richest and most powerful country in the world, it has assumed the privilege of being the World’s Number One Genocide Denier. It continues to celebrate Columbus Day, the day Christopher Columbus arrived in the Americas, which marks the beginning of a Holocaust that wiped out millions of native Indians, about 90 per cent of the original population. (Lord Amherst, the man whose idea it was to distribute blankets infected with smallpox virus to Indians, has a university town in Massachusetts, and a prestigious liberal arts college named after him).

In America’s second Holocaust, almost 30 million Africans were kidnapped and sold into slavery. Well near half of them died during transportation. But in 2002, the US delegation could still walk out of the World Conference Against Racism in Durban, refusing to acknowledge that slavery and the slave trade were crimes. Slavery, they insisted, was legal at the time. The US has also refused to accept that the bombing of Tokyo, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Dresden and Hamburg-which killed hundreds of thousands of civilians-were crimes, let alone acts of genocide. (The argument here is that the government didn’t intend to kill civilians. This was the first stage in the development of the concept of “collateral damage”.) Since the end of World War II, the US government has intervened overtly, militarily, more than 400 times in 100 countries, and covertly more than 6,000 times. This includes its invasion of Vietnam and the extermination, with excellent intentions of course, of three million Vietnamese (approximately 10 per cent of its population).

None of these has been acknowledged as war crimes or genocidal acts.

“The question is,” says Robert MacNamara-whose career graph took him from the bombing of Tokyo in 1945 (1,00,000 dead overnight) to being the architect of the Vietnam War, to President of the World Bank-now sitting in his comfortable chair in his comfortable home in his comfortable country, “the question is, how much evil do you have to do in order to do good?”

Could there be a more perfect illustration of Robert Jay Lifton’s point that the denial of genocide invites more genocide?

And what when victims become perpetrators? (In Rwanda, in the Congo?) What remains to be said about Israel, created out of the debris of one of the cruellest genocides in human history? What of its actions in the Occupied Territories? Its burgeoning settlements, its colonisation of
water, its new ‘Security Wall’ that separates Palestinian people from their farms, from their work, from their relatives, from their children’s schools, from hospitals and healthcare? It is genocide in a fishbowl, genocide in slow motion-meant especially to illustrate that section of Article 2 of the United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, which says that genocide is any act that is designed to “deliberately inflict on the group conditions of life, calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or part”.

The history of genocide tells us that it’s not an aberration, an anomaly, a glitch in the human system.

Most of the genocidal killing from the 15th century onwards has been an integral part of Europe’s search for what the Germans famously called Lebensraum-living space. Lebensraum was a word coined by the German geographer and zoologist Freidrich Ratzel to describe what he thought of as the dominant human species’ natural impulse to expand its territory in its search for not just space, but sustenance. This impulse to expansion would naturally be at the cost of a less dominant species, a weaker species that Nazi ideologues believed should give way, or be made to give way, to the stronger one.

The idea of lebensraum was set out in precise terms in 1901, but Europe had already begun her quest for lebensraum 400 years earlier, when Columbus landed in America. The search for lebensraum also took Europeans to Africa: unleashing holocaust after holocaust. The Germans exterminated almost the entire population of the Hereros in Southwest Africa; while in the Congo, the Belgians’ “experiment in commercial expansion” cost

10 million lives. By the last quarter of the 19th century, the British had exterminated the aboriginal people of Tasmania, and of most of Australia.

Sven Lindqvist, author of Exterminate the Brutes, argues that it was Hitler’s quest for lebensraum-in a world that had already been carved up by other European countries-that led the Nazis to push through Eastern Europe and on toward Russia. The Jews of Eastern Europe and western Russia stood in the way of Hitler’s colonial ambitions. Therefore, like the native
people of Africa and America and Asia, they had to be enslaved or liquidated. So, Lindqvist says, the Nazis’ racist dehumanisation of Jews cannot be dismissed as a paroxysm of insane evil. Once again, it is a product of the familiar mix: economic determinism well marinated in age-old racism, very much in keeping with European tradition of the time.

It’s not a coincidence that the political party that carried out the Armenian genocide in the Ottoman Empire, was called the Committee for Union & Progress.

‘Union’ (racial/ethnic/religious/national) and ‘Progress’ (economic determinism) have long been the twin coordinates of genocide.

Armed with this reading of history, is it reasonable to worry about whether a country that is poised on the threshold of “progress” is also poised on the threshold of genocide? Could the India being celebrated all over the world as a miracle of progress and democracy, possibly be poised on the verge of committing genocide? The mere suggestion might sound outlandish and, at this point of time, the use of the word genocide surely unwarranted. However, if we look to the future, and if the Tsars of Development believe in their own publicity, if they believe that There Is No Alternative to their chosen model for Progress, then they will inevitably have to kill, and kill in large numbers, in order to get their way.

