Lesson 27: Did my father murder Rizwanur Rehman?

Dear Papa, hope you don't misunderstand this, if and when you do read this.

I had always thought it was Papa's 'over-protectiveness' that made him dislike the idea of me talking or befriending any boy. I say 'boy' because the first memories of Papa reacting adversely to any male company around me goes back 20 years...

I was 9-years-old and the said boy was 12. We were stationed at Jabalpur (Madhya Pradesh), one of the cities where any Ordinance officer will spend a considerable part of his tenure. This boy was a visiting relative of one of our neighbours. He was about two inches taller than me, had nearly blonde hair (called it 'English' hair back then) and very, very red lips. So he would play with us and we became playground friends. Till the day he pecked me on the cheek for some reason and there was "scandal" amongst the kids. I promptly reported the transgression to the Aunty whose house he was staying in; who in turn 'apologised' to my mother. That should have been that, only that Papa decided to have a mini-talk with me (over the years the length of those chats grew, much to my alarm).

The only thing Papa said was, "You stay away from that boy, he is not a good boy. All these Punjabi boys." After that I stayed away from 'Punjabi' boys for a long time. Till Papa found that one of my closest friends was a Tamil boy. Then he said, "All these Tamil boys..." and then it was "All these Jat boys..." and 'Nepalis', 'Sardars' and 'Christians' and so on and so forth. Towards the fag end of adolescence I realised that Papa perhaps just did not like boys. Or boys who were my friends.

It was confirmed when I heard him telling Ma, "Ei je mein, ekta jhola-pora Marxist dhore aan be... nahole tattoo-kora Panjabi ke" (This girl will either get us a jhola-clad Marxist or a tattooed Punjabi boy) When I was getting close-to-marriageable, Ma said, very concerned, "Whatever you do, don't bring us a Christian, Muslim or Sikh." I pointed out that given Papa's restrictions and now hers added to it, there wouldn't be any/ many men left to marry. I had suggested a Nigerian and a horrified mother had said, "Bachcha gulo koto kaalo hobe". (The kids will be so dark). Funny because I am bloody dark-skinned too. Back then, it was a joke.

My father also had a gun (two actually, licensed) and would often say that if I got him a "bugger" he didn't like, he would use it freely. Papa never used that gun (or perhaps I was smarter). But many fathers do use their guns. Or hire thugs and policemen to yield their guns. They kill Jat-sikh boys for marrying a 'Pappa-Sikh' girl -- I still don't know the difference but three years in Amritsar taught me there was 'some' difference. Or a newly-wed couple because one of them is a 'Dalit'. Or a Muslim, Calcutta-based graphic designer called Rizwanur because he married a girl called Priyanka, Hindu.

Sometimes these MURDERS are called mob violence. Sometimes Panchayat justice. Sometimes they are labelled honour killings. It is supposedly honourable to slaughter your child. Wah. Sometimes -- like in the case of Rizwanur Rehman -- the Police Commissioner (Calcutta) calls it a suicide. It is not about the poor. The more money you have, the more you seem concerned about HOW you appear to society. The more you have to protect your 'honour'.

It is not even about people falling in love. It is about Hate. You just hate if someone wears a patka, or a skull-cap or a janeyu. We hate the "spineless and loud" Bengalis. We hate the "crude" Jats. We hate the "dosa-loving Mallus". We hate the "converting" Christians. We hate the "bloody uncouth" Biharis. We hate the "stingy-stinky" Maharashtrians. Wherever we can find ANY reason, we hate. And we murder.

And the lawmen of this country, the protectors', they commit these murders. Sometimes the police reach the site late. Sometimes they don't find witnesses. Sometimes they drag people behind their motorcycles. Sometimes they watch many being massacred. And in Rizwanur's case, it seems the policemen, the bloody protectors, are the murderers. WHY? Because a poor boy loved a rich girl... or a Muslim boy loved a Hindu girl?

Our attitudes are so clear. Team India whopped Team Pakistan in the T20 series. I got two messages on my cellphone. One read, "Chak de India, **** de Pakistan" and the other... The other commented on certain anatomically missing parts and how "we" took care of the rest. Wonder what Zahir Khan and the Pathan brothers have to say about it or if they are lesser players for missing anatomy.

And yet, no posts will bring Rizwanur back.

_________________________________________

Praanadhika from Elaan sent me this --- ALL those in Calcutta or those who know people in Calcutta, please inform, PLEASE join. It's not about religion. It's about MURDERING someone who had as much right to life as you and me. Whether Hindu or Muslim.

