Weird feelings that strangely become important...

Cry foul with style!!! A kiss and a wish!!!

2011-09-14T13:37:00.018+05:30

Q: What is it like to be going ahead with the Odarpu Yatra amidst so much clout and charges?
...it feels great that I went ahead with it...I still remember the moment when I saw my father's remains and the chopper and in that emotional moment...PAUSE...

He gets out of the bullet proof black Scorpio car, perching on the railing and as he raises his right hand to wave...a huge uproar....JAI JAGAN...JAI JAI JAGAN...and then you see the sea of people waiting to just grab the hand which extends to them slowly...two minutes and he is back inside the car.

He wipes his face, pops a mint candy and turns towards me...Yes, so where was I?

That is Jagan Mohan Reddy...nothing like what is written in Wikipedia...or nothing as written in any article or not even the vehemant person you see reacting to accusations. This is the man who in just one year has won the confidence of crores of people of Andhra Pradesh.

I will not get into the nuances of rumours and some realities maybe...as said that it is the power of money and muscle which has got him here...I really would not want to get into that at all.

I must agree that I am writing this only on the perspective of having spent 14 hours with this man when he was in his best moments as I would call it. It is devoid all the political clout...

Considering that people have only read about his Odarpu Yatra and have just seen visuals of it on television...I shall tell you more than that.

Jagan Mohan Reddy is almost campaigning...when I say campaigning, I mean it in every way. This is the only reason for the Congress party to be driven up the wall; ofcourse lot of other reasons...yet!!! Jagan starts his day at 9 am and is on the road covering over a hundred villages, maybe more, in a day...and his day ends at 4 am. He is up again at 9 am for the next one.

He is a man who has had even people who are TDP voters change sides and chant his name. Initially, when I somehow squeezed myself through the huge ocean of people and literally tore a bit of my denim and a bit of my shirt to get into the car, I was wondering what exchanges was really taking place between Jagan and the people. My cameraperson who somehow managed to get by my side said, 'he is saying something to them and it sounds strange'. I gave him this weird look and said, 'let me find out'.

Considering that he would step out of the car almost every two minutes, I decided to let him warm up a bit before I asked him to continue the interview. Meanwhile, I decided to do a bit of snooping around. While Jagan got out of the car and threw himself into the crowd, I also did the same and was almost standing next to him, when I noticed what he was saying...Jagan has touched the hearts of children and women, elderly, middle aged and young. He kisses and blesses every single child in the vicinity and hugs every elderly woman and says, 'bye thalli (mother)'. Bye Ma (for sisters)...

What attracts them to him is that he is young, he seems promising, he is the son of a giant politician who won the hearts of all farmers in Andhra Pradesh. His yatra through villages is a combination of stops for speeches, stops to unveil the statue of his father, stops to wish people, stops to visit houses...and most of it are stops which are not planned...he would stop for every person who is on the road...If I could specify...in one kilometer, if there are ten people standing at different locations, he will stop for every single person, get out of the car and wish them.

It is just amazing to see the way he is connecting to people...it is magic. Even before Jagan reaches a place, there are people gathered in thousands. There is everything available for him inside the car..it is like a limo ;)

Believe me u...when Jagan has by mistake, and when I say by mistake missed a particular stop, people would just go wild...and the result of one of that was a huge stone which came flying onto the rear window of his car. And yes, it is bullet proof...so all that the stone did was create a small teeny weeny spot on the window pane. Now, that is anger due to desparation. And since then Jagan decided to stop no matter what.

Another instance I could remember is of a little boy who lay on the road in front of his car and said he would not move if Jagan was not going to visit his home. Now, would Jagan refuse? Hell no!!!

He gets a breather of two or three minutes after every stop...during that time, he is either sipping water, eating a mint candy or in deep thought. He believes!!!

Coming back to the questions I was asking him, well, he obviously cried foul and described all that he went through ever since the death of his father. This is the man who is sitting on a Rs 430 crore asset plus a lot more, facing CBI charges, now having cancelled his Odarpu for some time...

What I also noticed is that even if his stops are for one minute or maybe a bit more...he notices a lot and incorporates that into his memory and later puts them down to come up with a scheme which he proposes to these people. For example: He actually got into this full conversation with this boy who told him that there were no english medium schools in their village and there are kids who want to learn english. He registers that and says, 'you will soon go to one'.

His day ends up at the house of a farmer who committed suicide after hearing the shock of his fathers death, where he obviously offers the entire family help. He then would go to a huge public hearing and later would go back to visiting villages till 4 am. He would retire after that for just a small nap and he is back on his toes.

Oh, I forgot to mention, lot of women out there have a super soft corner for this man :) my little investigation and snooping around helped ;) heehee.

When he is out there, he is not a man of power, money, muscle and the rest...he is a man who has won the hearts of everybody...and we got to see where that would take him.