Advani’s chariot of fire: And so the Union project was launched

In bits and pieces, as the news trickles in, it seems clear that the killing and the dying has already begun.

It was in 1989, soon after the collapse of the Soviet Union, that the Government of India turned in its membership of the Non-Aligned Movement and signed up for membership of the Completely Aligned, often referring to itself as the ‘natural ally’ of Israel and the United States. (They have at least this one thing in common-all three are engaged in overt, neo-colonial military occupations: India in Kashmir, Israel in Palestine, the US in Iraq.)

Almost like clockwork, the two major national political parties, the BJP and the Congress, embarked on a joint programme to advance India’s version of Union and Progress, whose modern-day euphemisms are Nationalism and Development. Every now and then, particularly during elections, they stage noisy familial squabbles, but have managed to gather into their fold even grumbling relatives, like the Communist Party of India (Marxist).

The Union project offers Hindu Nationalism (which seeks to unite the Hindu vote, vital you will admit, for a great democracy like India). The Progress project aims at a 10 per cent annual growth rate. Both these projects are encrypted with genocidal potential.

The Union project has been largely entrusted to the RSS, the ideological heart, the holding company of the BJP and its militias, the Vishwa Hindu Parishad and the Bajrang Dal. The RSS was founded in 1925. By the 1930s, its founder, Dr Hedgewar, a fan of Benito Mussolini, had begun to
model it overtly along the lines of Italian fascism. Hitler too was, and is, an inspirational figure. Here are some excerpts from the RSS Bible, We or Our Nationhood Defined by M.S. Golwalkar, who succeeded Dr Hedgewar as head of the RSS in 1940:

Ever since that evil day, when Moslems first landed in Hindustan, right up to the present moment, the Hindu Nation has been gallantly fighting on to take on these despoilers. The Race Spirit has been awakening.

Then:

In Hindustan, land of the Hindus, lives and should live the Hindu Nation…. All others are traitors and enemies to the National Cause, or, to take a charitable view, idiots….

The foreign races in Hindustan…may stay in the country, wholly subordinated to the Hindu Nation, claiming nothing, deserving no privileges, far less any preferential treatment-not even citizen’s rights.

And again:

To keep up the purity of its race and culture, Germany shocked the world by her purging the country of the Semitic races-the Jews.

Race pride at its highest has been manifested here…a good lesson for us in Hindustan to learn and profit by.

(How do you combat this kind of organised hatred? Certainly not with goofy preachings of secular love.)

By the year 2000, the RSS had more than 45,000 shakhas and an army of seven million swayamsevaks preaching its doctrine across India. They include India’s former prime minister, Atal Behari Vajpayee, the former home minister and current leader of the Opposition, L.K. Advani, and, of
course, the three-times Gujarat chief minister, Narendra Modi. It also includes senior people in the media, the police, the army, the intelligence agencies, judiciary and the administrative services who are informal devotees of Hindutva-the RSS ideology. These people, unlike
politicians who come and go, are permanent members of government machinery.

But the RSS’s real power lies in the fact that it has put in decades of hard work and has created a network of organisations at every level of society, something that no other organisation can claim.

The BJP is its political front. It has a trade union wing (Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh), a women’s wing (Rashtriya Sevika Samiti), a student wing (Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad) and an economic wing (Swadeshi Jagaran Manch).

Its front organisation Vidya Bharati is the largest educational organisation in the non-governmental sector. It has 13,000 educational institutes including the Saraswati Vidya Mandir schools with 70,000 teachers and over 1.7 million students. It has organisations working with tribals (Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram), literature (Akhil Bharatiya Sahitya Parishad), intellectuals (Pragya Bharati, Deendayal Research Institute), historians (Bharatiya Itihaas Sankalan Yojanalaya), language (Sanskrit Bharti), slum-dwellers (Seva Bharati, Hindu Seva Pratishthan), health (Swami Vivekanand Medical Mission, National Medicos Organisation), leprosy patients (Bharatiya Kushtha Nivaran Sangh), cooperatives (Sahkar Bharati), publication of newspapers and other propaganda material (Bharat Prakashan, Suruchi Prakashan, Lokhit Prakashan, Gyanganga Prakashan, Archana Prakashan, Bharatiya Vichar Sadhana, Sadhana Pustak and Akashvani Sadhana), caste integration (Samajik Samrasta Manch), religion and proselytisation (Vivekananda Kendra, Vishwa Hindu Parishad, Hindu Jagaran Manch, Bajrang Dal). The list goes on and on…

On June 11, 1989, Congress prime minister Rajiv Gandhi gave the RSS a gift. He was obliging enough to open the locks of the disputed Babri Masjid in Ayodhya, which the RSS claimed was the birthplace of Lord Ram. At the National Executive of the BJP, the party passed a resolution to demolish the mosque and build a temple in Ayodhya. “I’m sure the resolution will translate into votes,” said L.K. Advani. In 1990, he criss-crossed the country on his Rath Yatra, his Chariot of Fire, demanding the demolition of the Babri Masjid, leaving riots and bloodshed in his wake. In 1991, the party won 120 seats in Parliament. (It had won two in 1984). The hysteria orchestrated by Advani peaked in 1992, when the mosque was brought down by a marauding mob. By 1998, the BJP was in power at the Centre. Its first act in office was to conduct a series of nuclear tests. Across the country, fascists and corporates, princes and paupers alike, celebrated India’s Hindu Bomb. Hindutva had transcended petty party politics.

