Delhi-Varanasi-Mumbai-Hyderabad-Ahmedabad-Jaipur-Bangalore-Delhi!!!! This is not anyone’ orkut profile mentioning their location. This is the terror map of India depicting all the targets of terrorist for last one year (Phew…..add Malegaon and Gujrat in the list as they were targeted while I write this piece). What is happening around us? I have no answer. Do you have?
Newspapers and News channels are all blaming home minister of India, Intelligence Bureau and local police. Neither this blame game have stopped nor the attacks. How far will it go? How many more lives will it take? Who are responsible?
As I sit and think of ways to curb this menace. A lot of idea flow through my little mind and I put some here to share with you:
It’s not the time to blame anyone but plan for the future so that these attacks are not repeated.
1) Let’s start with a security week all over India. All schools, Offices and public places will be filled with messages, lectures and road shows explaining individual’s responsibilities, safety measures and related laws.
Our tough and challenging life has made us immune to our surrounding. We even don’t know our neighbours. Let’s shed our inhibition and take social responsibilities…get involved. We need to be aware about our surrounding and inform police helpline as and when we get suspicious about anything.
2) A toll free and easy to remember number of police’s terrorism cell in each of the major cities and state capitals, working 24*7.
3) A central terrorism cell (on the lines of CBI and IB) coordinating with all the terrorism cells of the major cities and state capitals with free access to information and latest weapons even of defence for specific purposes with prior permission.
4) Stringent terrorism law with special courts hearing those cases….speedy trails and execution of court’s decision.
5) Rewards for all those involved in informing police about terrorists and their plans. Rewards should be monetary as well as promotion in their rank in their professional life.
Even if we implement all these suggestions, the implication will only be short term. These attacks were not carried out by any external agencies. All these so called terrorists are Indians who are not happy…who don’t believe in Indian secularism. A long term plan needs to be planned for these brothers of ours who have moved away from mainstream and started believing in death and destruction. Onus is on us now to make every Indian believe India is of all of us. All religion, caste and creed are equal and have equal rights. We need a national leader who could unite all of India and lead us on the right direction.
For me I only want to do my job as an Indian and leave behind a better and safer India for generations to come. Aameen!!!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Indian IT: Bull’s leg shaking after the run
“This is all to do with big and rich people. We never get affected by major financial policy decisions and fluctuations in share markets” said my grandfather and would repeat it time and again whenever I would curiously ask about any financial news while we watched news together.
That was the time of government jobs and what mattered the most in news was political news. That was early nineties and the benefits of opened Indian market were yet to be seen.
India has changed a lot over last couple of decades and so has the topographies of each individual’s family. Single earning joint families have transformed into each working nuclear families (at least the middle class is moving in this direction). Working not in any government department but private firms and growth of these private firms are closely (or better call it directly) related to major financial policy decisions and fluctuations in share markets, a clear contrast to what had been my grandpa’s time.
Last week’s development in financial circle shook US and aftermath was felt in India and each IT professional’s heart. Rising Dollar had already put Indian IT firms on back foot and developments of last week made the situation worse. The fall of esteemed Leman Brothers, acquisition of Merrill Lynch and problems in AIG coupled with credit crisis in US is expected to hit Indian IT firms hard. Banking and Financial services constitute on an average 40% of their business and US market dependence is also close to staggering 45% (which has reduce over a period of time due to corrective actions taken by these firms after slowdown in 2002-03).
So what is the future now? I take the positive out of this situation. It had been a bull’s run for last couple of years, uncontrolled hiring and uneven growth. Its time to sit for a while and consolidate upon whatever we have gained over a period of time. It’s an opportunity to plan for the future and fix any loop holes that could have crept in our systems and processes. Re-iterate each individual’s responsibility, slow down the hiring, create opportunities in Asian markets which has largely been left untouched by IT surge( though the margins are going to be low ). Indian firms and government departments (central and state) remain untouchable to best practices followed all over the world and IT. Indian IT firms by working with most reputed of organisations all over the world have expertise to transform Indian industries by providing consultancy as well as IT services.
If these firms could stand 2002-03 debacles, there is no point to think that they would not swim this tide also. I am a little sceptical but also optimistic and confident.
“It affects us” I said looking up to the heaven, hoping my grandpa would hear it.
That was the time of government jobs and what mattered the most in news was political news. That was early nineties and the benefits of opened Indian market were yet to be seen.
India has changed a lot over last couple of decades and so has the topographies of each individual’s family. Single earning joint families have transformed into each working nuclear families (at least the middle class is moving in this direction). Working not in any government department but private firms and growth of these private firms are closely (or better call it directly) related to major financial policy decisions and fluctuations in share markets, a clear contrast to what had been my grandpa’s time.
Last week’s development in financial circle shook US and aftermath was felt in India and each IT professional’s heart. Rising Dollar had already put Indian IT firms on back foot and developments of last week made the situation worse. The fall of esteemed Leman Brothers, acquisition of Merrill Lynch and problems in AIG coupled with credit crisis in US is expected to hit Indian IT firms hard. Banking and Financial services constitute on an average 40% of their business and US market dependence is also close to staggering 45% (which has reduce over a period of time due to corrective actions taken by these firms after slowdown in 2002-03).
So what is the future now? I take the positive out of this situation. It had been a bull’s run for last couple of years, uncontrolled hiring and uneven growth. Its time to sit for a while and consolidate upon whatever we have gained over a period of time. It’s an opportunity to plan for the future and fix any loop holes that could have crept in our systems and processes. Re-iterate each individual’s responsibility, slow down the hiring, create opportunities in Asian markets which has largely been left untouched by IT surge( though the margins are going to be low ). Indian firms and government departments (central and state) remain untouchable to best practices followed all over the world and IT. Indian IT firms by working with most reputed of organisations all over the world have expertise to transform Indian industries by providing consultancy as well as IT services.