At the end of it, I was tired and the man wished me and the cameraperson a good journey back to Hyderabad and said, 'good luck'. Simple yet majestic!!!

Never say it!!!

2011-09-13T22:44:00.007+05:30

"You have become a typical Hyderabadi. Look at what you wear, look at your nail paint". When this sentence was thrown at me more than ten times by ten different people, that was the moment when something rang inside my skull...racism of a different kind!!! That is what I think. Racism does not have to just do with the colour of the skin or your origin or geographical placement of your ancestors. I was initially taken aback especially because the comment was coming from people whom I know like very well and some others I would call ignorant and stupid.

Four months in a new city and I had learnt to just sit inside a room and not go out anywhere. Not because there isnt anything to do. I shall explain the metamorphosis of this. BTW, I am from Bangalore and I have had no such encounters, ocourse comments about my skin complexion being a complex was long gone.

Day 4 of my entry into a hostel in Hyderabad: A Sunday when there is so much of banter in the hostel...I went up to the TV set and flicked the channels to find a news channel...ignoring the dozen girls who were watching some reality show on a Telugu channel. After five minutes I walked away, but, did not forget to tell the girls that I was a journalist not with the intention not with the intention to bloat in my own glory but to indicate the reason for my sudden appearance. Well, in those five minutes the girls tried to protest and got no response from me. well, why am i rambling is what you are going to ask...well, then came the moment, when I was turning to go into my room, when a stout big bust girl approached me and said..."hello ji, my name is Kanchan Singh (name changed). aapka naam?" I smiled and told her my name. Within the next ten minutes, madam stranger had become madam open book. She narrated her life story...now dont you want to know what her story is...a typical story taken out of a diary of a struggling wannabe model. "I will take revenge. That Hyderabadi girl stole my project. I am here in Hyderabad only to take revenge. If I was in Delhi I would have squeezed her life out", she barked.

Day 6: Kanchan walks into the hostel and noticed me standing in a corner and filling water into a jug. She comes up to me and hugs me. She then asks me to show her my room. I take her along because I noticed that she was drunk. Well, but I realised that even the drunkenness would not stop her from being what she is. A racist!!!
She came into my room and scanned it squinting her eyes a bit. She turns towards me and says, "is your room mate a Hyderabadi?" I insisted to correct what she had just said and replied, "she is a native of Andhra Pradesh. Yes. She is great company". My roomate walks in that very moment and glares at Kanchan who was btw, I forgot to mention scanty clothed. I immediately take this girl out of the room. Kanchan holds me and says, "Hyderabadi". My face flushed outta color and I immediately noticed my roomate approaching us. I just turned and pushed Kanchan away. She murmmured under her breath and walked away. Roomie and I never spoke about it.

Day 10: After four days of successfully avoiding Kanchan, I was on my way to achieve another day of avoiding, when she landed from nowhere into my room. She came in when I was getting ready to scoot to work. She came up to me and said, "arrey,what are you wearing?you look so Hyderabadi. Red chappals with a yellow kurta and denim." I was completely miffed this time. Isaid, "those are bathroom slippers and I do not wear them to work". I just gave Kanchan my usual "I am going to punch you" look and told her politely, "I have to rush now. I will talk to you later". She just smiled and went away.

After that day, I deliberately avoided Kanchan, even if she was almost naked in front of me one day. Heehee. Well, do not read in between the lines. She even tried to shove her face one day into my face...you know like bump into me literally and play the dodging game. Whatever, she never got what she wanted from me!!!

One month later, I get to hear the same thing from my friend who visited me. Then I hear it from my friends whom I met when I went down to Bangalore.

Now, let me tell you the other side to the story. When I reached Hyderabad, I was amazed that girls were completely clad. Initially I assumed that it is sporadic. But, when I noticed that in every part of the beautiful city of Hyderabad, women are completely clad; when I say completely clad, it means, just the eyes are seen, similar to wearing a burkha, but these women were not burkha clad. There are burkha clad women in Hyderabad.

Then I went about asking people I know why the women were completely clad. Some said, its the weather, some said its fashion, some said, well, Hyderabad also has a high crime rate.

Now, what is the connection, well, I eventually found myself changing into the same fully clad woman. My reason: Men who drool over a mannequin also which is clad completely BTW. Hmmmmm. So you can guess the rest.

If this is what a Hyderabadi is, well, I am proud that I turned into one.

I love the city and it is so much more peaceful and serene as compared to Bangalore. Bangalore is where I belong, but, Hyderabad is so much more calm and the roads are a marvel.

PS: Now I do not care when someone says, Hyderabadi and all that stupid talk.

Terrorists and their motive

2010-11-05T14:34:00.001+05:30

This was one of my good exclusives in Times Now. This is an interrogation statement of two Indian Mujahiddin terrorists who reveal a lot on the Bangalore chinnaswamy stadium blasts. The link to my story with details of the interrogation is down below.

http://www.timesnow.tv/IPL-blast-to-avenge-Pak-blackout/videoshow/4357630.cms

ATS: Who was behind the Bangalore stadium blasts?
Terrorist: Indian Mujahiddin. The ISI planned and executed the attack with the help of Indian Mujahiddin.