We believe that Justice is a Constitutional right for every living being, regardless of nationality, caste, religion etc. What happened with Rizwanur Rehman and the circumstances that surrounded his untimely death have raised both hackles and questions. We want answers, fair and just ones. We don't care about the politics behind it, we don't care about the big guns with their (bigger) mouths.. we care about what matters at the end
of the day - Human Dignity. However, since violence and war only lead to more of the same, we have chosen to join hands with some fellow crusaders outside St. Xaviers College, Park Street as part of a silent and peaceful candlelight vigil in Rizwanur's memory. The Elaan supported vigil will be held from 6AM to Midnight on Wednesday October 10th outside St.Xavier's College. Many of you might have read about the candlelight vigil in the papers or seen photographs of it in the papers. It is part of a 100 day protest for justice and it would mean a lot to the people of this city if you could devote just 2 hours of your time to it. If you are interested in being a part of the Justice for Rizwanur Campaign, please email - elaanspeak@yahoo.co.in / mansi@trisyscom.com

PS: My househelp and companion is a Muslim. The other day, while oiling my hair, she said, "Didi, some Hindus in our colony had a fight with some Muslim boys. The Hindu boys threw bottles in my house. I am scared." She works very hard, pays a huge rent because she does not want to stay in a jhuggi (slum/ghetto) and wants to send her 6-year-old son to college someday. The 'fight' took place somewhere near Connaught Place. We live near Vasant Kunj. So WHY her house? I am scared too. ---- J Bo

Lesson 19: Anger is the manifestation of Fear…?

And are you afraid yet? For till you don't feel the fear, you won't feel the anger.

Suresh* (name changed to protect identity) has old parents at home, he’s their only support. Like any other young guy, he also likes this girl. She stays in his colony. They don’t speak much, except he ensures he takes a round of her house when she is outside, drying clothes or sweeping the porch. He is an autorickshaw driver. Suresh and his family faced a severe money crunch for three years so that Suresh could buy his own auto. Usually, autorickshaw drivers work under contractors and pay anything between Rs 300-350 as daily rental charges. Whatever they earn in a day – or not – they have to pay that amount for using someone else’s auto. Once he got his own auto, the family saw happier times. You and I perhaps would still find their living conditions pecuniary, but they were happy.

Last week, another autorickshaw driver – a local goon of sorts – murdered another auto guy, with a sickle (darati, in Hindi). The police came to their colony and picked up Suresh. He had not even raised a finger. There is proof, there were eye witnesses that he did NOT do anything. Currently Suresh is in jail. His bail has been refused. The murderer is roaming free; he has local-level politicians for friends. Suresh’s parents don’t know what to do. They are scared. Suresh’s friends are angry. Because they are afraid. That despite their friend being innocent, he will probably be booked in a false case.

I am scared because despite knowing Suresh – I know him through Umakant, my favourite auto-wallah – and yet, I cannot do anything… As a professional. They called me, the auto-drivers. I know them, they have my card. I had said, “Bhaiyya, kabhi zaroorat ho to batana,” (if you ever need me, call me). They called. I am media. People are supposed to be scared of me. I am angry. I am scared. Can I do anything? Will my channel/editor take up the story? Will METRO NOW take it up? But then, Suresh is an auto driver and such things only happen to little people. Not news, nah. Not TRP.

On the colony gate of Green Park Extension – one of Delhi’s relatively posh areas – there is a notice. A missing person’s notice. The girl in the picture is pretty… and has been missing since August 8, 2007. The notice is in font size 8, hardly visible; and has other posters sticking on it. I wonder if the girl is alive. Or gang-raped. Or maimed. Or perhaps sitting in a minister’s bedroom somewhere, to be used and then sold off. But you see, that missing girl is not any Adobe officer’s child. So no one in the media will bother about mobilizing forces and cameras to find her. Can I help her? You? Ha ha.

There was a comment on my employee-website… We had broken a story on Ministers being part of a racket where MINOR GIRLS are brought as house-helps, raped and made to have babies. The comment read, “Can you please help us find my brother’s daughter? She has been missing.” It was written by a Doctor… not an anonymous Rupa sticking on a busy colony gate. And yet; is their family angry, because they are scared? And what if tomorrow someone from your family is kidnapped? Will you trust the police or will you hold a press conference?

As a macabre joke, interestingly, my favourite autowallah Umakant, was the man who brought Adobe Anant back home in his auto: It was out in the newspapers, please check. And today, his best friend Suresh languishes in jail.

