FAILED!

After becoming the most frequently uttered word in 2008, bomb, and its close associates have erected new pillars of terror to reckon with. The ‘scroll of horror’ has the new national topper, in the name of 26/11. Interestingly, our national topper missed the ‘International Panic List’ by one place to 9/11. And we have counted yet another date in the never ending list. 60 hours long smoking bloody act wasn’t less than a war. And our cash capital was ripped and raped, as it offered a new urban Warfield. Mumbai of 26/11 stood apart for convincingly startling variations. The messengers of devil stormed not into bazaars and crowds, but blew up the country’s elite hotels; our symbols of pride and their nozzles took their prey not the aam aadmi, but the often cocooned and distanced men and women in glaze. Though I don’t rule out the aam aadmi blooded at CST or Nariman, at Cama, or Leopold (poor they are for granted fodder for their bullets now), but the top brass has been touched including many a businessmen, socialites, and foreign guests. They can just mess with India in and out, and they gave a souvenir. A souvenir, that took its toll close to a second century, and slaying our heroes. 

It was until the night of fate, martyr Hemant Karkare wasn’t really pictured heroic, but surely was being sacked in controversies. The ATS chief, scuffled as politics, just another name of terror, choked his throat, for being a little tough to the previous, not so long ago terror strike at this very city. NSG Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan, couldn’t even get a respectful martyrdom with the Kerala chief minister’s pestiferous remarks. And there were several other real heroes; and Gujrat chief minister Narendra Modi sights to gift money to the family of a slain security officer. The commandoes and police no doubt paid for the folly of the big men in the chairs, even the hotel staff needs acknowledgment for the displayed chauvinism or simply continuing their job of serving the guests, taking bullets on their backs. 

The mayhem stretched for 60 hours, out of which the first 10 hours was free knocking off time given to the perpetrators. Of course action was taken, our CM Deshmukh touring Kerala then, was informed who passed on the news to the Capital, and our Home Minister ordered the NSG commandos, then in their siesta. IL 76 (again trudged in drowsiness, when juxtaposed to Boeings or Airbuses) finally carried them to Mumbai when round one of slaughter was done. It’s shameful, for a country spanning such vast a territory to be the 7^th largest, even with a spanning terror record, the National Security Guard’s HQ. is based only in New Delhi, a city some thousand kilometres north of just the centre, zero mile Nagpur. Never did the government think of establishing branches in other cities? Why never in Mumbai, even after bearing the wrath umpteen number of times in the past? 

The blood has been spilled, and now was the turn to spill out flaws in other’s errands. February 11^th, the Intelligence reported of Taj being targeted. More recently, the IB reported of threats to Mumbai, even about the sea approach. The RAW seconded this.Not paying heed to such reports, was the government now immune to it, taking place so often, every other day? Or did the government deliberately pay a deaf ear and ignored the Bureau’s sayings for reasons concealed under the chair? Dismissing grave threat reports like this doesn’t leave any scope for the people, but to believe that the government has cheated on the country. And then starts the secretaries’ job of penning down a power packed grief and pain, fitted with zealous promises to reach the depth and preventing it ahead, to be delivered at the lectern by the Prime Minister and the Home Minister. Bomb after bomb, city after city, the PM and Home Minister uttered similar words, same wows in equal sorrow and determination as the previous one. What happens to those speeches then, Mr. Prime Minister? Do you keep a copy in your file for future references; because we never saw that in execution? 

Mr. Patil, the union Home Minister had to step down, something that should have happened quite earlier. Rather it doesn’t make a difference now, the damage has been done. Absolute display of inefficiency in the capacity of the Home Minister, it was a complete disaster with no authority or control on the flow of task. No organized security. Then come in the camera flashes, with B-town’s flickering starlet and withering film-maker making guest appearances at the tragic Taj. His ‘Taj ki Aag’ has been nipped in the bud, even though I foresee it burning into ashes at the BO. Just a moment, did I miss the Marathi phantom, oops patron Raj bhau? “tu kuthe aahe?” Planning the lathi charge of the commandoes from north and south of Maratha? Hard hearted R.R. Patil, the state Home Minister, wasn’t moved by the carnage, but is rightly moved off his chair now. And the CM says he’s not to be blamed for the failures. Yes, it’s me and my friends who have caused it, couldn’t keep the security atop.Whose responsible? I ask a simple question? Who will take the charge? Or am I vulnerable in my own home?