ATS: Where was the attack planned?
Terrorist: Karachi, at the training camp where most IM terrorists part of the module were present.

ATS: When was it planned?
Terrorist: Sometime in late 2009. We were present there for training.

ATS: Who was given the responsibility to carry out the attack?
Terrorist: Riaz Bhatkal. His brother Yasin Bhatkal was also present. The Bhatkal brothers had complete control of South India.

ATS: What explosives were planned to be used?
Terrorist: They were planning to use gelatin with detonators

ATS: Where were these explosives manufactured?
Terrorist: In Bhatkal village near Mangalore in Karnataka.

ATS: How big is the module for the Bangalore stadium blasts?
Terrorist: There were several local IM operatives who were working under Bhatkal brothers. None of them were there in Karachi, as Riaz Bhatkal was handling it directly.

ATS: Did you meet Riaz Bhatkal?
Terrorist: Yes. He spoke to us. We were part of the module. We were aware of it. We were sent to Dubai also where this was talked about.

ATS: What was the motive behind the attack?
Terrorist: We were constantly told that the removal of Pakistan cricket team from IPL was the reason for the attack?

ATS: What else did they tell you?
Terrorist: They told us that the blasts which have been taking place in Pakistan since 2009 was on the behest of India.

ATS: Did you believe that?
Terrorist: We were constantly brainwashed and told that India was behind the attacks. We had no reasons to not believe.

ATS: Who are the IM operatives in Karnataka?
Terrorist: Most of them are in Bhatkal only. Mousin Choudhary is also part of the module. But, Riaz Bhatkal was the key operator.

ATS: Where is Riaz Bhatkal now?
Terrorist: We were told that he is in Karachi.

ATS: Were you aware of the Pune German bakery blast also?
Terrorist: Yes. We were told about it. And we did know that it would happen immediately after the Bangalore blasts.

ATS: Who was behind that?
Terrorist: The same IM module led by Riaz Bhatkal and Mousin Choudhary.

ATS: Do you regret having been a terrorist?
Terrorist: We could never figure what is right or wrong. We were constantly told that we had to destabilize the Indian economy.

Hope was at our doorstep

2010-07-19T15:55:00.004+05:30

It is often said…Your good deeds will pay off someday. At the most unexpected, unpredictable time, when you are lost in the chaotic life. That one deed, which might have caused an impact in a person’s life, will just take any form and take you by surprise. I am sure it happens to most of us, sometimes consciously, sometimes without realization.

I am definitely not intending to focus much on what I did. It is close to nothing. But, it was a moment of joy for someone who had lost hope in life.

She walked into office one morning and asked for me. The receptionist asked me if I knew her. I repeated the name several times under by breath. As I walked towards the reception, I realized something and my eyes just widened. I knew her. I could not help but feel enthralled. It is strange I thought.

She was sitting on one of the sofas in the lounge. Initially I could not find her. My eyes were looking for her, more like a feeling, to make sure that I had guessed right.

Finally I found her. Her small petite body which had aged gradually, had drooped. Her gray and black hair was cut short, like I had seen earlier. I walked upto her. The moment she saw me, it was like a lightening of feelings which splurged into the void she was living in.

She hugged me, kissed my cheeks several times. ‘It is so good to see you…so so good…’ she said. I reciprocated by politely accepting and greeting her sudden rush of feelings. I held her hand, ‘How are you doing?’. She did not reply. Instead, she looked down and held my hand tighter. She then slowly raised her head and said, ‘Do you know how much it helped me. I did not know how I would get home that day…I had not even paid the autorickshaw driver when I came to the police commissioners office. You saved me’.

She immediately dropped my hand which was safely cupped in hers all this while. She picked her handbag. I said, ‘Please madam, do not embarrass me. I was concerned. You are like my mother. It is ok’. She said, ‘No child, I would not do that. I just bought you some chocolates. You are a young girl and I am sure you like chocolates’.

The next second, a big bar of chocolate was in my hand. I did not know what to say. I sat her down. ‘How are you doing?’ ‘I am ok darling’ ‘Did the police address your problems?’ ‘not really. I think they have been bribed’. She then tried to tell me what the problem was. Words, hard to comprehend—House, brother-in-law, wall…and the rest just drifted away…as she gasped for breath…gulping away something which was choking her…trying hard to control…but not for long. Tears rolled down her wrinkled cheek. I said, ‘Please hold on. I will look up this case for you’. Her face lit up. ‘Why? How?’ The next few seconds just went by in me explaining how we could solve her problem.

Loyela Mascarenhas was a 60-year-old woman I met at the police commissioner’s office. She had approached me when I was running around on my routine. We had spoken for exactly three minutes. In those three minutes, I had to ensure she was ok to get home safe. In those three minutes, she managed to tell me that she will meet me again. She had asked my name and my place of work.

