201. Light

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 43; the forty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "LIGHT"

“You know the code?” asked the chief.

He nodded.

“Repeat the code”, the next guy spoke in a low voice.

“Sir, one light: “stay where you are”, two lights: “move forward safely” and three lights:  “move back”.

The chief laughed like Gabbar Singh!

The young man had a question, but sensing the antagonism he kept quiet.

They started towards the forest.

“What if there is no light?” he asked slowly.

“There will be no light today. That will end the darkness” an old man uttered smilingly.  

He realized that they had a plan to surrender the chief to the authorities.

(*This is a Drabble)

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131. The Other Day

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 21; the twenty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

(1)

It was about six in the morning. Somaa was in his 8^th round of the police parade ground. He was feeling tired and weak. He was not able to sleep well yesterday night – for no apparent reason. He was remembering his home, his village, his parents, his friend Mangu, the hillock, the trees and his dog. His friend Shyaama laughed at him and said, “You are becoming really girlish now a days. What is wrong with you?” Somaa had smiled and kept quiet. However he continued to feel uneasy about something, which he was not able to name.

Suddenly a car appeared on the scene and a man alighted down. Somaa had never seen him. He must have called the people here, because at that moment Somaa’s reporting officer too rushed in. From the manners of the reporting officer, Somaa could guess that this must be a very senior officer. “City Commissioner”– somebody said in hushed tone.

“Somaa MaDaavee, come here,” Somaa’s reporting officer ordered.

Somaa stopped in an instant. He felt weak in legs; a drop of sweat ran down his neck. He knew everybody was watching him.

“Sir,” he came forward and saluted both the officers.

“Are you from GaDachirolee district?” the Senior officer asked.

“Yes sir,” Somaa answered. The reporting officer nodded in affirmative.

“From which area?” another question; without revealing the cause of the inquiry.

Somaa answered. The officer thought for a second. Then he ordered, “Pack up. You are traveling to GaDachirolee in 10 minutes.”

Somaa panicked. What was it? Was he being expelled? What was his fault? He looked at his reporting officer, but he avoided eye contact. “Run, only nine minutes now,” the senior said.

(2)

After half an hour, Somaa along with a group of police officials was in the railway which was heading towards Nagpur. Most of them were from Chandrapura and GaDachirolee districts. He knew some of them and he gathered about others from informal interaction.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he realized that he was not expelled but was called on a Special Duty. What would be that duty? They were going to GaDachirolee – meant some special mission. In GaDachirolee area, Special Mission could mean only one thing – combat with Nakshalites. From experience Somaa knew that combat with Nakshalites meant life or death – nothing less than that.

Was he ready for that? His relief was so short lived.

(3)

Somaa remembered Mangu. Mangu had strongly advised him not to join police force. Somaa’s family had little land and so many mouths to feed. There was no alternative but someone in the family had to move to city and earn money. When the police recruitment advertisement was announced in the newspapers, Somaa decided to give it a try. Having studied in Ashram School, Somaa had such dreams to be a ‘man in uniform’. He was mature enough to understand that he could not become a doctor or an engineer.

Somaa’s father did not object, “You are grown up now, you know what is good for you” he had calmly said. Somaa’s mother did not understand anything; she was used to Somaa’s being away from home. Somaa’s siblings were too young to understand anything. However Mangu opposed the idea and Somaa was surprised by that.

Mangu had dropped out of school very early, but Somaa’s friendship with him remained intact. Somaa always was surprised with the knowledge Mangu had in spite of lack of education. Lately Mangu seemed to have been earning good money – he wore posh clothes, had a golden wristwatch and even had a motorcycle. When Somaa asked him the source of wealth, Mangu had told him that he was taking various forest contracts. Somaa had accepted it without giving much thought.

When Somaa shared his idea of joining the police force, Mangu asked, “what for?”

“Money, obviously,” Somaa had said.

“Ok, work with me. I will give you more money.” Mangu had said. Initially Somaa thought it was a joke. So, he humorously added, “I don’t want to work on wages. I want to earn status. I want to see the world at large.”