If these firms could stand 2002-03 debacles, there is no point to think that they would not swim this tide also. I am a little sceptical but also optimistic and confident.
“It affects us” I said looking up to the heaven, hoping my grandpa would hear it.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Me and We
It had happened in past and occurred again recently. I watched them unfold the mystery, sitting in the comfort of my home with “It happened in India-A biography of Kishor Biyani” in my hand. Didn’t you get it??….I was watching the proceedings of Lok Sabha, the sacred sanctorum of Indian Democracy, during recently concluded “Confidence Motion” discussion brought by honorable Prime Minister Mr. Manmohan Singh. I have a habit of keeping a book or newspaper in hand while watching TV to utilize my time during ad breaks and this time I had “It happened in India”. Luckily there were not many breaks during lok sabha proceedings and I didn’t get much time to indulge in the book or else I would have been torn between the ideals and risks of a man who changed the face of Indian retail and the activities of our elected MPs who stooped to the nadir.
The pre-voting days were mysterious and every hour brought a new ‘BREAKING NEWS’. If Devegowdas, Ajit Singhs and Shibu Sorens were undecided (or better call if waiting for the best deal), ruling alliance was nervous and opposition hurried sensing its time has come. That was the follow up stage for the real battle and all those aaya rams, gaya rams and new found paltu rams made it the most awaited event of the year. First day of the session was a normal one with PM bringing in the confidence motion, leader of opposition starting the debate and others following him. I missed the old days and speakers like Atal jee, Sushma Sawaraj, Pramod Mahajan, Rajesh Pilot and many others who were not there in the lok sabha this time. Speeches lacked the spark and oratory skills but second day was different. If Chidambaram attacked left and NDA, Lalu brought in humorous freshness and Rahul Gandhi opened his heart but it was the other thing that caught the attention “Cash on the centre table”. Opposition bought cash which they said was paid to them to change their vote. The whole parliament went into its toes and speaker hurriedly asked the camera to stop the live telecast of the proceedings. TV Screen went black and I started reading the book.
Kishor Biyani, don’t you know him? He is the man behind pantaloons, Big Bazaar, Food Bazaar and Central retail chains. A small time business man who made it big only on the shoulders of determination and rare but very small business ideas. He didn’t hire big advertisement agencies and consultancy firms but observed Indian consumer‘s habits, emulated small nukhsaas that our mom and daadi had and localised each store according to the regional preferences. He gives the credit of his success to India and adeptly called his auto biography “It happened in India”
Proceedings were back on TV screen and what I was watching shocked me to the core. MPs were purchased for their votes, some voted against their own party’s whip and some ran away before the vote and abstained themselves. I asked myself,” Had it not happened in past?” Yes…it had happened. What is the reason behind it?.........hmmm…many…….maybe money……..greed……..society………no no……..it’s the lack of moral values. Leave alone MPs…it’s all of us……we have lost the moral values. It the naked race for money, money & money, even if it means losing one’s own conscience.
I gazed on those blank walls of the room and thought, “My life is the same…..living each day, I didn’t do anything substantial….maybe won’t do anything significant in future as well. But so had been many generations, so am I and so would be coming generations. We are the arm chair critic who comments on all but does nothing. I looked back on the TV screen….results were announced and Ruling Coalition had won it. I saw them celebrating while I cried for the loss of human values, though I was happy that nuclear deal will now pass through and maybe ten years from now, India would be a better place. But the loss of values is eminent. The values got eroded with time. It had been a gradual journey. Every individual have lost a part of values that he inherited from their preceding generation and it is the unlucky MPs whose loss is on display and we as individual are lucky to keep it under wrap. “Ohhh..leave these thoughts” I said and envisaged my son doing the same 30 years from now. Nothing will change but for some like Kishor Biyani. I was back to “It happened in India”.
You are welcome to comment.................
The pre-voting days were mysterious and every hour brought a new ‘BREAKING NEWS’. If Devegowdas, Ajit Singhs and Shibu Sorens were undecided (or better call if waiting for the best deal), ruling alliance was nervous and opposition hurried sensing its time has come. That was the follow up stage for the real battle and all those aaya rams, gaya rams and new found paltu rams made it the most awaited event of the year. First day of the session was a normal one with PM bringing in the confidence motion, leader of opposition starting the debate and others following him. I missed the old days and speakers like Atal jee, Sushma Sawaraj, Pramod Mahajan, Rajesh Pilot and many others who were not there in the lok sabha this time. Speeches lacked the spark and oratory skills but second day was different. If Chidambaram attacked left and NDA, Lalu brought in humorous freshness and Rahul Gandhi opened his heart but it was the other thing that caught the attention “Cash on the centre table”. Opposition bought cash which they said was paid to them to change their vote. The whole parliament went into its toes and speaker hurriedly asked the camera to stop the live telecast of the proceedings. TV Screen went black and I started reading the book.