Close to one month after that, there she was, sitting beside me, with tearful eyes, but, this time, a lot better. There was a smile in those eyes. She said, ‘I got my hope back…’, and she walked away.

I smiled. There was a feeling within me. A feeling of satisfaction, happiness. My otherwise troubled mind, just seemed to open up. A feeling of freshness, when rain droplets fall on a withered leaf. Smile is all I could do since then…Hope had just knocked my door too.

The millionaire

2009-02-09T15:15:00.001+05:30

Too late to write you think so. Well, not really. Its still there. A hot topic even at the Oscars. Slumdog Millionaire. The lesser words said about it, the better. Reality bites. An amazing portrayal of Mumbai and the life at Dharavi slum. Can’t get better than this. I am not saying that films have not been made on the slum or the life there. It has been. Books have been written. But, this kind of perfection, you would not find anywhere else.
Just a thought…if it was an Indian filmmaker, this script would have not seen these good days. No offence to Indian filmmakers. The perfection in editing and cinematography is practically possible only by Hollywood or Western filmmakers. Maybe it would just take a Sathyajit Ray to make such a film.

The film has a mild touch of City of God. If you have not watched this one, then its not worth it by saying that you are a movie buff or whatever. Gory, yet, reality. A Brazilian movie about a kid called Rocket who grew up in the violence in a slum and goes up to be the underdog and also does a Robin Hood stunt. The concept of `The Three Musketeers’ in Slumdog Millionaire also seems to have been borrowed from City of God, which has `The Tender Trio’.

Danny Boyle has for sure been influenced by that script. At the same time, he has kept the flavour of Bollywood and Indian filmmaking. Even the titles have a 70s look, just like he mentions Amitab Bhachchan and his film Zanjeer. It does remind you of your childhood when you grew up watching his films. Everything about the film is breathtaking.

If you still have not watched Slumdog Millionaire…then you must. A synopsis for you:

Director:
Danny Boyle
Loveleen Tandan (co-director: India)
Writers:
Simon Beaufoy (screenplay) and
Vikas Swarup (novel)
Tagline:
Love and money... You have mixed them both.
Plot:
Slumdog Millionaire is the story of Jamal Malik (Patel), an 18 year-old orphan from the slums of Mumbai, who is about to experience the biggest day of his life. With the whole nation watching, he is just one question away from winning a staggering 20 million rupees on India¹s "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?"

But when the show breaks for the night, police arrest him on suspicion of cheating; how could a street kid know so much? Desperate to prove his innocence, Jamal tells the story of his life in the slum where he and his brother grew up, of their adventures together on the road, of vicious encounters with local gangs, and of Latika (Pinto), the girl he loved and lost. Each chapter of his story reveals the key to the answer to one of the game show¹s questions.

Each chapter of Jamal¹s increasingly layered story reveals where he learned the answers to the show¹s seemingly impossible quizzes. But one question remains a mystery: what is this young man with no apparent desire for riches really doing on the game show?

When the new day dawns and Jamal returns to answer the final question, the Inspector and sixty million viewers are about to find out.

Silence

2009-01-19T23:02:00.003+05:30

Source: Picture from Google
She screamed, shrill voice filling the silent air. ``They killed my brother. My brother. He was beaten to death’’…..a pause to breath and then screams again…continued by the same sentence.

She ran from from pillar to the other, pulling her hair. Her mother and sister cried. The three women were hounded by lights; camera lights belonging to various news channels. Reporters waited; waited, for her to stop the screaming. All of this at 12 am.

Then there came a disaster, like, she was waiting for it. A senior police officer came walking towards the three women. She sprang, charged and hit him. But, fortunately, she hit his chest. The officer was taken aback and was later covered by his sub-ordinates. The media ran towards him and he struggled to straighten up and give a statement.

``Arun stabbed someone called Vijay and was brought to the police station. He complained of chest pain at 9.30 pm and we took him to a private hospital. We have not beaten him up’’. He ended his statement and walked off.

While he was talking, she continued screaming. Mala, the older sister of Arun Kumar, who had died while in police custody at the Frazer Town police station, did not let a tear fall off her eyes, but, she wanted to express her anger.

They (Arun’s relatives) said that he was a poor florist with a shop at Mosque road. His wife Radhika had committed suicide two months ago and the couple has a daughter called Sharon. Merely two years old. Now, she is orphaned. ``They (the police) beat us up when we demanded to see his body,’’ said Pratap. And then he showed bruises, to make the media believe him.

Arun’s wife had doused herself with kerosene and then set herself ablaze, said Pratap. ``Arun tried saving her, but, he failed and had injured his right hand,’’ he said.

Suddenly, the relatives decided to go to a private hospital in Coles Park, where Arun was taken initially.