I had mentioned a DJ-event sometime back (on the sprawling Garden of Five Sense, under the aegis of Delhi Tourism) in one of my earlier posts. The organizers had paid all taxes and taken all permissions to hold an event. Yet, the police interrupted the event much before the sanctioned-time. No one could do anything but go home. Meanwhile, this Italian restaurant flouts rules every Saturday. Why? Because they pay the cops. Tomorrow, when the same cops come and declare they are going to bulldoze the place, I wonder how much money the restaurant would shell out.

Does Delhi remember Turquoise Cottage? THE Media hub on Wednesdays? Quite interesting that despite frequenting that place and joining communities in its praise, I really did not see ANY media support IN the papers on or TV for “our beloved TC”. That restaurant too used to be open till 2 am. Any guesses how? And yet. Shrug.

Do you have a friend in the Air Force or the Army? What will you do tomorrow if you learn your friend was shot dead in Drass; trying to protect a post, the location of which was compromised BY another corrupt official or perhaps some buffalo-loving politician? Or because some extremely intelligent politico – usually with a criminal record and no education – decided that that particular post did not need many soldiers? Or what if your pilot friend crashes, flying the decrepit helicopter the Air Force has? Will you do a Rang De Basanti? It IS a real situation, the b******s really don’t care. And how many times, the Rang De Basanti... for each soldier? Each missing person? Each religious riot?

Ditto for those who might have seen ‘Crash’. It could be your girlfriend and a policeman’s hand under her skirt while you are held at gunpoint. Gurgaon Police nearly did it to me in 2004. We were waiting at a Gurgaon colony-crossing, waiting for another couple to come in their car and lead us to their house. It was 9.30 pm. So these drunk cops come and while they are talking to my male friend, are checking me out. I will never forget. This burly cop, spat, then cleaning his teeth with this little finger, was pointedly staring at my breasts. I could FEEL his look. Then pointedly looking at my crotch – jeans – he asked my friend, “It’s not safe for medam to be traveling with you. Leave her here. Go find your friend.” I took out my press card then, like an ass. It was a lame gesture. The cops started laughing and said, “Arre medam, biyaabaan main camera nahi hote.” (There are no cameras in the jungle.) I swear, IF a policeman EVER touches me…

Yes. I am angry BECAUSE I am scared. And I am thinking. I really did not like the ending for Rang De Basanti. Does it have to be that? What happens when josh (adrenaline) and hosh (intelligence) come together? If a handful FEW can find ways to tweak the law for their benefit… WHAT happens when an ENTIRE nation puts its head together? Joins hands? Or even a handful? Do we always HAVE to be the victims?

And for how long? And for HOW long will you live in fear… Turn it to anger. Yes, Anger is a manifestation of fear. Feel the fear. But GIVE me your anger.

I will be afraid; and yet I will transform that fear into potent anger. Anger that DOES something. But, I will use my brains. Josh aur hosh. That will be my contribution today. Yours?

Lesson 9: Who is the Indian Shitizen?

I will be polite to the housekeeping boys and security guards, or will at least keep my mouth shut each time I want to be rude. That would be my contribution today. Yours?

Contributed by Citizen Mohit (on the Rocks)

Who is this Indian Shitizen? That’s the question I asked myself the first time I came across this term and that exactly was the question I could hear in my friends’ tones. I guess everyone who has been on our sites has their own interpretation of this term. Here’s mine!

Please Note: Using ‘he’ comes more natural to me but this generally applies to the ‘she’ too – unless noted otherwise.

The Shitizen's Past
He was brought up in a middle class house with middle class dreams. He is mostly the child of a government servant or a small business owner (the parchun ki dukaan types a.k.a the Mom ‘n’ Pop stores in the West). Not very long ago, he used to study in a school and dream of becoming an engineer or doctor and work hard to buy his own new motorcycle, not a Harley Davidson but a more down to earth Hero Honda Splendor or a Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ. It was supposed to be an upgrade from his father’s Bajaj Super/Chetak (or, as in my case, a Vijay Super!).

Maruti 800 would be the next step towards a successful life. While he was opening up with cable television in his home bringing an end to the monopoly of the monotonous Doordarshan with the advent of Zee TV and MTV, there was still no competition to the 20 minute news capsule (back to back at 09:20 PM in Hindi and at 09:40 PM in English) that would update him on all that was to know in the world of politics, states, sports and the weather. Entertainment folks never made it to the news unless they died.