In 2002, Narendra Modi’s government planned and executed the Gujarat genocide. In the elections that took place a few months after the genocide, he was returned to power with an overwhelming majority. He ensured complete impunity for those who had participated in the killings. In the rare case where there has been a conviction, it is of course the lowly footsoldiers, and not the masterminds, who stand in the dock.

Impunity is an essential prerequisite for genocidal killing.

India has a great tradition of granting impunity to mass killers. I could fill volumes with the details.

In a democracy, for impunity after genocide, you have to “apply through proper channels”. Procedure is everything. In the case of several massacres, the lawyers that the Gujarat government appointed as public prosecutors had actually already appeared for the accused. Several of them belonged to the RSS or the VHP and were openly hostile to those they were supposedly representing. Survivor witnesses found that, when they went to the police to file reports, the police would record their statements inaccurately, or refuse to record the names of the perpetrators. In several cases, when survivors had seen members of their families being killed (and burned alive so their bodies could not be found), the police would refuse to register cases of murder.

Ehsan Jaffri, the Congress politician and poet who had made the mistake of campaigning against Modi in the Rajkot elections, was publicly butchered. (By a mob led by a fellow Congressman.) In the words of a man who took part in the savagery:

Five people held him, then someone struck him with a sword…chopped off his hand, then his legs…then everything else…after cutting him to pieces, they put him on the wood they’d piled and set him on fire. Burned him alive.

The Ahmedabad Commissioner of Police, P.C. Pandey, was kind enough to visit the neighbourhood while the mob lynched Jaffri, murdered 70 people, and gang-raped 12 women before burning them alive. After Modi was re-elected, Pandey was promoted, and made Gujarat’s Director-General of Police. The entire killing apparatus remains in place.

The Supreme Court in Delhi made a few threatening noises, but eventually put the matter into cold storage. The Congress and the Communist parties made a great deal of noise, but did nothing.

In the Tehelka sting operation, broadcast recently on a news channel at prime time, apart from Babu Bajrangi, killer after killer recounted how the genocide had been planned and executed, how Modi and senior politicians and police officers had been personally involved. None of this information was new, but there they were, the butchers, on the news networks, not just admitting to, but boasting about their crimes. The overwhelming public reaction to the sting was not outrage, but suspicion about its timing. Most people believed that the expose would help Modi win the elections again. Some even believed, quite outlandishly, that he had engineered the sting. He did win the elections. And this time, on the ticket of Union and Progress. A committee all unto himself. At BJP rallies, thousands of adoring supporters now wear plastic Modi masks, chanting slogans of death. The fascist democrat has physically mutated into a million little fascists. These are the joys of democracy. Who in Nazi Germany would have dared to put on a Hitler mask?

Preparations to recreate the ‘Gujarat blueprint’ are currently in different stages in the BJP-ruled states of Orissa, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and Karnataka.

To commit genocide, says Peter Balkian, scholar of the Armenian genocide, you have to marginalise a sub-group for a long time. This criterion has been well met in India. The Muslims of India have been systematically marginalised and have now joined the Adivasis and Dalits, who have not just been marginalised, but dehumanised by caste Hindu society and its scriptures, for years, for centuries. (There was a time when they were dehumanised in order to be put to work doing things that caste Hindus would not do.

Now, with technology, even that labour is becoming redundant.) Part of the RSS’s work involves setting Dalits against Muslims, Adivasis against Dalits.

While the ‘people’ were engaged with the Union project and its doctrine of hatred, India’s Progress project was proceeding apace. The new regime of privatisation and liberalisation resulted in the sale of the country’s natural resources and public infrastructure to private corporations. It has created an unimaginably wealthy upper class and growing middle classes who have naturally become militant evangelists for the new dispensation.

The Progress project has its own tradition of impunity and subterfuge, no less horrific than the elaborate machinery of the Union project. At the heart of it lies the most powerful institution in India, the Supreme Court, which is rapidly becoming a pillar of Corporate Power, issuing order after order allowing for the building of dams, the interlinking of rivers, indiscriminate mining, the destruction of forests and water systems. All of this could be described as ecocide-a prelude perhaps to genocide. (And to criticise the court is a criminal offence, punishable by imprisonment).