Then the crowd shifted to the hospital, where the scene was worse. The relatives had pelted stones at the premises and the shattered glass blocked the entrance of the hospital. As I entered inside, scared doctors and nurses ran into their rooms, shutting the door. Mala ran into the hospital and cried again, ``I can’t see his body. I don’t want to see it. I don’t have the strength’’. A relative told her that his body was not there and it had been shifted to a government hospital.

The doctor at the private hospital, very politely told me, ``He was brought dead, Madam. There were no bruises’’.

The crowd again shifted to the government hospital and later dispersed at 1.30 am.
The next morning, all statements seemed to change. Doctors were conducting a postmortem examination. Arun’s uncle told the media that Arun had a drinking problem and he had even been admitted at Ambedkar Medical College for a liver malfunction. ``There were no bruises on his body. His stomach had gone in and his eyes were open, when we saw the body. Looks like he died of the liver failure,’’ said Pratap.

A human rights activist came up to me and said, ``something is fishy here’’. I looked at him and shook my head in agreement. There were seven inspectors from various police stations from the East division gathered at the hospital. A media reporter asked one of them, ``Sir, why are you here? This is not your case’’. He replied, ``we have to support our neighbouring stations, when calamity strikes’’ and he walked away, grinning, like he had done the most heroic deed.

The family then brought two-year-old Sharon. She was clinging onto her aunt—Buela, scared and confused. The media rushed towards her and clicked million pictures and then she was taken away.

The police later in the evening released a statement. ``Arun, prima facie, was psychic’’. ``He had killed his wife. He had a drinking problem’’. Silence filled the air again and the screams had finally stopped.

Tale of two strangers…

2008-11-24T21:02:00.002+05:30

It is part of my profession to talk to anybody on the street, because that’s how I get the news. But, it is strange when people catch have this instinct to strike a conversation with you, without any context and expect you to react. Especially auto rickshaw drivers. This was not my first experience of having a light chat with an auto rickshaw driver; yet, it was strange how he observed me, expecting me to react to everything that he wanted to say. He was obviously in the mood for some friendly banter. And yeah it was a 45 minute drive.

I as usual took an auto rickshaw from home to hurriedly get to office. A meeting! I was late, in a mess and tense. I usually make most of my calls to check if anything has happened in the criminal world while I am traveling, because I have to report at the meeting. This middle-aged auto rickshaw driver, with large eyes, big built and dyed hair kept looking at me through the rear view mirror. I thought, `just another annoying lecherous man’. I was talking to a colleague about a rape and a murder which I had reported a day ago. He obviously seemed to have figured out that I am a journalist.

The moment I hung up, he asked me in Kannada, `what rape were you talking about?’. I thought for a minute before reacting and he repeated again, what was that you were talking about?’ I said, `well, you must have heard about the woman who was raped in Chikpet yesterday’. And he says, `yeah yeah yeah. Ocourse, read it in Sanjevaani (most sought after evening Kannada daily newspaper’.

`And then the murder. What was that?’ he asked again. I said, `well, a murder has been reported this morning in Chenammanakere Acchukattu’. And his big large eyes went rolling and he suddenly turned to look at me with a question mark gleaming on his face, obviously looking for some more dope. I did not have much to say. So then he continued with his banter. I was amazed by the stuff he came up with. Especially his English. Yeah. He preferred to speak to me in English after sometime, though he knew that I could respond in Kannda.

``You know, kids nowadays, I mean rich kids have become a daily contributor to the increasing crime in the city. They have their father’s money and don’t know what to do with it’’. And then he looked at me. I said nothing. He continued. ``These IT professionals, they can live a happy life. You know. But, they either commit suicide, or they kill their spouse or they are into some economic crime’.

`And the rowdy menace. It has become intolerable. The other day, I saw a man being cut into pieces in the middle of a busy road. I mean, why?’. I said, ``The city is very unsafe’. Responded just for the sake of it as he obviously wanted me to react. Then he says, `I have stopped interacting with anybody. I have my family and I finish work and get home. That’s all. Nothing more than that. We can’t trust anybody these days’.

ICING ON THE CAKE

Then there was silence for almost 20 mins. I was almost reaching office. And then he goes again. This time he took me by surprise, cause it had nothing to do with the earlier topic. `Can I ask you something?’. Even before I could react he said, `Don’t you think there should be a rule that a man and woman should not involve in a relationship before marriage? I mean, in my generation, when I was studying PUC (12th standard), I did not even look at a girl. We feared our parents. Even if we like someone, we never got involved with the person. Nothing before a marriage’.

I did not know what to say. Then he says, `You know I get embarrassed when couples try getting cozy while traveling in my autorickshaw. I cannot even say anything, as it is not right to intrude into their privacy. But, I don’t feel good about it’.

He asked me again, `Don’t you think there should be a rule?’. I said, `I really don’t think that is possible’. He then smiled and said, `And then there are men and women who have extra marital affairs’. There was no more time for any reaction. I had reached office. He took the money and smiled. While I walked away, he drove off.