Kishor Biyani, don’t you know him? He is the man behind pantaloons, Big Bazaar, Food Bazaar and Central retail chains. A small time business man who made it big only on the shoulders of determination and rare but very small business ideas. He didn’t hire big advertisement agencies and consultancy firms but observed Indian consumer‘s habits, emulated small nukhsaas that our mom and daadi had and localised each store according to the regional preferences. He gives the credit of his success to India and adeptly called his auto biography “It happened in India”
Proceedings were back on TV screen and what I was watching shocked me to the core. MPs were purchased for their votes, some voted against their own party’s whip and some ran away before the vote and abstained themselves. I asked myself,” Had it not happened in past?” Yes…it had happened. What is the reason behind it?.........hmmm…many…….maybe money……..greed……..society………no no……..it’s the lack of moral values. Leave alone MPs…it’s all of us……we have lost the moral values. It the naked race for money, money & money, even if it means losing one’s own conscience.
I gazed on those blank walls of the room and thought, “My life is the same…..living each day, I didn’t do anything substantial….maybe won’t do anything significant in future as well. But so had been many generations, so am I and so would be coming generations. We are the arm chair critic who comments on all but does nothing. I looked back on the TV screen….results were announced and Ruling Coalition had won it. I saw them celebrating while I cried for the loss of human values, though I was happy that nuclear deal will now pass through and maybe ten years from now, India would be a better place. But the loss of values is eminent. The values got eroded with time. It had been a gradual journey. Every individual have lost a part of values that he inherited from their preceding generation and it is the unlucky MPs whose loss is on display and we as individual are lucky to keep it under wrap. “Ohhh..leave these thoughts” I said and envisaged my son doing the same 30 years from now. Nothing will change but for some like Kishor Biyani. I was back to “It happened in India”.
You are welcome to comment.................
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A Story of All, disclaimer: any resemblance to living or dead is pure coincidence
“Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque. “Its 5:30 AM” whispered Juman Miyan and left his bed, took the lotta (a steel utensil filled with water) kept under the bed and left for field. It has been the routine for Juman Miyan for last 50 years. He would wake up early and go directly towards his fields. Once he is complete with field’s inspection and has attended to nature’s call, he would reach the bridge over the river that flows by the village. The bridge is situated in the north-east corner of the village and acts like a gateway for the village. Many respected elders of the village would have reached the bridge by the time Juman arrives. Babu Kamaldev Singh would share national news that he had heard in 6:00AM bulletin on his radio. He would be chewing a long daatun (villager’s brush) in between his teeth. Others would sit surrounding him from all side. Govind Mahato would pass some comments on every news and would be continuously staring at the bank of river where many children would be playing and doing their morning chores, occasionally scolding someone who has gone deep into the river. It was a daily routine for the entire village’s elders.
“Election dates have been announced. It would be held next quarter in four phases” informed Babu Kamaldev Singh and chewed his daatun for a longer duration. It gave some time to Govind Mahato to pitch in with his comments, “kya karna?..These elections do no good to us but the politicians. Our life has always been the same” and shouted at a boy who had swam up to middle of the river.
“Naah….this time we will make sure that promises made by the politicians are fulfilled after the election” added jumman Miyaan
“ Ohhh Jumman…nothing will happen. We have repeatedly been promised roads and electricity but I think we would not be able to see good roads and electricity in our life time” said visibly sad Kamaldev Singh and other elders nodded in unison.
“Don’t lose hope Kamaldev babu. Last time MLA saab fulfilled his promise and opened a primary school in our village” said confident Jumman Miyaan.
“School with no teacher….It has two teachers who never bother to visit” added Govind Mahato.
“ acha bhailog…I am leaving. I need to go to fields” informed Kamaldev Singh and took out the daatun from his mouth and went towards the river for bath.
“Hmmm..even we would leave” echoed all the elders and meeting was off.
Jumaan Miyaan returned home after completing all his remaining morning chores along the bank of river and shouted for meal. His daughter Razia came out with water and plate full of meal. He ate and left for fields with his pair of oxen. Villagers generally have three meals a day- one before going to field, in the field and the last before going to bed. Their meals are quite heavy and their hard work justifies it.
“Hoorhhhhh………hothhhhh” Juman Miyan kept shouting and maneuvered his oxen through the labyrinth of village’s narrow passage like an expert, occasionally sharing pleasantries with others, lazily sited on the front of their house. Village was like a big family where one knew all and Juman Miyan never felt alienated even when he was following Islam in a Hindu majority village.
“ Kaaki!! I am not going to leave you this time, you will have to prepare the delicious for me this dussara” informed Juman to the mother of Babu Kamaldev Singh, who was 80 years old, on his way.
“Naah…….I will not prepare anything this time. I am too old now. I have brought daughters-in-law who are good cook. I hope they will prepare delicious food for you” said kaaki and inquired” If you are going to your fields…bring some fresh chana for me”
“ offcourse kaaki but you have more chana planatation than me. I am a small farmer compared to you son babu kamaldev singh” said Juman and laughed heartily.
“No...No…your chana are the tastiest” countered Kaaki and Juman noded and maneuvered his oxen towards his field.
Kaaki would always ask Juman to bring chana from his fields, though she had more chana plantation than him and he would always bring a bunch of fresh chana plants for Kaaki every evening. This gesture was an emotional act as Juman’s mother and Kaaki were very good friends and Kaaki looked after Juman like a mother when Juman’s mother died. It was a mother son relation, not by the birth but heart.
Juman had been living in this village since childhood. His father was posted in the local post office and though he originally belonged to Bengal, it has become his home since then. He was the only son of his father and fathered only daughter Razia before his wife died while giving birth to their second child. Memories of his wife and commitment towards his daughter Razia never allowed him to marry again. His income from his small land holding was enough for the survival of two member family. He would save some money every year for Razia’s marriage. That was the sole aim of Juman Miyan.