(Attack on urban India)

Ironically, the era of the free market has led to the most successful secessionist struggle ever waged in India-the secession of the middle and upper classes to a country of their own, somewhere up in the stratosphere where they merge with the rest of the world’s elite. This Kingdom in the Sky is a complete universe in itself, hermetically sealed from the rest of India. It has its own newspapers, films, television programmes, morality plays, transport systems, malls and intellectuals. And in case you are beginning to think it’s all joy-joy, you’re wrong. It also has its own tragedies, its own environmental issues (parking problems, urban air pollution); its own class struggles. An organisation called Youth for Equality, for example, has taken up the issue of Reservations, because it feels Upper Castes are discriminated against by India’s pulverised Lower Castes. It has its own People’s Movements and candle-light vigils (Justice for Jessica, the model who was shot in a bar) and even its own People’s Car (the Wagon for the Volks launched by the Tata Group recently). It even has its own dreams that take the form of TV advertisements in which Indian CEOs (smeared with Fair & Lovely Face Cream, Men’s) buy over international corporations, including an imaginary East India Company. They are ushered into their plush new offices by fawning white women (who look as though they’re longing to be laid, the final prize of conquest) and applauding white men, ready to make way for the new kings. Meanwhile, the crowd in the stadium roars to its feet (with credit cards in its pockets) chanting ‘India! India!’

But there is a problem, and the problem is lebensraum. A Kingdom needs its lebensraum. Where will the Kingdom in the Sky find lebensraum? The Sky Citizens look towards the Old Nation. They see Adivasis sitting on the bauxite mountains of Orissa, on the iron ore in Jharkhand and Chhattisgarh. They see the people of Nandigram (Muslims, Dalits) sitting on prime land, which really ought to be a chemical hub. They see thousands of acres of farm land, and think, these really ought to be Special Economic Zones for our industries; they see the rich fields of Singur and know this really ought to be a car factory for the People’s Car. They think: that’s our bauxite, our iron ore, our uranium. What are those people doing on our land? What’s our water doing in their rivers? What’s our timber doing in their trees?

If you look at a map of India’s forests, its mineral wealth and the homelands of the Adivasi people, you’ll see that they’re stacked up over each other.

So, in reality, those who we call poor are the truly wealthy. But when the Sky Citizens cast their eyes over the land, they see superfluous people sitting on precious resources. The Nazis had a phrase for them-überzahligen Essern, superfluous eaters.

The struggle for lebensraum, Friedrich Ratzel said after closely observing the struggle between Native Indians and their European colonisers in North America, is an annihilating struggle. Annihilation doesn’t necessarily mean the physical extermination of people-by bludgeoning, beating, burning, bayoneting, gassing, bombing or shooting them. (Except sometimes. Particularly when they try to put up a fight. Because then they become Terrorists.) Historically, the most efficient form of genocide has been to displace people from their homes, herd them together and block their access to food and water. Under these conditions, they die without obvious violence and often in far greater numbers. “The Nazis gave the Jews a star on their coats and crowded them into ‘reserves’,” Sven Lindqvist writes, “just as the Indians, the Hereros, the Bushmen, the Amandabele, and all the other children of the stars had been crowded together. They died on their own when food supply to the reserves was cut off.”

The historian Mike Davis says that between 12 million and 29 million people starved to death in India in the great famine between 1876 and 1892, while Britain continued to export food and raw material from India. In a democracy, Amartya Sen says, we are unlikely to have Famine. So in place of China’s Great Famine, we have India’s Great Malnutrition. (India hosts 57 million-more than a third-of the world’s undernourished children.)

With the possible exception of China, India today has the largest population of internally displaced people in the world. Dams alone have displaced more than 30 million people. The displacement is being enforced with court decrees or at gunpoint by policemen, by government-controlled militias or corporate thugs. (In Nandigram, even the CPI(M) had its own
armed militia.) The displaced are being herded into tenements, camps and resettlement colonies where, cut off from a means of earning a living, they spiral into poverty.

In the state of Chhattisgarh, being targeted by corporates for its wealth of iron ore, there’s a different technique. In the name of fighting Maoist rebels, hundreds of villages have been forcibly evacuated and almost 40,000 people moved into police camps. The government is arming some of them, and has created Salwa Judum, a ‘people’s militia’. While the poorest fight the poorest, in conditions that approach civil war, the Tata and Essar groups have been quietly negotiating for the rights to mine iron ore in Chhattisgarh. Can we establish a connection? We wouldn’t dream of it. Even though the Salwa Judum was announced a day after the Memorandum of Understanding between the Tata Group and the government was signed.