LIFE AND LIVING

2008-11-18T13:18:00.004+05:30

The Hooch Tragedy which struck half of Bangalore and Tamilnadu on May 18, 2008 still remains fresh in my mind. I can recollect the night when I got a message about 20 bodies being shifted to Bowring Hospital in Shivajinagar and the person told me that they had consumed spurious liquor. I could not believe the scenes that followed therefater at the hospital and at the Roshan Mohalla slum in DJ Halli. I revisited the place on November 17, 2008 and I was shocked to see that life in the village was back to normal, with none of the promises made by the BBMP or local politicians had been kept. I saw little kids walking around sniffing whitener, gulping down bottles of cough syrup and men lying on garbage dumps after consuming spurious liquor. The mark of the hooch tragedy still remains, but, nobody wants to stick on to it. Women who lost their husbands have preferred to get on with their lives. It was a strange feeling which left a mark on my mind when I walked out of DJ Halli.

This was the most memorable article which my colleague and I wrote after we visited the eerie Roshan Mohalla in DJ Halli on May 31, 2008.

Saturday May 31 2008 16:40 IST ENS
Soumya Menon and Jayadevan PK

Roshan Mohalla in DJ Halli is like a ghost town. A despairing silence reigns over the place. The residents are still trying to understand what hit them on May 18 when 60 people died after drinking illicit liquor. This is the worst hit locality. Almost everyone seems to have lost someone — a family member, friend or acquaintance — to the deadly brew. The sense of hopelessness is almost palpable among those who have lost their fathers, sons, brothers — all breadwinners. More than 160 people from the region are still being treated at the government hospitals in Bangalore. One of those affected is Muniyamma, who lives in the smallest house in Roshan Mohalla. The woman who works as a labourer and doubles as a domestic help to make ends meet, lost her husband Nagaraj to the brew. She has had trouble enough, but her problems just seem to be beginning. Muniyamma says she has received the allotted Rs 50,000 for the death of Nagaraj, but that is no consolation. “My mother Parvathamma is fighting for life at Star Hospital in Madiwala. They do not provide free treatment. She is in the ICU and we pay almost Rs 5,000 every day. Now we do not know what to do, as we do not have any money left,” she says. Her younger sister Parvathi, who was also married to Nagaraj, has not received her share of the compensation. “I have one son who is studying. Muniyamma has one young child. Now, we women are the only ones left in the family to bear the expenses and take care of everything,” weeps Parvathi. DJ Halli is full of similar stories. Shanta lost her husband Dore and older son Selva, both labourers and is desperately trying to find a way to feed his children. “I have another son who is also a labourer. Now he is the only earning member in the family. We are still trying to pick ourselves up,” she said. The hustle and bustle that was there in the locality is now missing. A strong smell of DDT pervades the air. Walking down a street that has more than 200 huts, there is little to hear other than the echoes of the voices of little girls who are either orphaned or left with a single parent. Occasionally, you hear the sound of a television programme coming from one of the houses. The only other sounds are those of the self-important honking of trucks belonging to the excise department, whose officials have descended on the village. It is a bit late in the day, but they are going about their task of checking and probing. The villagers have reacted to their presence with a mixture of resentment and bewilderment. They wonder what department officials were doing when the bootleggers were plying their trade before the tragedy. Why could they not have foreseen what had happenned? After all, that is their task. Better enforcement could have spared people such as Sampurna the agony of having to bear the entire burden herself. Sampurna’s world came crashing down when her sister Rani (38) fell victim to the killer brew. She left two children — Rani’s husband had deserted her long ago, and she was fending for Devi (12), Idumba (5) and her mother Ramayi (60) on her own. Now there is only Sampurna to take care of them, and she has her own family to look after. The responsibilities have doubled but there is no additional income for a deeply apprehensive Sampurna. She wonders how she will provide for everyone. “It is a good thing that the government is giving us Rs 50,000 but I feel that it is not enough,” she says. Given the awesome scale of her responsibilities, that is an understatement. Fathima, who lost her husband 10 years ago, has nowhere to go after the death of her two sons — Maula and Mehboob. Both men were married and have minor children. There is no surviving male. “Who will now fend for the women and children?” she asks. Fathima’s daughter has heard that her brother was poisoned to death at the hospital. “Mehboob was recovering. Nobody can explain how his condition deteriorated suddenly,” she says. While the hordes of social workers, government officials and political leaders come and go, waxing lyrical about the plight of DJ Halli and what lies ahead, the residents of Roshan Mohalla are busy with the humbler task of fetching water. That is something of which the area has never had enough. Maybe it is the only remnant of business as usual in the layout. After the arrest of Soundar Rajan, who is said to have supplied the spurious liquor, the villagers have just one question: “Will the government and others open their eyes and see the sorry state of the families that the deceased have left behind?” Perhaps they will. Or maybe the next tragedy will distract their attention altogether. The people have learnt, in the hardest, most painful way possible, that they could have prevented this calamity if only they had known that spurious liquor is the kiss of death.