“Once Razia gets married, I can die peacefully” Juman had repeated this sentence many a times to fellow villagers and all would agree. In a patriarchic society like India girl child is always looked upon as a disadvantage and their marriage is one burden that bothers her father from day one.
Razia would play with other children when Juman worked in field. She would be in babu kamaldev singh’s home for the whole day, playing with babu kamaldev singh’s children. Juman would take her back while returning in the evening. Her best friend was Mehir, son of babu kamaldev singh. They would roam aimlessly around the village with other children, occasionally stealing mangoes from other’s orchid. Mehir would always keep the best mangoes for Razia and carry her on his arms when she got tired.
Days passed and Razia blossomed into a beautiful girl and Mehir joined Armed forces. They would meet occasionally whenever Mehir was on leave. Mehir would tell fascinating stories of armed forces. They were inseparable and shared all their secrets. Mehir would tell how he managed to escaped from his camp to watch movies and Razia would share her secret about her visit to Mela without Jumman’s knowledge.
That had been a tough day in field. The left boundary that separated jumman’s fields from others gave away and the all the standing water for rice plantation from neighbour’s field entered jumman’s field which he had not even been ploughed completely. He tied the pair of oxen in the mango tree planted at the corner of the field and started blocking the cracks in the banking. It took quite a long time and by the time he reached village it was dark. Jumman directly went to home but Raiza don’t reply even after repeated shouting. He tied oxen to naad( a big conical shaped earthen material made object in which cattle eat) and put some hay with water in it. Razia didn’t come back by then.
“She must be at babu Kamaldev singh’s home. Mehir has come back and she is always with him. They are still children” thought Jumman.
He washed himself and ate some morning roties that were kept near the chullaha. “Ohhh..this girl has not even prepared food today. Its limit now. I will scold her ….every time gossiping with one or the other…how long will it go” thundered Jumman and left for babu kamaldev singh’s home with bunch of chanas that he had brought for kaki.
There was something different today. It was dark and none of the homes had put laltern (light) on the terrace. It was all very silent and he found none on the road. All dark….no shouthing…..even the dogs were missing from road…..”I hope everything is alright. Has someone passed away that the village seemed to be engulfed in sorrow” thought Jumman and his hearth skipped a bit with this thought. Tense and fearful …he started taking big steps and was worried about Razia. “Where is she? Can’t she be at home...Why does she keep on roaming all over the village…..but what can she do? How can one leave all day in a lonely home?” kept thinking Jumman...he was full of worry and reached kamaldev singh’s home.
It was full dark and its doors were closed. This was the first time he found kamaldev singh’s house so deserted. “Kamaldev babu…….kamaldev babu” shouted Jumman but got no reply. “Razia….Razia”..again no reply. Jumman got worried and started patting on the door.
“Jumman…Jumman…don’t make sound and come here. Have anyone seen you coming here?” asked kaaki slowly from the side window’s small crack.
“No..No kaaki but where have all gone? I found no one on road...It’s all deserted. What has happened? Why are you inside? Where is razia?” inquired worried Jumman and wipped off sweats from his forehead and offered the bunch of chana that he has brought for her.
“wh…Jum….Jumman” said kaki and started crying inconsolably. Jumman was standing puzzled and blank.
“What happened kaki…don’t worry….let me know everything “assured Jumman.
“It’s all over Jumman. Sab khatam ho gaya……all have become devils” said kaki and signaled Jumman to stand behind the pillar so that none could see him.
“Elections were announced yesterday and today’s afternoon news bulletin announced that Jairam Pandit, leader of opposition party was killed while campaigning. This lead to rumor that it was done on the behest of other religion’s fanatics. This news spread like a wildfire and local police office was burnt and local tailor, bakery and madarsaas run by people of other religious faith were burnt and owners murdered. This lead to brawls all over between two community and Govind Mahato who was returning from his fields unaware of the development, was murdered” informed kaki and again started crying.
“Thanks kaki….You saved Razia. Please keep her with you. I will take her back when the things are back to normal” said relieved Jumman.
Kaki could not stop crying and said,” I’m sorry Jumman. Mujhe maaf kar de mere bête……….Razia came running to me in the afternoon and I kept her inside the house. Mehir and Kamaldev returned after an hour and were volatile and had death on their head. They just had been informed about Govin mahato’s killing and at once they saw Razia, he attacked her. I could not do anything Jumman. Mehir kicked out Razia once he had his revenge. Razia, shocked and betrayed, jumped into the well.”
Jumman felt vacuumed and blank. He had no remorse, no hatred and had no fear. He stepped back and walked away.
“Jumman…don’t go my child…they are searching for you. They have gone towards your field. …jumman..jumman” cried kaki.
Jumman was walking but didn’t know where to go. He was not weeping….the tears had dried down. Razia in no more…..Mehir ..Mehir did that to Razia who was like his younger sister. They were best friends. Allahh….is this you world? Images of past, of Razia playing with mehir, Kamaldev singh cajoling Razia…..were passing though his conscience. Jumman kept on walking aimlessly...praying to meet one mob which could free him of all his pain and trouble. He reached home and freed his pair of oxen. They gave Jumman a surprised look and continued eating from the naad. Jumman walked ahead and had no sense of his where about. He reached bridge and could hear the jingles of water flowing beneath.
The reflection of stars in river seemed as the stars are flowing on earth. One of those stars resembled Razia and tears started flowing. He cried inconsolably. He cried for Razia, for all who lost their life to satisfy the greed of politicians, he cried for himself, he cried for Mehir, for kaki, for Babu Kamaldev Singh and for humanity.