It’s not surprising that very little of this account of events makes it into the version of the New India currently on the market. That’s because what is on sale is another form of denial-the creation of what Robert Jay Lifton calls a “counterfeit universe”. In this universe, systemic horrors are converted into temporary lapses, attributable to flawed individuals, and a more ‘balanced’ happier world is presented in place of the real one. The balance is spurious: often Union and Progress are set off against each other, a liberal-secular critique of the Union project being used to legitimise the depredations of the Progress project. Those at the top of the food chain, those who have no reason to want to alter the status quo, are most likely to be the manufacturers of the “counterfeit universe”.

Their job is to patrol the border, diffuse rage, delegitimise anger, and broker a ceasefire.

Consider the response of Shahrukh Khan to a question about Narendra Modi. “I don’t know him personally…I have no opinion…,” he says. “Personally they have never been unkind to me.” Ramachandra Guha, liberal historian and founding member of the New India Foundation, a corporate-funded trust, advises us in his book-as well as in a series of highly publicised interviews-that the Gujarat government is not really fascist, and the genocide was just an aberration that has corrected itself after elections.

Editors and commentators in the ’secular’ national press, having got over their outrage at the Gujarat genocide, now assess Modi’s administrative skills, which most of them are uniformly impressed by. The editor of The Hindustan Times said, “Modi may be a mass murderer, but he’s our mass murderer”, and went on to air his dilemmas about how to deal with a mass murderer who is also a “good” chief minister.

In this ‘counterfeit’ version of India, in the realm of culture, in the new Bollywood cinema, in the boom in Indo-Anglian literature, the poor, for the most part, are simply absent. They have been erased in advance. (They only put in an appearance as the smiling beneficiaries of Micro-Credit Loans, Development Schemes and charity meted out by ngos.)

Last summer, I happened to wander into a cool room in which four beautiful young girls with straightened hair and porcelain skin were lounging, introducing their puppies to one another. One of them turned to me and said, “I was on holiday with my family and I found an old essay of yours about dams and stuff? I was asking my brother if he knew about what a bad time these Dalits and Adivasis were having, being displaced and all…. I mean just being kicked out of their homes ‘n stuff like that? And you know, my brother’s such a jerk, he said they’re the ones who are holding India back. They should be exterminated. Can you imagine?”

The trouble is, I could. I can.

The puppies were sweet. I wondered whether dogs could ever imagine exterminating each other. They’re probably not progressive enough.

That evening, I watched Amitabh Bachchan on TV, appearing in a commercial for The Times of India’s ‘India Poised’ campaign. The TV anchor introducing the campaign said it was meant to inspire people to leave behind the “constraining ghosts of the past”. To choose optimism over pessimism.

“There are two Indias in this country,” Amitabh Bachchan said, in his famous baritone.

One India is straining at the leash, eager to spring forth and live up to all the adjectives t hat the world has been recently showering upon us. The Other India is the leash.

One India says, “Give me a chance and I’ll prove myself.”

The Other India says, “Prove yourself first, and maybe then, you’ll have a chance.”

One India lives in the optimism of our hearts; the Other India lurks in the scepticism of our minds.

One India wants, the Other India hopes… One India leads, the Other India follows.

These conversions are on the rise.

With each passing day, more and more people from the Other India are coming over to this
side. …

And quietly, while the world is not looking, a pulsating, dynamic, new India is emerging.

And finally:

Now in our 60th year as a free nation, the ride has brought us to the edge of time’s great precipice….

And one India, a tiny little voice in the back of the head is looking down at the ravine and hesitating. The Other India is looking up at the sky and saying it’s time to fly.

Here is the counterfeit universe laid bare.

It tells us that the rich don’t have a choice (There Is No Alternative), but the poor do. They can choose to become rich. If they don’t, it’s because they are choosing pessimism over optimism, hesitation over confidence, want over hope. In other words, they’re choosing to be poor. It’s their fault. They are weak. (And we know what the seekers of lebensraum think of the weak.) They are the ‘Constraining Ghost of the Past’. They’re already ghosts.

“Within an ongoing counterfeit universe,” Robert Jay Lifton says, “genocide becomes easy, almost natural.”

The poor, the so-called poor, have only one choice: to resist or to succumb. Bachchan is right: they are crossing over, quietly, while the world’s not looking. Not to where he thinks, but across another ravine, to another side. The side of armed struggle. From there they look back at the Tsars of Development and mimic their regretful slogan: ‘There Is No Alternative.’

They have watched the great Gandhian people’s movements being reduced and humiliated, floundering in the quagmire of court cases, hunger strikes and counter-hunger strikes. Perhaps these many million Constraining Ghosts of the Past wonder what advice Gandhi would have given the Indians of the Americas, the slaves of Africa, the Tasmanians, the Herero, the Hottentots, the Armenians, the Jews of Germany, the Muslims of Gujarat. Perhaps they wonder how they can go on hunger strike when they’re already starving. How they can boycott foreign goods when they have no money to buy any goods. How they can refuse to pay taxes when they have no earnings.