He would dream of getting into an IIT and make it to the big companies which at that time meant Samtel (makers of picture tubes for almost all brand TVs in India, at least at that time) or one of the TV makers themselves (Onida, Videocon) or of course the core manufacturing giants like BHEL, SAIL (remember the “There’s a little bit of SAIL in everyone’s lives” ad before the news?), Tata Steel and the like. His career choice was made (or doomed) at the age of 16 when he was asked to choose Science or Commerce. Did I say choice? Ha … a big HAH! It was mostly on the basis of marks in the Class X Board exams (remember your parents and teachers telling you, “These are the exams that will define your life beta”?). Commerce was not an option; it was a majboori. People taking commerce were looked down upon. They were not seen as people who genuinely wanted to study Commerce; they obviously didn’t get science.

USA was not a friend; we were not aligned with any of the super powers. So what if we just had a fascination for all things Russian when it came to strategic defense infrastructure and know-how? To appear fair to the world, we did let US planes refuel their tanks in Indian airbases during the Gulf War. USA was supposed to be for Punjabi and Gujarati families who would sell off their assets in India to fly to Amreeka [America] to work in gas stations and motels. People looked at the angry-young-man of Bollywood and public leaders for inspiration.

Marriage between a Punjabi and a Madrasi was only possible in Ek Duje Ke Liye. Fair skin was the number one criterion for considering a girl beautiful. Amitabh Bachchan would be seen with Rajiv Gandhi. Anu Malik was the favorite whipping boy for his “inspired” music and outspokenness. Prannoy Roy with his Friday night program, The World This Week, was the favorite newsman while Vinod Dua had a similar status in Hindi journalism. Sardar+ music meant bhangra and Daler Mehndi, of course, TV serials meant a span of 13 episodes (for whatever reason).

Rules Back Then
There were some basic rules of the game in those days.
1. You never get into a fight with a government servant; he could be a line man, postman or a chapraasi but if he works for the government, it meant that he had control over a lot of luxuries in your life. You could say goodbye to your letters or telephone service if you so much as hinted of an altercation with the Sarkari Karamchari unless, of course, you were the offspring of either his boss or a policewallah.
2. A girl and a boy could never be friends. They were either brother-sister or husband-wife. Apart from that, a boy had to be a friend of the girl’s younger brother to be able to talk to her and that too only to ask her to call her brother. He would have to imagine the rest of the conversation later at night, in his dreams.
3. Sikhs were supposed to be Khalistan; Christians were peaceful and loving people as long as they stuck to teaching in English-medium convent schools. Muslims were supposed to be Muslims first and Indians later. Hindus were obviously the righteous ones because their political leaders were the ones setting the perspectives about all others.
4. Politicians cared and worked for their vote bank only: So what if a certain Rajiv Goswami burns himself alive to protest against their policies?

His Present
The Indian Shitizen of today is young and works out of plush offices not the sarkari daftars.
He suddenly found himself in this new world where Kawasaki Bajaj RTZ went out of production and Hero Honda Splendor became just another entry level bike. The Indian Shitizen can realistically buy an expensive Harley Davidson clone now, if he wants.

He can afford to buy a Ford Ikon as soon as he gets his first job (and a lot of them do buy one). Yes, loans are no more a social taboo they once were. Cable television is the only television for him now. News is now broadcast 24 hours a day for him on exclusive news channels. 20 minutes news? Are you kidding? That would be the time that is spent on just “our top story tonight” with everybody and their mommy chipping in with their analysis. Yes, news items became “stories”.

IIT is still a dream today but you can get into any of the big multinational software companies with a degree from your friendly neighborhood engineering college, which is only a little unfriendly to the pocket. Shimla and Ooty have given way to Phuket Island and Mauritius as top honeymoon spots… and New Year parties. You don’t have to pack your assets in India to go to US now – software engineers go for a few years and come back (or not); some even go just for vacations. The US consulate in Mumbai now has a dedicated separate counter for “Shahs and Patels”; the Delhi counterpart has one for those speaking only Punjabi or Hindi.

Angry young man is out; today’s Shitizen looks at reality show stars for inspiration. The Aneek Dhars (Sa Re Ga Ma Pa 2007) and the Amit Sanas (first Indian Idol ), coming from small towns to make it big on or behind the silver screen have made it to our drawing rooms (which are now known as living rooms, by the way). Atal Bihari Vajpayee was the most favorite politician of the youth of today; (With all due respect to Vajpayee ji) I will not be completely wrong if I say that it was because the youth did not know of any other leaders.