Two days later, an unidentified body was found on the bank of river in the nearby village. Police asked babu kamaldev singh to come for identification. Babu kamaldev singh identified the body and said, “It’s of Jumman Miyan, a co-resident of my village.”
Simultaneously, “Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque.
“Election dates have been announced. It would be held next quarter in four phases” informed Babu Kamaldev Singh and chewed his daatun for a longer duration. It gave some time to Govind Mahato to pitch in with his comments, “kya karna?..These elections do no good to us but the politicians. Our life has always been the same” and shouted at a boy who had swam up to middle of the river.
“Naah….this time we will make sure that promises made by the politicians are fulfilled after the election” added jumman Miyaan
“ Ohhh Jumman…nothing will happen. We have repeatedly been promised roads and electricity but I think we would not be able to see good roads and electricity in our life time” said visibly sad Kamaldev Singh and other elders nodded in unison.
“Don’t lose hope Kamaldev babu. Last time MLA saab fulfilled his promise and opened a primary school in our village” said confident Jumman Miyaan.
“School with no teacher….It has two teachers who never bother to visit” added Govind Mahato.
“ acha bhailog…I am leaving. I need to go to fields” informed Kamaldev Singh and took out the daatun from his mouth and went towards the river for bath.
“Hmmm..even we would leave” echoed all the elders and meeting was off.
Jumaan Miyaan returned home after completing all his remaining morning chores along the bank of river and shouted for meal. His daughter Razia came out with water and plate full of meal. He ate and left for fields with his pair of oxen. Villagers generally have three meals a day- one before going to field, in the field and the last before going to bed. Their meals are quite heavy and their hard work justifies it.
“Hoorhhhhh………hothhhhh” Juman Miyan kept shouting and maneuvered his oxen through the labyrinth of village’s narrow passage like an expert, occasionally sharing pleasantries with others, lazily sited on the front of their house. Village was like a big family where one knew all and Juman Miyan never felt alienated even when he was following Islam in a Hindu majority village.
“ Kaaki!! I am not going to leave you this time, you will have to prepare the delicious for me this dussara” informed Juman to the mother of Babu Kamaldev Singh, who was 80 years old, on his way.
“Naah…….I will not prepare anything this time. I am too old now. I have brought daughters-in-law who are good cook. I hope they will prepare delicious food for you” said kaaki and inquired” If you are going to your fields…bring some fresh chana for me”
“ offcourse kaaki but you have more chana planatation than me. I am a small farmer compared to you son babu kamaldev singh” said Juman and laughed heartily.
“No...No…your chana are the tastiest” countered Kaaki and Juman noded and maneuvered his oxen towards his field.
Kaaki would always ask Juman to bring chana from his fields, though she had more chana plantation than him and he would always bring a bunch of fresh chana plants for Kaaki every evening. This gesture was an emotional act as Juman’s mother and Kaaki were very good friends and Kaaki looked after Juman like a mother when Juman’s mother died. It was a mother son relation, not by the birth but heart.
Juman had been living in this village since childhood. His father was posted in the local post office and though he originally belonged to Bengal, it has become his home since then. He was the only son of his father and fathered only daughter Razia before his wife died while giving birth to their second child. Memories of his wife and commitment towards his daughter Razia never allowed him to marry again. His income from his small land holding was enough for the survival of two member family. He would save some money every year for Razia’s marriage. That was the sole aim of Juman Miyan.
“Once Razia gets married, I can die peacefully” Juman had repeated this sentence many a times to fellow villagers and all would agree. In a patriarchic society like India girl child is always looked upon as a disadvantage and their marriage is one burden that bothers her father from day one.
Razia would play with other children when Juman worked in field. She would be in babu kamaldev singh’s home for the whole day, playing with babu kamaldev singh’s children. Juman would take her back while returning in the evening. Her best friend was Mehir, son of babu kamaldev singh. They would roam aimlessly around the village with other children, occasionally stealing mangoes from other’s orchid. Mehir would always keep the best mangoes for Razia and carry her on his arms when she got tired.
Days passed and Razia blossomed into a beautiful girl and Mehir joined Armed forces. They would meet occasionally whenever Mehir was on leave. Mehir would tell fascinating stories of armed forces. They were inseparable and shared all their secrets. Mehir would tell how he managed to escaped from his camp to watch movies and Razia would share her secret about her visit to Mela without Jumman’s knowledge.
That had been a tough day in field. The left boundary that separated jumman’s fields from others gave away and the all the standing water for rice plantation from neighbour’s field entered jumman’s field which he had not even been ploughed completely. He tied the pair of oxen in the mango tree planted at the corner of the field and started blocking the cracks in the banking. It took quite a long time and by the time he reached village it was dark. Jumman directly went to home but Raiza don’t reply even after repeated shouting. He tied oxen to naad( a big conical shaped earthen material made object in which cattle eat) and put some hay with water in it. Razia didn’t come back by then.
“She must be at babu Kamaldev singh’s home. Mehir has come back and she is always with him. They are still children” thought Jumman.
He washed himself and ate some morning roties that were kept near the chullaha. “Ohhh..this girl has not even prepared food today. Its limit now. I will scold her ….every time gossiping with one or the other…how long will it go” thundered Jumman and left for babu kamaldev singh’s home with bunch of chanas that he had brought for kaki.
There was something different today. It was dark and none of the homes had put laltern (light) on the terrace. It was all very silent and he found none on the road. All dark….no shouthing…..even the dogs were missing from road…..”I hope everything is alright. Has someone passed away that the village seemed to be engulfed in sorrow” thought Jumman and his hearth skipped a bit with this thought. Tense and fearful …he started taking big steps and was worried about Razia. “Where is she? Can’t she be at home...Why does she keep on roaming all over the village…..but what can she do? How can one leave all day in a lonely home?” kept thinking Jumman...he was full of worry and reached kamaldev singh’s home.