The marine guards were on their own voyage, where was their scrutiny? How come such things take place? The whole system is corrupt. The government itself doped, how will it keep its forces brisk? The much denounced smuggling actually bakes bread in the homes of the men at sea. Why not, if their counterparts on land have a right to levy an extra note to cross state borders? It’s futile to ask these questions. The white apparelled men are efficient at their task; the blame game. And the marine police isn’t to be blamed for missing out on the trawler that carried death, after all their pelf is at stake. And now we cry, “If forces were vigilant…” 

But our leaders (leading us into the pits), are quick to react. Wise are the men who flow with the tide. The opposition gets a chance to bank on votes. They still see votes in the blood shed. My heart bleeds when I such callousness all around me. They categorize terror in columns of religion; Hindu and Islamic terrors. Martyr Karkare went to the wall for he kept a hindu under the lens, for involvement in a terror attack. Never mind if the army doesn’t co-operate with the ATS. The bullets have no religion. Neither do guns read the Koran or Gita or the Bible. Yes the innocent indeed follows a religion; that of peace. There were nearly 40 Muslims massacred in the Bombay mishap. One Ansari family of six shot one after another at CST. The shooters acted on Allah’s words? But our babus dance the democracy. 

It’s high time the netas come out of their tarnished image. It’s time they prove their mettle. At least now? Or else our heads hang in shame. If an economist sits as a Finance Minister, wouldn’t a retired defence personnel or police inspector sit best as the Defence Minister or the Home Minister? The U.S. of A has made sure it’s not touched again after 9/11. And we? A public practice session for bombers? A ‘mandir ka ghanta’ if I talk raw.

Mumbai’s spirit, Indian Spirit of getting up from blood has got world wide acclamation, It’s time we stand up and declare enough is enough, though that enough passed long ago.

If the government can’t save us, let the army rule this country. The subtle speeches of Dr. Manmohan and Madame Pratibha fail to extinguish my rage. India needs leaders. It’s time to wake up. We have the power in our hands. Vote! Vote sensibly, think out of kaums, casts, jaats and dharams. Truly, Jaago India.

And things move back to normalization. I read about a bomb blast at Assam railway station two days after the turmoil. My room mate asks, “Again?” and I reply, “Arre, normal-wale.”    

round it goes...

Lush green mowed by the cows.

Eucalyptuses lined up in rows.

Hover everywhere the coloured flies.

Busy bee many a varied nectar tries.

Poppies, pansies and peaches potted,

Reds and magentas in the sea of emerald spotted.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Sun climbing up the stairs,

Reaches the head and stares.

Stares it down with a frown,

The golden crown does make brown.

Reds sublime, greens whine.

Listlessly doze off even the cows, dogs and swine.

Stretched beneath the peepal a charpoyee.

And talk the men, of the sarkar, yawning there, coy.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

The peepal loses a sheen.

And betrayed by many a man umpteen.

Rustle n crustle the brown;

Griming now every nook and corner down.

It rains leaves n buds.

Lo! The figs display their skulls n heads.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Rains culminate, precipitate now a smoke

The kitchen n granaries are nothing but broke.

It’s the decline of the golden regime.

With lesser in hues take up the task for a hundred dime.

Charpoyees are now in the company of the demy-suns;

Lest the chill swallows up their sons.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

It will move as would move the wheel.

It will retreat as would the souls recede.

Round it goes, round it goes, round the spirit, round it goes...

BOMBing away...

“Bhaisaab your bag!” exclaimed the waiter stumbling and panting behind us just when we left ‘Foodies’ after a glass of mausambhi juice last evening.
In a continued giggling tone I fondly pacified him, “oh! Bhaiya usme bomb nhi hai” (that does not contain a bomb). He uttered nothing but a few monosyllables that sufficed me to understand his plight seeing the black leather, gym bag, which my friend left, for no reason spare his usual absent minded being.