Stamp out the Naxals: They have no place in Shining India

People who have taken to arms have done so with full knowledge of what the consequences of that decision will be. They have done so knowing that they are on their own. They know that the new laws of the land criminalise the poor and conflate resistance with terrorism. (Peaceful activists are ogws-overground workers.) They know that appeals to conscience, liberal morality and sympathetic press coverage will not help them now. They know no international marches, no globalised dissent, no famous writers will be around when the bullets fly.

Hundreds of thousands have broken faith with the institutions of India’s democracy. Large swathes of the country have fallen out of the government’s control. (At last count, it was supposed to be 25 per cent). The battle stinks of death, it’s by no means pretty. How can it be when the helmsman of the army of Constraining Ghosts is the ghost of Chairman Mao himself? (The ray of hope is that many of the footsoldiers don’t know who he is. Or what he did. More Genocide Denial? Maybe). Are they Idealists fighting for a Better World? Well… anything is better than annihilation.

The Prime Minister has declared that the Maoist resistance is the “single largest internal security threat”. There have even been appeals to call out the army. The media is agog with breathless condemnation.

Here’s a typical newspaper report. Nothing out of the ordinary. Stamp out the Naxals, it is called.

This government is at last showing some sense in tackling Naxalism. Less than a month ago, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh asked state governments to “choke” Naxal infrastructure and “cripple” their activities through a dedicated force to eliminate the “virus”. It signalled a realisation that Naxalism must be stamped out through enforcement of law, rather than wasteful expense on development.

“Choke”. “Cripple”. “Virus”. “Infested”. “Eliminate”. “Stamp Out”.

Yes. The idea of extermination is in the air. And people believe that faced with extermination, they have the right to fight back.By any means necessary.

Perhaps they’ve been listening to the grasshoppers.

***

PS The Gujarat riots of 2002 are well documented by Rakesh Sharma in his documentary Final Solution so much so that Arundhati’s version looks relatively naive.

The weekend that was

March 25th, 2008


 Friday

The high ticket price (190!! + the popcorn) notwithstanding, I liked Juno ' a simple, straight story of a 16-yr-ol' young girl, named Juno, who accidentally(?) gets pregnant but still retains her sense of humour partly because her father doesn't loses his. Her straight-faced nonchalance is cute, funny and fascinating at the same time; and had I been 16, I would have called it sexy too.

 

The following reply by Juno quite sums up the quality mentioned above – when Juno stays up late at her gonna-be-child”s gonna be foster parents” house, and the gonna-be foster dad says, “You must be getting home, it”s late”, she replies: “well, what other shenanigans can my parents expect me to indulge in now; I am already pregnant.” 

Rest of the Friday went with surfing the 3 sports channels trying to catch a replay of the Chelsea-Tottenham game that produced 8 goals evenly shared. But with no luck what with all sports channels showing Cricket, Cricket and more Cricket! Thus ended Friday.

Saturday.

We (I, cousin, chacha chachi, and the 3-yr-ol) went to some Uncle's villa. Besides the biryani, etc., there was Vodka with pani-puri, bhaang and tequila. Thus, Holi was celebrated in the right "spirits". I took two tequila shots and two glasses of bhaang. There didn't seem to be any effect whatsoever. But it doesn't work like whiskey; its ways are slow, subtle and subdued Initially there were a couple-a balloons which the 12/13 yr ol' kids of the house had prepared which were slung onto the backs, chests of anyone who came in range. Thereafter, when we ran out of them balloons, buckets were poured with gulal of diff. colours mixed in it since there wasn't any water-colour. There wasn't also any paste so the cousin and I had to make good use of the gulal which was made into thick paste by adding a bit of water to it. But, unfortunately, it wasn't cutting or 'hard' enough. It was too 'soft' and didn't adhere to the skin, as we would have liked it to. We poured buckets of water and because of which there was enough mire in the lawn. At the place where there was enough muddy-water collected, I measured and took two steps back, then looked up at the target, and then ran the two steps and "chipped" the muddy water on the people.


In hometown Lucknow, there used to be a gang of teenaged boys of the gulli who would form a toli or a group and walk all the gullies of the mohalla to hunt down victims. The faces, necks, backs of the victims would be smeared black, blue, grey, red turn by turn and two/three/four-at-a-turn by the toli-members. The faces of the toli boys would traditionally be smeared either complete black or complete grey. Each one of them a complete ghost unto himself. They would even break into an aangan (the open quarter-of-an-acre space at the entrance) of a house, whose door would be open for visitors coming in and going out, and smear the blue-black/grey paste or a mixture of it on everyone present ' which is why we would often lock our aangan. I wasn't ever part of any such toli. However, once, in order to revenge an insult hurled at me at the cricket ground, I joined the toli as it went past my gate and entered that of a neighbourhood boy. I borrowed the paste from the toli-members and attacked the b'd from the behind, brutally smearing his face and neck, my fingers probing and finding furrows and cavities. Returning to present day, the weather played spoil-sport as it wasn't sunny enough and started raining, too. Last but not least, there is a distinctive smell to the watered colour of Holi, which gives the festival its distinctive smell, which I missed in Bangalore. Gulal wouldn't give you that smell.