Mangu with exceptional seriousness had said, “I promise you more status, more power, more money and more luxuries if you work with me.”

Somaa was confused and asked Mangu to explain. But Mangu did not explain. He had another point.

“You are half the time in the city, so you do not know. But those people have banned us joining the police or for that matter any government job.” Mangu said politely but firmly. Somaa knew that ‘Those people’ were Nakshalites. He had come across some suggestions of joining them, but he always had kept himself away from them.

“What are those people to me? Do they feed me and my family? Do they take care of our needs?” Somaa spoke angrily. “They have not bothered about me, why should I bother about them? Why are they against my progress? ” Somaa was still furious but stopped when he saw Mangu’s face.

“Tell me the truth Mangu, are you one of them?” Somaa asked, hoping that it won’t be true. Mangu was silent. “That is how you get all that money, by killing some, by exploiting our own people… “Somaa stopped once again abruptly.

“Look,” Mangu was very polite, but Somaa could sense the volcanic anger behind his calmness. “I never came to ask your advice, so keep it to yourself. What I want to tell you is that don’t join the police force, I assure you that you will be taken care of.”

“And as a friend it is my duty to tell you that if after all this assurance, you decide to join the police, I will not be responsible for its consequences.” Mangu said again.

“Are you threatening me? You, my friend? Do you think it is Sultanate? We are free people and we can do anything that we want. Now let me see, who stops me from joining. I also tell you, that come what may, I will make it happen. I am not going to join the dogs….” Somaa had to stop again because Mangu left without even looking at Somaa.

(4)

Somaa traveled from Wardhaa towards Chandrapura – with a tea break at Jaama. On the way they were not allowed to read newspapers, no radio, even mobiles were ordered to be switched off. But Somaa gathered that Nakshalites had struck some of the villages in GaDachirolee. Somaa knew that Nakshalites always struck badly – involving many deaths.

After a brief at Chandrapura district police headquarters they moved towards Etapalli with many more joining the group. They were moving like an army in the battle. Somaa knew the forest paths, and once they entered the forests; his role was to guide the team.

Slowly they moved in the direction towards Somaa’ village. Somaa became more and more anxious. Was his village surrounded by Nakshalites? Was his family safe? Was his home safe? Could he help them? Or was it too late?

Now he knew that it was his village that was at the center of the event.

From the distance Somaa saw fire mounting to skies. He ran. He screamed. He shouted. He wept.

But it was of no use.

There were no human beings – only dead bodies – some half burnt, some burnt into ashes.

Somaa had no time to lament, to grieve, to weep for the dead. Nakshalites were in the next areas, other villagers were trapped by them. They had to be saved. Somaa had to lead the police force to the next village through the forest.

(5)

The other day, this village was vibrant.

The other day, his family was here.

The other day, the trees were adding serenity.

The other day the animals were moving listlessly.

The other day he and his friend Mangu were smiling together.

Someone found a piece of paper, well preserved in a plastic sheet. It must have been kept when the Nakshalites left the village. The officer tried to read but could not. It was written in Devanaagaree script but in tribal language. Assuming that Nakshalites had put their demands, the officer asked Somaa to read those lines.

Somaa read it.

The note said: “The other day, I tried to convince you. But you did not heed to my advice. Now, this is the price you had to pay. For your foolishness, the villagers had to pay the price of their life. Have you now the honor, the money, the status, the power you were talking just the other day?”

Somaa’s agony had no end. Somaa’s anger had no outlet. Somaa’s pain had to be kept to himself.

Everybody looked at Somaa questioningly. Somaa had no answer.

But the chief of the mission understood – he said, “My God! They had warned you against joining us. Is it?” Somaa nodded. The chief patted him as consolation and ordered to move on.

Somaa wished, he could go back to ‘The Other Day’ and change everything, but he knew it was too late.

The Other Day is either in the past or in the future, it is never in the present!