THE OBAMA VICTORY

2008-11-05T16:02:00.006+05:30

When the figures clearly showed that Senator Barack Obama had taken a huge leap ahead of Senator John McCain, there were predictions and superstitions running wild across the globe. This is the first time that the US Presidential Elections had attracted attention across the globe, only because of one man—Obama. And off course the global meltdown. And then within couple of hours, the figures showed Obama going way beyond the 270 mark and

America

's 44^th President had emerged.

Whether this African American can bring about global change is the challenge. With America undergoing the biggest crisis affecting all countries across the globe, this man is seen as the saviour. I am no political analyst or economy expert to comment on how this will affect the global economy. But, I would certainly share my views on how I was drawn towards watching Obama's victory on television.

On Tuesday night, I decided that I would watch the last process of `AMERICA VOTES' on television. I set an alarm for 6 am for Wednesday.

Right on time. I was alone at home. All televisions in my neighbourhood were blaring loud with television anchors going breathless talking about the figures rising. When I switched on the TV at home, it all synchronized.

All I recall is that Obama had conquered half of USA and he was still waiting for the rest in his camp in Chicago. Meanwhile, McCain and Obama had already had a telephonic conversation, which was amazing. This 42-year-old man was to be the new face of America.

I was switching my attention from watching the television and reading the newspapers. Obama was all over. And then I shift my gaze from the newspaper to the television and the screen was flashing big and wide…``OBAMA ELECTED THE 44^TH US PRESIDENT''. The feeling was great. There were celebrations across the globe.

Television news channels were shifting from one location to another airing the celebrations.

But, did anybody sit up and look at the 72-year-old John McCain who even after his failure to conquer the Presidential elections, said, ``this is my loss. But, my people of Arizona, this is a victory for you. You have got the best leader who will lead America. You have to support him. We have to support him and ascertain him that we will contribute on our own way to help him get America out of this crisis''. And the crowd could say nothing more than shout…``John McCain''. Smiles, not of loss, but, of faith in McCain was spread across Arizona.

I could not have missed this. But, I would like to say that more than a Presidential speech, these words of Sentor John McCain were most inspiring. What it means to me as an Indian who has never been to America. Well, more than what it means, it is just an inspirational speech which Indian politicians should pick up and learn. God save Indian politicians. A comparison would be foolish, yet, where will you find an opposition party leader in India supporting the ruling party? Other than allegations and political gimmicks, there is nothing more to a party which loses elections.

And then off course the great Obama speech. Powerpacked. Spontaneous. Like a stream of consciousness. Like a lightning. I postponed my trip to the shop to just watch his speech.

The strange part about this whole issue is that NRIs have suddenly turned supportive of Obama, when they do not realise that this will hugely affect their industry, ultimately bombing everything attached to the IT sector. In what way, well, I really can't explain. However, celebrations were full on across Bangalore city. This man is some character.

And as I started writing this post, I checked my email inbox and found this email. The most touching email I received from a cousin who has lived half a decade in America, inspired me to think of how pristine and bright the future is for Indian immigrants in America. However, I hope and wish that this African American Democrat or rather a people's President will tie up loose ends of every knot tied to the Global Power.

Her email goes like this:

Politics – A perspective from an Indian immigrant now a US citizen

I was born and raised in India. India shaped my values, early education and provided me with rich multicultural experiences. I continue to love India because it is a progressive nation and is openly tolerant towards all religions and races. I grew up to be a tolerant person because of those core Indian values. Politics was not on my mind at that time. Like a typical teenager, I was focused more on college, hanging out with friends, and watching movies. I was least interested in politics because then I thought that the Indian political system was hideously corrupt and that made me cynical about the Indian government. I did learn in civics that we had a parliamentary form of government and we had the right to vote and that was it for me. Then I moved as an immigrant to USA in 1999. Primary reason for the move was to acquire better education and fulfill my ambitions. After 5 years, I was sworn in as a US citizen because it felt good to have a US passport. I considered myself as a pseudo American in an Indian skin. I continued to be cynical about politics after Bush got re-elected for the second term. I did believe that democracy was a fancy political term in this nation because of Electoral vote system. I detested shows like Olbermann, O' Reilly factor or Lou Dobbs that discussed politics and government divisively to promote their extreme partisan views. They failed to take a neutral stand.