 

Bangalore is quite dull when it comes to Holi, really. I remember in Delhi-Gurgaon ppl would stand by the side of the road with a bucket full of colored water and splash it on the windscreen of the cars that went by.

 

While going back home, in the car I answered a question regarding the after-effect of bhaang/drugs, saying: 'No, actually, you feel so complete and content that you don't feel like saying or expressing something which is why you are tongue-tied.' I was quick to add that I 'heard it from a friend'. To which came the reply, 'Of course, these infos are always from friends.'

It was only with time that the effect of bhaang began to register. I felt content and happy and many a 'revelation' came to my mind. I realized that my thought-processes were just like when I was a kid. I finally ended up expressing these thoughts running amuck in the form of a poem:

 

Nash-e-mann me kya kehein

Kin anokhi baaton ka junoon-o-yakeen hua

 

Kuch se gaar gaar ho gaye

Aur kuch se kitna dil ghamgeen hua

 

Pankh phaila-ke fir jhat se ud gayin woh baatein

Toh maamla bada sangeen hua

 

Bas zehen me ek mehek chod gayin

Ki holi me dil ka aangan bhi rangeen hua

 

junoon-o-yakeen: passion and faith

gaar gaar: ecstatically happy

 

I slept off the nasha of the bhaang and woke up to the proposal to catch the night-show of Race. During Race, there were moments when I would look around the hall to see what other people were doing ' sleeping or enjoying the movie. Sometimes I was so bored I would slouch on the seat like dead meat and lie like that for a minute or two, then look up to see if something exciting was happening in the movie. The ultimate B grade movie starring A grade actors euphemistically dubbed as paisa-vasool.

Sunday, for soccer lovers, was the ultimate date in the whole calendar, with the 4 top clubs of the English Premier league playing one another in a bid to decide the result of the league once and for all. Manchester United played Liverpool and Chelsea played Arsenal      in their respective home-grounds. Man U and Chelsea won their respective games and confirm their positions at the top and second spot respectively. It is a good end to a good league. Man U deserve to be winners.



Slipping in Seconds

November 13th, 2007

Memoirs

The following email dates back to 23rd June, 2002. I was in school at that time. A teacher at school wanted me to write a poem for the school magazine since she knew I had some little writing ability. I didn”t have any with me nor could write one at a short notice. My aunt or chachi emailed the following to me when I told her of the problem.

Today i am also sending you a poem which i had written long time
back. you can use it if you like for your cronicle:

Bit by bit, second by second
It”s slipping away……
This life that we cherish,
Right in front of our eyes
Bringing closer…..our end.
The end that we dread.
The clock of our life
Is ticking away….tick tock,tick tock
And yet, how many of us realise it?
Most of our precious moments are wasted
In hatred for everything to be loved,
In jealousy for those who make themselves useful,
In critisism for those who do well what we cannot,
In cruelty to those who cannot resist
In all the daily sins of life
The life that”s passing away….
Passing away as I write this…
Passing away as you read this.



I gave the poem to the teacher who published it. I emailed the teacher twice warning her that the poem isn”t mine and that she shouldn”t publish it. But she published it anyhow telling me later she wanted to “surprise” me. When we later had a dialogue she said she had forgotten all together my saying that the poem actually isn”t mine… or she wouldn”t have done what she did. Anyhow, the poem was well recieved and appreciated by students and teachers alike. (To the ppl I knew, I clarified I didn”t write it!)

Till date, I love these simple lines in free verse for the poignant message they convey!



Sometimes I do go through old email interactions with family and freinds to chk out what I was doing at that point in time.


I have started to keep a diary now. Only twelve days old it is, but good that I do keep writing it. May the good Lord bless Bill Gates for MS Word — I could never write on paper! It was around an year back when I felt a profound need for a diary which would record daily events and happenings. I realized what I had missed and how important it was to keep one! Better late than never!


Sometimes the lines in my diary have the tempo of panic — like I want to describe every minute detail and I fear that I would lose out on something. lolz.

Actually, it is because of constant blogging that I have learnt to talk by way of writing. Indeed, I have bettered my writing here. And it is because of this that I am able to document a record. I did try previously many times. But if I would write something in the night, I would tear it to pieces the next morning.

Not that my diary doesn”t read crappy, but for memory”s sake, it is okay-will-do.