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58. Missed Heartbeats

While listening to that statement I missed few heartbeats. How many? One, two, three... I cannot say.

As I am a ‘Monitoring and Evaluation’ practitioner, I have a habit of looking for quantity in processes and qualitative processes hidden behind numbers. But at that moment, I was too shocked to be my usual self.

The taxi driver said to me, “But he has done a good job. Nothing wrong, he has done his duty.”

Ok. Let me begin from the beginning.

Last Thursday, I hired a taxi from Mumbai Central station to Dadar. On the way the taxi driver started talking to me, about rain, about elections etc.

We crossed through Arthur Road Jail, where half of the road was closed. There were many police vehicles parked, (kids were playing around those.) This was instrumental in traffic congestion and the driver cursed. Not having traveled through the road for many years, I just remarked, “Is some sort of VIP coming in or leaving jail today?”

“No, aunty. It is for a single person. For many months it is like this. You remember what happened in Mumbai in November? Ajamal Kasab is in this jail.” The driver informed.

I sighed. Yes, I very much remember those sad days. “Hmm. Now the facts are known, they should really punish him at the earliest. Why it is taking so much of time, I do not understand.” I was thinking aloud.

And then the taxi driver made the statement which shocked me to the core.

I was stunned. Was I facing a terrorist? I was not sure.

Was he trying to provoke me? Was he sarcastic? Was he honestly sharing his ideas with me because my outward appearance does not give any indication about my religious identity? I was not sure.

I kept my calm. I looked at the driver. I tried to understand his response. I had two options. One was to discuss with the unknown driver. Other was to keep quiet. I decided to talk.

“What good is in killing innocent people?” I asked in a natural peaceful tone.

Until then the taxi driver was talking to me coolly. But now he fired up. ‘Why none of you asked this question when thousands were killed during partition? Why none of you ask this question when riots happen and we are targeted? Why people like you keep quiet when we are forced to run away – leaving everything behind? Why?”

Even if this taxi driver was not some sort of a terrorist, he was sure to kill me in a road accident :), because he was looking behind and talking to me all the time.

I listened to him. Then I said, “In the past some people have made mistakes, but repeating it knowingly is not going to solve the problem.” I appealed to his conscience by saying, “Think about those who lost their dear and near ones. Think about those families who still miss them. Try to understand their suffering and pain. What was the fault of those who were killed so brutally? What wrong they had done? Are not there alternate ways to solve problems? If we cannot produce life, why take it?’

I kept on talking. For me the mission of that moment was to bring this man out of illusion of Kasab’s actions, Kasab’s ideology, if he has any. My whole energy was used for thinking about how to appeal his heart, how to make him see things differently, how to change his view about what happened in Mumbai on 26th November.

Initially he argued but then he listened. He opened. His face smoothened. His frown disappeared. He actually smiled. He agreed. He said, “Yes, there is a point in what you say. Kasab should not have killed those who were at CST station. They were innocent people like you and me”.

Then he asked me, “Sister, are you Hindu?”

I did not answer his question. I did not ask his religion. I asked from which state he has come to Mumbai. Fortunately recently I had visited that state, and the very district which he came from. When I spoke about the area and mentioned names of couple of villages, he completely mellowed down. He talked about suffering of people in his area and how things could change. He felt the connection. He kept on talking about his village, about his childhood days.

Within half an hour, the taxi reached Dadar.
“How much to pay?” I asked.
“Nothing”, the driver replied.
I was confused. I repeated the question.
“Sister, this ride is a gift from me. You treated me with respect; you talked to me very kindly and politely. You know my state; you work for my people; so I trust you. I think things will change for better for all of us.” He was honestly speaking to me.

I gave him a hundred rupee note and rushed to the bus stand. I purchased ticket and took my seat. I was completely drained by this conversation. I still miss a heartbeat when I remember that half an hour.