It was full dark and its doors were closed. This was the first time he found kamaldev singh’s house so deserted. “Kamaldev babu…….kamaldev babu” shouted Jumman but got no reply. “Razia….Razia”..again no reply. Jumman got worried and started patting on the door.
“Jumman…Jumman…don’t make sound and come here. Have anyone seen you coming here?” asked kaaki slowly from the side window’s small crack.
“No..No kaaki but where have all gone? I found no one on road...It’s all deserted. What has happened? Why are you inside? Where is razia?” inquired worried Jumman and wipped off sweats from his forehead and offered the bunch of chana that he has brought for her.
“wh…Jum….Jumman” said kaki and started crying inconsolably. Jumman was standing puzzled and blank.
“What happened kaki…don’t worry….let me know everything “assured Jumman.
“It’s all over Jumman. Sab khatam ho gaya……all have become devils” said kaki and signaled Jumman to stand behind the pillar so that none could see him.
“Elections were announced yesterday and today’s afternoon news bulletin announced that Jairam Pandit, leader of opposition party was killed while campaigning. This lead to rumor that it was done on the behest of other religion’s fanatics. This news spread like a wildfire and local police office was burnt and local tailor, bakery and madarsaas run by people of other religious faith were burnt and owners murdered. This lead to brawls all over between two community and Govind Mahato who was returning from his fields unaware of the development, was murdered” informed kaki and again started crying.
“Thanks kaki….You saved Razia. Please keep her with you. I will take her back when the things are back to normal” said relieved Jumman.
Kaki could not stop crying and said,” I’m sorry Jumman. Mujhe maaf kar de mere bête……….Razia came running to me in the afternoon and I kept her inside the house. Mehir and Kamaldev returned after an hour and were volatile and had death on their head. They just had been informed about Govin mahato’s killing and at once they saw Razia, he attacked her. I could not do anything Jumman. Mehir kicked out Razia once he had his revenge. Razia, shocked and betrayed, jumped into the well.”
Jumman felt vacuumed and blank. He had no remorse, no hatred and had no fear. He stepped back and walked away.
“Jumman…don’t go my child…they are searching for you. They have gone towards your field. …jumman..jumman” cried kaki.
Jumman was walking but didn’t know where to go. He was not weeping….the tears had dried down. Razia in no more…..Mehir ..Mehir did that to Razia who was like his younger sister. They were best friends. Allahh….is this you world? Images of past, of Razia playing with mehir, Kamaldev singh cajoling Razia…..were passing though his conscience. Jumman kept on walking aimlessly...praying to meet one mob which could free him of all his pain and trouble. He reached home and freed his pair of oxen. They gave Jumman a surprised look and continued eating from the naad. Jumman walked ahead and had no sense of his where about. He reached bridge and could hear the jingles of water flowing beneath.
The reflection of stars in river seemed as the stars are flowing on earth. One of those stars resembled Razia and tears started flowing. He cried inconsolably. He cried for Razia, for all who lost their life to satisfy the greed of politicians, he cried for himself, he cried for Mehir, for kaki, for Babu Kamaldev Singh and for humanity.
Two days later, an unidentified body was found on the bank of river in the nearby village. Police asked babu kamaldev singh to come for identification. Babu kamaldev singh identified the body and said, “It’s of Jumman Miyan, a co-resident of my village.”
Simultaneously, “Alla Hu Akbar Allahhhhhhhhhhhh” announced the mikes fitted on the pillars of the village mosque.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
The Journey
It had not changed at all. It remained the same old red brick building with a big clock at the top and both sides flowing as far as I could see. The big bazaar of people….with as many going in and as many coming out. All in a hurry, giving no thought to others and in the process running over other’s leg or colliding with other’s luggage. It was like a race, with no time to show pleasantries or express sorrow. Standing in the sea of people were some black coat wearing people trying to find their prized catch, some more were in maroon robes running around to find the person with the bulkiest luggage and many more were having goods either on their head or hanging sidewise making all sort of noises. Randomly scattered were some stray dogs, cats and numerous rats which could not have found a better place than this in the whole city. I took a closer look at the building and though it had got extended, it was equipped with better facilities and looked better and clean. But it was the mannerism of people and aroma of surrounding that had not changed at all. It was the same old “HOWRAH” railway station, even after 5 years-the last time I saw it.
I took my suitcase and was about enter the building, when a person in maroon robes came forward. “Babuji, I am Santhosh.10 Rupees only” said he and took my suitcase over his head. I wanted to snatch it back but a look at his pale face and endearing eyes didn’t allow me to do that. We reached Platform No. 1 and I paid him “10 Rupees” as demanded and although he was having the suitcase over his head, it was I who felt relieved.
It was 3:30 PM and Coal India express arrived on time. I checked S-1 and entered the compartment towards seat no. 9.
“Chai..Chai” announced one and other followed with “ice cream...ice cream”, “Newspaper….taajo khaboor...Magazines”, “locks...Locks”, and “cold drinks…Water bottle” etc. Passing through the narrow labyrinth of seats, I found seat no. 9 and to my surprise, it was already occupied.
I said, “Hello Sir…It’s my seat”.