Not very long ago, a friend of mine told me that she had been keeping a diary since she was a little girl of 11. I said that I would want to look at it one day. She said that only a few days before, her mother accidentally sold off the pages to the kabadiwaala. Pages written right till her fifteenth birthday. That is a tragedy to top all tragedies, I say. She does have the pages she wrote on MS word since the last few years though. That girl”s name is Swati and she happens to be on the iLand.


A poet said:

Ab kay hum bichday to shaayad kabhi khawabon may miley,
Jis tarah sookhay huey phool kitabon mein miley!

पुराने दिन

October 7th, 2007

आज मैं आपको अपने बारे में एक राज़ की बात बताता हूँ| जिस तरह से एक नॅन्हा बच्चा, अपनी मा का पल्लू हाथ में लिए, अंधों की तरह घर भर में घूमता है ' उसे ना कोई शिकायत होती है ना ही कोई ज़रूरत, उसे केवल अपने में मस्त रेहने की एक ख़ुशी होती है; मैं भी उसी बच्चे की तरह, पुरानी यादों का आँचल थामे, दिन भर यहाँ से वहाँ भटकता रेहता हुऊँ, मुझे दीन दुनिया से कोई मतलब नही रेहता| कल क्या हुआ, ना इसका कोई होश, या कल क्या होने वाला है, इसकी ही कोई ख़बर रेहती है| ना किसी से कोई लेना, ना किसी को कुछ ही देना, बस कल की यादों में खोया रेहता हुऊँ मैं| मुझे जब अकेला छोड़ दिया जाता है तो उससे बड़ी ख़ुशी मुझे और नही होती| आप इसे जो ही समझें ' बेवकूफ़ी या दीवानापान, पर सच बात तो ये है की मुझे कल के बीतें दीनो से बड़ा ही प्रेम है| बीतें दीनो की याद जब भी आती है, मेरी आखें गीली कर के ही जाती है|
मुझे अपने लखनऊ के स्कूल में बिताए हुए वो दिन बहोत ही याद आते हैं| ख़ासकर की वो दिन जब जब कक्षा +2 में हम सब लड़के फुटबॉल खेला करते थे| फुटबॉल क्या खेल है, एक बार अगर जवानी के दीनो में अपने दोस्तों के साथ खेल लोगे तो सारी उमर उसकी याद भुलाए नही भूलेगी| किसी ने ठीक ही कहा है की फुटबॉल एक खहुबसूरत खेल है| यूँ तो मैं स्कूल के दीनो से ही ज़्यादा किसी से बोलते ना था, मेरा स्वाभाव ही ऐसा था, लेकिन अब देखो बीतें दीनो की ही इतनी बातें किया करता हूँ पुराने दोस्तों से ki बतूनी लोगों में ज़रूर ही मेरी गिनती होगी| सच पूछिए तो अपने आप से ही बड़ी बातें कर लिया करता हूँ मैं बीतें दीनो की ख़ाली दोपहरो में| मानो की उसी समये में चला जाता हूँ मैं कुछ शाणो के लिए| आप ये ना समझे की मैं आज से या अपने आप से भागता हूँ, ये काफ़ी हद तक सच भी होगा लेकिन इससे कहीं ज़्यादा उन दीनो से मुझे प्रेम है| ख़ैर मुझे इस बात का कोई भी पश्चत्ाप नही की मैं समये व्यर्थ करता हूँ, बल्कि सच पूछिए तो मुझे इस बात की ख़ुशी है की मैं ख़ुद में मस्त रेहने और खो जाने में सफल हो पता हूँ| आप सच मानिए, मेरे दिल में बड़ा ही चैन और सुकून रेहता है, और बस पुरानी यादों की ऐसी शीतल हवा चलती रेहती है, जो मेरे मॅन को ना केवल बेहलताई है, बल्कि किसी भी प्रकार के गंदे विचारों से सॉफ भी कर देती है| अंदर बाहर सब चैन रेहता है; एक ऐसी सफेदी के अनुरूप रेहता हूँ जिसमें मैं और मेरा जीवन डूबा रेहता है| लोग दीवाना भी केहते हैं, लेकिन मेरी नज़र से देखे तो वो दीवाने मेरे से ज़्यादा हैं!

बास पुरानी यादों की एक ऐसी मदमस्त हवा चलती है की मुझे संग बहा ले जाती है| मैं भी ऐसा बेसरम मनमौज़ी हूँ की बिल्कुल अपनी मन की करता हूँ ' इतनी कोमल यादों से भला कोई कैसे मुँ फेरे? जैसे गुलज़ार ने कहा है, फूलों के जैसी है ये यादें, और एक माला बना ली है इनकी, पेहेन लेता हूँ कभी उतार देता हूँ

जैसे किसी संगीतकार ने कहा है, अगर वो दिन पख़ेरू होते तो हमेशा हमेशा के लिए पिंजरे में बंद कर लेता, मोती के दाने देता, बस सीने से रेहता लगाए

2011  |  A Rediff.com India Ltd. Site.