India may or may not have enemies outside, but they are definitely inside. We are in constant danger. We can be finished any time, not by outsiders but by insiders. Even on that fateful day Kasab and his men could act out their ideas, because some of us (Indians) helped them, either knowingly or unknowingly. Without our support, nobody can destroy us.

The flame is burning. That can take any form.
If we are awake, we will use the flame for good.

But if we ignore it, we surely would miss many more heartbeats, many more times.

13. Are You With Me?

I am extremely angry and like a volcano can erupt at any moment.
I am in grief – the intensity of which cannot be articulated.
I am experiencing Himalayan helplessness and I am devastated.
At the moment, I am a bundle of all sorts of complex and contradictory emotions.

As a community we have lost count of such events. We have lost count of lives that are affected. We conveniently forget the pain and suffering. We watch the bloody scenes with hell lot of interest. We discuss and keep on discussing. We never act.

How many bomb blasts have rocked India in last decade? How many people have died and how may live through it with a shock? How many dreams shatter and how much fundamentalism is seeded through such events? How it teaches us to distrust every stranger? How?

Earthquakes, tsunamis, cyclones ….. the destruction is not new to us. For generations humanity has experienced it with awe, anger and surrender. The fear of unexpected attack is part of life. But human beings are crueler than nature. Nature makes and takes it back. Human beings can only take it back, they can never make it.

Fundamentalism is labeled with religion – media calls it Islamic Fundamentalism, Hindu Fundamentalism and so on. Let us come clean on this. Any act of fanaticism, fundamentalism is absolutely wrong. Bomb is a bomb and it takes away lives. One bomb, one Fundamentalism cannot be better than the other – both are equally worst. It is not only the quantity of destruction but also the intention of the action. Any violence aimed at innocents because they belong to certain religion, country, class, caste; gender, ethnicity … is unwarranted. Any kind of Fundamentalism should be done away with immediately and decisively. People should be given chance to correct mistakes, but not at the cost of others’ lives. The question ‘If they killed hundreds with bombs, why can’t we kill a dozen?’ – is wrong ideologically, philosophically, practically, legally, rationally, emotionally, spiritually … wrong from all sides. Never support such a destructive idea.

In a way we deserve it. The society who laughs, claps, appreciates and quotes Munnabhai (as if he is Gandhi of the present) forgetting that he is convicted by judiciary - has no right to complain. A person who has killed people by his rash driving, hunted protected animal gets welcome as a hero by mad crowds…. they do not have right to complain. A known drug addict who was celebrating ‘success’ within a month of his father’s death is listened to (about his girlfriends probably!) with attention. The nation is interested in who he is going to marry next … has no right to complain. A police commissioner of the city, whose appointment is questioned in the court, he still is the commissioner of the city and we all accept it .. . We do not have any right to complain. A person jailed for corruption becomes a minister and gets all the luxuries one can dream of …. those who accept it do not have right to complain. A nation where political parties have difference of opinion on whether to ‘forgive’ a terrorist for the attack on the parliament …. No, we do not have right to complain.

It is countless because it is all of us …. It is definitely most of us. We choose to be just spectators, and when it affects us we are dead, so we cannot protest, we cannot complain. We choose to feel safe, because ‘it is happening somewhere out there’. We choose to blame someone else, because that is the easiest thing to do. We are intelligent enough to say ‘what should have or have not happened’ but never active enough to make it happen or stop it happening.

Our earlier generations had a dream to make this society better. They dreamt of a strong India with justice, peace, freedom, food security, equity. They gave up their comforts and some gave up their life to make India strong. The flag had to be carried on by next generations. But with freedom, we became selfish and reckless. Looking at the present scenario I realize that I have not contributed to the positive change with my utmost capacity. I am guilty of not actively participating in the movement of change. I am guilty of not resisting the wrong at the right moment. I am guilty of allowing the helplessness to influence me. I am guilty of trying to fight with the system by becoming integral part of the system.

Let us commit ourselves to a cause. Let us create a better world not only for future generations but even for ourselves. Individuals too can make a great change with their determination and commitment. Let us act – now and here. Are you with me?