He was an old man wearing a spectacle with thick glasses. He looked straight into my eyes...maybe trying to destroy my eye sight by conversing his glance through his lenses. “Man, I have not captured your seat….I am not travelling. Can’t you allow an old man to sit on your seat for a while? How mean of you? Today people have no respect for elders. I am here to see off my son Debu who is at seat no.10. I will get off when the train is about to start. Meanwhile, will you mind sitting on the adjacent seat?” thundered the old man.
“Sir Chai?” asked one of the vendors. “Naa baba..chaie naa” protested the angry old man. I took this opportunity to move away from him and got seated to the adjacent seat, waiting for the train to start.
Pooooooonnnnn….siren went out. All started to leave the compartment and to my surprise it got empty. We were left with around 20 people and the same compartment was full to its capacity, just some minutes ago. “Nothing has changed.” I thought.
The train started running to its full throttle after some time. I arranged my suitcase, got into tracks and opened my writing pad that had novel “Maadhyam” by Mehir in its side pocket.
“Hi….I am debojit….I am extremely sorry for my father’s rude behavior” said Debu, extending his hand of friendship.
“Ohhh….no Problem. Old men do get irritated. It was too crowded as well as noisy at that moment” I explained.
“Are you reading ‘Madhyam’ by Mehir” asked Debu, without giving me a chance to introduce myself.
“No…no...Actually I have already read it. It came out as it was kept along with my writing pad” I replied and kept the novel back in the suitcase.
“I have read all his novels…5 so far….Madhyam being his first. In that case...You are junior to me….you need to catch up with the rest to come closer to me….ha ha ha ha” said the proud Debu.
I looked in his eyes and asked whether he was an ardent fan of Mehir. He replied in affirmative and started explaining, “My association with Mehir started when my father presented me his first novel on my 10th birthday. I grew up with his novels. Every 2-3 years…he would publish another novel and I would be the first to get hold of it. I and my father would compete with each other to complete it first.” It was followed with an extended laughing session.
“Even Mehir would be unaware that he had such ardent fans. He may be writing and leaving the rest for others to judge. I think he is a person who gets inspired by some individuals and situations and writes down the same with fictitious names and backgrounds” I added but debu didn’t like this explanation and his face said all.
He protested, “So do all. Writing is all about inspiration and experiences. Even fictions are a work of imagination with a tinge of author’s personal experiences”
I could only agree with him and decided to keep mum.
He continued, “ Mehir has not published any novel for the last few years. ‘Mausam’ was his last. I heard some rumors that he had left writing. He left his home and got settled in a faraway place, away from his past”.
I could see pain in Debu’s eye. Why does a person get attached to other? Debu never meet Mehir but he is as much disturbed and pained for Mehir’s personal life as Mehir himself.
“I have heard that there was a girl in Mehir’s life and she died of cancer. Mehir left everything after her death. If ever I meet Mehir, I would ask him that how could he leave writing? Though it was his personal work, it added fun, inspiration and values to our lives. I grew up reading his novels. I always tried to emulate the characters of his novels. My family would spend hours discussing his work. How can he take such a rash decision of not writing again? Everyone loses someone close during lifetime but does it mean we stop everything and keep mourning? ”, added Debu.
Debu’s reasoning made me blank. I had no words to say and didn’t want to disturb him anymore. I looked outside the window and the train was still running to its full throttle. I calculated that the train would take another 30 minutes to reach Jamshedpur. I could see rice plantation as far as I could. It was the cultivation time. Much of Jharkhand has been industrialized; though there still remains a major chunk of land that is used for cultivation. The sight of farmers working in an open field with the scorching sun running over, gave me strength to reply to debu. I looked back at him and said,” Debu! Don’t be so sad. It’s all an individual’s decision. There are many better writers. You should start reading their works also.”
“But how can a man leave his flourishing career at such a juncture where he was firmly placed for greater heights…..for the aim that he has worked all though his life?” reasoned firm Debu.
“You already have answered that in our conversation. You yourself said that writing was a work of inspiration and experiences. Mehir would have lost his inspiration with the loss of the lady in his life. Attachment is something that surpasses all the boundaries. You can get attached to anybody. These things are beyond any logic...the same as you got attached with Mehir’s novel. Some are strong enough to withstand any losses in their life…for some like Mehir, it is tough to face the non-existence of someone who was his life. They feel their life is meaningless without them and hence like to get lost where there is nothing to remind of them again.” I countered Debu and saw that the train has reached Jamshedpur.
I took my suitcase and was about to leave when Debu intervened, “It was very nice meeting you. I got answers; for them I was searching for years. I think this conversation will end my quest about Mehir and I would pray to God that may Mehir find other inspiration to write again….his writing inspires us”
I left the compartment and was about to leave but Debu shook my hand and said, “I didn’t get a chance to know about you. May I know your name?” with smile on his face.
I didn’t want to answer his question but a glance at his face didn’t allow me to leave. I answered slowly, “ Mehir…..I am Mehir”. I took my suitcase and got lost in the crowd. I could imagine Debu standing at the compartment gate looking at me, stunned. I had no strength to look back. Today, I had found another inspiration to write again. Today onwards I will write for persons like Debu. I am sure even Mehek would be happy with my decision.
I took my suitcase and was about enter the building, when a person in maroon robes came forward. “Babuji, I am Santhosh.10 Rupees only” said he and took my suitcase over his head. I wanted to snatch it back but a look at his pale face and endearing eyes didn’t allow me to do that. We reached Platform No. 1 and I paid him “10 Rupees” as demanded and although he was having the suitcase over his head, it was I who felt relieved.
It was 3:30 PM and Coal India express arrived on time. I checked S-1 and entered the compartment towards seat no. 9.