Late to bed late to rise, as my newspaper waits for three and a half hour before being picked up from my doorstep. “Arre! No bomb yesterday… India France inked the nuclear pact. Mubarak ho”, I listlessly read the paper scratching my head and leafing out the much more entertaining supplements. Entertaining of course, now the blasting news doesn’t really interest me. Who enjoys daily chores? Yea but I do read it to keep myself updated with day to day happenings.

This is after the Jaipur, Bangalore and Ahemdabad blasting and Surat casting. I was walking down with a buddy from my friend’s place and we encountered a Labrador being taken for a walk. If at all it was a walk. “Must be on a lookout for a claimed bomb”, we laughed away. After zooming away through barricades and blue dented police vans stuffed with khaki a day before what else do you expect a chained dog to do on the roadside with a chap in shorts? This was then. Now things are far better. After the capital was ripped through on September 13, cops from our two metropolises busted the Indian Mujahideen links. Claiming victorious credit to them the Batla House martyr was just buried in controversies.

Anyways, after all the state’s triumph and a supposed Bombay blast being foiled, my newspaper, habituated, read about the Mehrauli (South Delhi) pataka blast that gobbled up the poor philanthropic boy who called out the death eaters for they dropped their dabba. (our waiter wasn’t that philanthropic- he dared not to touch our gym gear).

If this wasn’t enough, a day before yesterday my roommate read ‘our morning midday’ and announced the Malegaon (Mumbai) burp as if after a heavy six course meal. Behold! My Ma’s usual ‘be alert’ harangue metamorphosed into bombarding with strict orders not to vagabond this Navratra. After all today she read out the news of the bomb hoax and stampede at Chamunda Mandir that took around 200 devotees to its credit. It wasn’t a bomb but. BOMB the word has pierced itself so much into us that no more does it cast the spell it was concocted to do. It’s such a daily affair to overhear wrestling kids, “Bomb se udaa doonga.” And do we ourselves stop to realize that we keep on planting fictional bombs at XYZ, passing through metal detectors? Bomb bomb everywhere not a tomb to spare. Hark!

All I yearn is that the Bombay burp was the ultimate burp. Our tummies are full now and taste buds find this too bland having it every now and then. But for my Ma, calling up three times a day to check up if all’s fine. Mamma the electronic counterparts of my lazy newspaper are quick in telecasting the superstar Bomb wherever spotted. And I rather go back reading the Indian nuclear-ization, US bailout or the lingering debate whether Singh is King at the Sansad.

Still the "usual" I-Day ??