Let me begin to tell you how my interest in politics was aroused. A young senator from Illinois, who gave an inspiring speech in 2004 democratic convention, finally caught my eye. So what happened in 2008? Just as I hoped, this skinny black man beat the odds of clinching the democratic presidential nomination in 2008 primaries. Like any other person, I started to delve into Barack Obama's life. It turned out that he had lived the ultimate American dream. He attended Harvard much before affirmative action came into play in the 90's. He was also the first black president of Harvard Law Review. In conclusion, this man worked his way up. After graduating from Harvard Law School, Obama chose to become a community organizer in the south side of Chicago. His goal was to help the poor instead of pursuing a career in corporate law. He never used his color as an excuse to reach his ideals and more importantly he broke all racial stereotypes to rise above and beyond. Barack Obama's triumphs and tribulations to get elected in the Illinois state senate spoke for itself. His vision of America was apparent in his message "we are not the red states or the blues states, we are the United States".

Obama's outstanding ability to acknowledge people from all walks of life- rich, poor, gay, straight, black, white, brown, democrats, republicans and independents as Americans is commendable. He openly admitted that he is imperfect and reflected on his mistakes and continues to do so. During those campaign speeches, he not only discussed his policies, but also reminded Americans to move beyond the painful past of slavery and racism. What really moved me was that he chose to shape his life in the absence of his father and reminded black men to be responsible and committed fathers. He stressed that government cannot replace our basic duties as a citizen and we all have to participate as one nation to bring change. And for the first time in history, he inspired young cynical Americans to get involved in politics. This morning, I voted for the first time and I felt good about being a part of this historical election held in this powerful nation. I fulfilled my duty as a citizen for the first time in a nation that gave me better opportunities and hopes for a brighter future. Regardless of the winner in this election, I have realized that change begins from us and it is not only our right, but our duty to vote. Need I say more, "that is change". ---- Indu Menon

Children of God

2008-10-27T13:49:00.006+05:30

He was walking up and down a street, looking for someone who could give him ten rupees. He knocked every car which was parked on that street. He looked famished, drugged and was not able to articulate what he wanted to say. But, his hands would automatically spread out the moment he saw someone.

It was a Sunday evening on St Marks Road and the road was bustling as usual, people stopping at food joints and liquor shops. Though one would notice these little children who beg, nobody would want to take the trouble of talking to them and getting them out of the atrocious habit they have got into.

I was in a car with a friend and he repeatedly knocked the window pane. After 30 minutes of watching him walking down the street, I decided to talk to him. Why? He was holding a piece of cloth, holding it on his mouth and sniffing something. His eyes were red. I asked him to come near. He immediately spread his hands asking for money. I asked him if that cloth had whitener in it. He denied.

I asked him to give it to me. A half metre cloth dipped in whitener. The moment I sniffed it to check what it was, it nauseated me. I told him that I would not return it to him. He did not speak and just stared at me. When asked what his name was, he said, `Kushal’. How old are you? `I am 12 years old’. Where do you stay? `I do not have a house’. But, you should be staying somewhere. `I stay in a slum near Shivajinagar’. Don’t you have parents? `Amma (mother) is at home. Appa (father) is dead’. Do you have siblings? `No. I am the only son’. Why are you doing this? `No answer’. What will your mother do if you die? `She will look after herself’. Can’t you work, instead of getting into these habits? `No answer’. Do you want to work? `Yes. Will you get me a job?’

I was enthused by the response. I would have been more than happy to get this boy out of this habit. I gave him ten rupees and said that the next time I come here, you will wait for me and I am taking you to a person who will help you become someone great. He smiled. A smile which inspired me. I asked him if he was regularly at St Marks Road. He said yes and then ran away to tell a friend what just occurred.

I will go there again to just see Kushal. I have promised to change his life. Most of us talk about children being abused, but, none of us even bother approaching them. I would rather say that we are `ignorant fools’ who are stuck in our own world.

I would like to mention here about someone who has changed the lives of thousands of street children in Bangalore. John Devaraj, a civil engineer by profession. But, he has dedicated his entire life to the welfare of these children. He has picked children off the street, rehabilitated them and some of them are educated now, working at software firms. This is called `reformation’ and it is not impossible. All you need is `will power’ to create a change.

I recall working with John as a young journalist. The first time I met him, he started the conversation with me by saying:

Every child is Born Free.
Free from hunger.
Free from poverty.
Free of hatred.
Free from toil.
How many children in our country are living free?

After that, every time I tried writing on the good work he had initiated, I started the article with these lines. John started a school for these children, called `Bornfree Art School International’. Unlike all other NGOs which try rehabilitating children through counseling programs, he uses the most ancient form of `ART’ to rehabilitate them. He feels that it helps them express their feelings, which moulds their life. John’s school travels across the country and abroad. His vision and ideas have helped several people across other nations change their perspective about social welfare. He deters from being called a `NGO’ worker. He says that it is a `People’s movement’ for the liberation of toiling children. His theatre and art forms have transformed many a children across Karnataka.

You will find John standing somewhere on the streets of Bangalore chatting away with street children. He accepts them as his own friend and then embraces them. This is what we have to adopt. Live like they would so that they would not feel that they are a class apart and then transform them.

If you also want to contribute to the movement started by John, contact him at:
bornfreeart@gmail.com.