“Chai..Chai” announced one and other followed with “ice cream...ice cream”, “Newspaper….taajo khaboor...Magazines”, “locks...Locks”, and “cold drinks…Water bottle” etc. Passing through the narrow labyrinth of seats, I found seat no. 9 and to my surprise, it was already occupied.
I said, “Hello Sir…It’s my seat”.
He was an old man wearing a spectacle with thick glasses. He looked straight into my eyes...maybe trying to destroy my eye sight by conversing his glance through his lenses. “Man, I have not captured your seat….I am not travelling. Can’t you allow an old man to sit on your seat for a while? How mean of you? Today people have no respect for elders. I am here to see off my son Debu who is at seat no.10. I will get off when the train is about to start. Meanwhile, will you mind sitting on the adjacent seat?” thundered the old man.
“Sir Chai?” asked one of the vendors. “Naa baba..chaie naa” protested the angry old man. I took this opportunity to move away from him and got seated to the adjacent seat, waiting for the train to start.
Pooooooonnnnn….siren went out. All started to leave the compartment and to my surprise it got empty. We were left with around 20 people and the same compartment was full to its capacity, just some minutes ago. “Nothing has changed.” I thought.
The train started running to its full throttle after some time. I arranged my suitcase, got into tracks and opened my writing pad that had novel “Maadhyam” by Mehir in its side pocket.
“Hi….I am debojit….I am extremely sorry for my father’s rude behavior” said Debu, extending his hand of friendship.
“Ohhh….no Problem. Old men do get irritated. It was too crowded as well as noisy at that moment” I explained.
“Are you reading ‘Madhyam’ by Mehir” asked Debu, without giving me a chance to introduce myself.
“No…no...Actually I have already read it. It came out as it was kept along with my writing pad” I replied and kept the novel back in the suitcase.
“I have read all his novels…5 so far….Madhyam being his first. In that case...You are junior to me….you need to catch up with the rest to come closer to me….ha ha ha ha” said the proud Debu.
I looked in his eyes and asked whether he was an ardent fan of Mehir. He replied in affirmative and started explaining, “My association with Mehir started when my father presented me his first novel on my 10th birthday. I grew up with his novels. Every 2-3 years…he would publish another novel and I would be the first to get hold of it. I and my father would compete with each other to complete it first.” It was followed with an extended laughing session.
“Even Mehir would be unaware that he had such ardent fans. He may be writing and leaving the rest for others to judge. I think he is a person who gets inspired by some individuals and situations and writes down the same with fictitious names and backgrounds” I added but debu didn’t like this explanation and his face said all.
He protested, “So do all. Writing is all about inspiration and experiences. Even fictions are a work of imagination with a tinge of author’s personal experiences”
I could only agree with him and decided to keep mum.
He continued, “ Mehir has not published any novel for the last few years. ‘Mausam’ was his last. I heard some rumors that he had left writing. He left his home and got settled in a faraway place, away from his past”.
I could see pain in Debu’s eye. Why does a person get attached to other? Debu never meet Mehir but he is as much disturbed and pained for Mehir’s personal life as Mehir himself.
“I have heard that there was a girl in Mehir’s life and she died of cancer. Mehir left everything after her death. If ever I meet Mehir, I would ask him that how could he leave writing? Though it was his personal work, it added fun, inspiration and values to our lives. I grew up reading his novels. I always tried to emulate the characters of his novels. My family would spend hours discussing his work. How can he take such a rash decision of not writing again? Everyone loses someone close during lifetime but does it mean we stop everything and keep mourning? ”, added Debu.
Debu’s reasoning made me blank. I had no words to say and didn’t want to disturb him anymore. I looked outside the window and the train was still running to its full throttle. I calculated that the train would take another 30 minutes to reach Jamshedpur. I could see rice plantation as far as I could. It was the cultivation time. Much of Jharkhand has been industrialized; though there still remains a major chunk of land that is used for cultivation. The sight of farmers working in an open field with the scorching sun running over, gave me strength to reply to debu. I looked back at him and said,” Debu! Don’t be so sad. It’s all an individual’s decision. There are many better writers. You should start reading their works also.”
“But how can a man leave his flourishing career at such a juncture where he was firmly placed for greater heights…..for the aim that he has worked all though his life?” reasoned firm Debu.
“You already have answered that in our conversation. You yourself said that writing was a work of inspiration and experiences. Mehir would have lost his inspiration with the loss of the lady in his life. Attachment is something that surpasses all the boundaries. You can get attached to anybody. These things are beyond any logic...the same as you got attached with Mehir’s novel. Some are strong enough to withstand any losses in their life…for some like Mehir, it is tough to face the non-existence of someone who was his life. They feel their life is meaningless without them and hence like to get lost where there is nothing to remind of them again.” I countered Debu and saw that the train has reached Jamshedpur.
I took my suitcase and was about to leave when Debu intervened, “It was very nice meeting you. I got answers; for them I was searching for years. I think this conversation will end my quest about Mehir and I would pray to God that may Mehir find other inspiration to write again….his writing inspires us”
I left the compartment and was about to leave but Debu shook my hand and said, “I didn’t get a chance to know about you. May I know your name?” with smile on his face.
I didn’t want to answer his question but a glance at his face didn’t allow me to leave. I answered slowly, “ Mehir…..I am Mehir”. I took my suitcase and got lost in the crowd. I could imagine Debu standing at the compartment gate looking at me, stunned. I had no strength to look back. Today, I had found another inspiration to write again. Today onwards I will write for persons like Debu. I am sure even Mehek would be happy with my decision.
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