Marriages between a Punjabi and a Madrasi have come out from Bollywood movies to real life even as Bollywood itself gets more real than ever in movies like Satya. Girls are no more judged beautiful based on their fair skin. Amitabh Bachchan is now seen with Amar Singh. Baaju hat (move aside) Anu Malik; Himesh Reshammiya has taken over as the favorite whipping boy as he becomes bigger than Anu Malik ever was (and, as he claims, even RD Burman)! He espouses the Indian Shitizen like few other – does what he wants and likes to do and does not give a damn about what his detractors think of it, as long as he enjoys his work and knows that. Prannoy Roy is still respected but Rajdeep Sardesai (whom my father describes as “ek puraane first class cricketer ka ladka hai, achcha bolta hai, kaafi achche achche points uthata hai” [he is the son of an old first class cricketer, speaks well, brings out very good points]) has captured the imagination of the current youth. Sardar + music now also means guitar based Sufi-Rock! TV serials now go for so long that characters have to die because an actor leaves midway for another serial (also starting with K, of course).

The current Indian Shitizen has seen a world of change in his lifetime. Looking back now, it seems that till one fine day, it was the past and suddenly he came into the present with all its changes, for good or bad.

But some things didn’t change
So a lot of things changed for the Indian youth from his adolescence years to adulthood. But there has been little change in his attitude towards the government and vice versa. Public corporations, for the most part, have become synonymous with losses and red-tapism and corruption. A girl and a boy can be friends today (not all agree to this even today) but they run the risk of being pulled up and beaten by Shiv Sainiks or RSS workers, especially close to Valentine’s Day. Parents don’t mind if their daughter comes back from the college with her guy friend but the self-appointed custodians of Indian culture don’t care for what you and I think.
Religion is still a controversial subject. Sikhs have been absolved of the terrorism ‘charge’ but the Muslims have been put in that mold now. A normal Hindu and Muslim still don’t have any problem with each other but “Hindu-Muslim relations” as portrayed by the politicians are at an all time low with riots and bomb blasts occurring recursively. Politicians still make policies to please the vote bank –Rajiv Goswami is dead now and the striking doctors protesting against the govt are shown as heartless people not tending to their patients. Arjun Singh scares the hell out of the Indian Shitizen by recommending reservation in the private sector too.

Problems facing the country are frustrating but the common man has found alternate ways. For example - No electricity? No problem – get an apartment in one of the buildings selling two bedroom flats for 40 lacs with a clubhouse and 24 hour electricity and water supply. For every thing public, there is a private (and more often better, even if more expensive) counterpart. Schools, Hospitals, even roads (e.g. toll roads like the Noida toll road); the list goes on.

Since the common man found ways to circumvent the things that didn’t change, he lost interest in the nation. Talking about politics became passé. It was a surprise if someone knew the names of the chief ministers of more than 2 or three states. People today don’t know the number of states we have in the country. They know about the Osama and Clinton campaign more than the fact that we could be facing mid-term elections in this country.

But some of them have had enough shit from the politicians and people who have their own personal agenda in keeping the country backwards or in inciting revengeful religious sentiments. They are the people who want to bring India back into our mental frame; to at least increase the awareness of issues facing us and, where possible, take steps to help. Those people, I believe, are the INDIAN SHITIZENS!

(PS: It was difficult reading Mohit's piece in one go, simply because even as I was reading the story, I kept pinging Mohit to tell how this-has-happened-in-my-life-too. The Indian Shitizen could be a liquor baron and son, the next top supermodel, someone not just born with a silver spoon but the entire effing cutlery set in his mouth... and as Mohit has written, a HUGE population of our country, are the Middle Classes Children. Bajaj Priya was Papa's first scooter and I stood before him on that scooter for 12 long years before we got our first car - a Maruti 800 that was electric blue in colour, second-hand -- in 1991. It's funny and amusing how a LOT of my younger friends today and never-been-on-a-scooter types often say when they spot a "family" on a two-wheeler, "Oh my gaaaawd, HOW can they sit with kids dangling like that on scooters? It is dangerous, they should not. Seat belts bhi nahi hai!" Right. For those 12 years that Papa drove with me infront and Mamma at the back and bhai on her lap; we never had an accident. NEVER. Oh that scooter is STILL around -- and called Akbar -- I learnt gears on that and forever since, MISTRUSTED anything gear-less. It's like riding a goat.
Thanks Mohit: Very nostalgic.
Task Force: I missed a date today, please understand, my sense of time zones SUCKS. So I might be thinking I am uploading on 4th while it ends up becoming 5th. :| One post missed. SO PLEASE point out.