15 August 2008, the date arrives like every year. A gap of breadth for we, the busy bees have been waiting for. "Finally", heave a sigh of relief. "C'mon, its fine it's the I-Day, let's go for a movie, why waste this morning going in for the flag hoisting at college and yawn at the never ending din of the chief guest blaring in the mike. "These are the words my friend uttered. It might sound the usual "crap", but then I can't refrain myself from doing the "usual". Behold!
India emerged out of the long night of colonialism only to be feted in blood and hate. Independent India was the culmination of a thousand rebellions, individual and collective. It wasn't only men, but women, polite and respectful 13 year old girls- who stormed the British and freed their nation from the deadly shackles of the Raj. Twelve year old Vijay Chauhan, was jailed for shouting "Angrezo Bharat chhodo" , in Lahore's Anarkali Bazaar. Seventy eight today, she needs a stick, yet her spirits remain unbeaten. Sample this, nationalist leader Aruna Asaf Ali, distributing pamphlets and stirring up the spirits past curfew times, one day an officer offered her to drop her home. Shoving the papers under her dress, she sat stiff in his jeep, courageous and directed him a few blocks before her home. But this remains a Bollywood masala flick for us. And countless who knew no identity of their own, their family, but that of a 'Hindustani'. Gruesome torture, rapes and genocide nothing deterred them. They died so that we could live like we do today. For many, the stories are still untold but the end, of liberation, is one they are proud of. And we are! Are we? Then why did my friend yawn and spend half the day in bed? And many seconded him? Then why so many of my younger siblings are clueless when they are quizzed on our actual Heroes? And they give various faint replies when asked to name the Father of the Nation. "Is it Feroz Gandhi?" "No, no some Mohan Gandhi", butts in another. It's a pity; and we call ourselves proud Indians.
61 years of independence, and we are still torn between caste, creed, language, religion and sex. My heart bleeds when I see such callousness and bloodshed all around me, in the name of the religion. It's time we raise above all such 'Mandir-Masjid' issues friends. It's disgusting that our leaders patronize these few anti social elements of the society (running only for money), and encourage such mayhem just for a 'chair'! If one Muslim demolished the Ram Mandir, you'll murder his sons. If one Hindu brought down the Babri Masjid, you'll kill all Hindus and his posterity. If one Sikh assassinated the former Prime Minister, you'll go on a life taking spree, and wage a war against all Sikhs and his children; and children of all, who weren't even born in '92, and yes definitely not centuries ago when Babur ruled. Friends, we need to walk hand in hand to the future. Pump out the hostility, if it's flowing in your blood. Forget the bloodshed and the filthy past. It's done and gone. We rather have a Ram-Rahim Hospital or public school at Ayodhya instead of a Mandir or a Masjid.
61 years, and still we could not cure ourselves of the dreaded disease of corruption. Rather our ancestors pass on this legacy, and they call it "dunyadaari". We never throw paper bits in Singapore. We never speed beyond 110 mph in Washington and then bribe the cop. We dare not buy an employee of the telephone exchange at £10 a month in London to see to it that our STD calls are billed to someone else. Why don't you spit paan on the streets of Tokyo? Why don't you fake certificates in Boston? And chuck empty coconut shells nowhere but the bins on the beaches of Australia? Then why don't you do the same here? Why do you leave Her neglected ? Abuse your country, you abuse yourself. The parasitic "corruption" is hogging India fast. Bribing cops or officials, forging birth-certificates for admissions and stealing electricity for homes fitted with ACs in each room is the corruption of common man. Forget that of the higher strata.
61 years and we've definitely modernized, as they say. Westernization is a big "Halla" here in India. With the craze of all imported and foreign and our ethnic souls, why not gel them? Apparently westernization pops up a picture of all glitz and glimmer. That's technological enhancement and progress. The West developed fast and first. One day we all, the developing ones will climb up that zenith, which definitely doesn't mean westernization. But aping them can be detrimental. We hanker for an imported leather purse of GUCCI, with a tiny tag "made in India". They treat us with mouth watering pizzas and burgers with an aloo tikki called a Mc Maharaja. And our samosas and chaats are paying the price for this. The saree is giving way to the denim n lesser fabric, while our immaculate dhotis are a rare sight now, reserved just for ceremonies and the 'Sansad'. I don't oppose the shirt 'n' jeans styling, but urge not to forget our fabric, thread, ceremonies 'n' culture. We surely need the 17hrs a day, 5 days a week working sincerity of the west here. We need to grab the best of the West in our hands and be root our feet in the valued and ethically ethnic Hindustan.
We are growing today, and heading ahead at a commendable pace when the world stands and glares at India. And that lies on us, the youth to accelerate its march. The Independence Day or the Republic Day doesn't just mean to hold up the plastic tricolor and more-over let them be strewn on the ground at the end of the day. I reckon this day as just a day of realization. A halt in our express working schedules, to look back and acknowledge the innumerable freedom fighters and their sacrifices, a day to realize and analyze what we have done to keep up the spirits of free India. As the "aam aadmi", we can contribute our small bits to the nation. Let me make it in simple steps.
Abstain from bribery. Most applicable at traffic signals, forgery of certificates.
Respect and follow the rules and the system, at least the ones on the road and rail.
Use any 3 Indian makes from the list of countless home commodities such as soaps, shampoos, hair oils, moisturizers, tooth pastes, garments, mobile connection, TV sets, automobiles, electronics, pens, Tea leaves, canned food etc.
Most importantly for us engineers/doctors/financers/business managers, to aim to engineer a fabulous future not only for ourselves, but also for the country.
Above all, stand up for the country and bear not a sound that violates the honour and integrity of India.
India is space to include the pilgrim and the politician, the poet and the rebel, ahimsa and nuclear might. India is 3000 years old and in the 21st century. India is express way with zooming traffic, and trudging camels, elephants, horses and bullock carts. India is a sadhu with a cell phone, a pundit on a Honda Karizma, a catholic Father in an Indica. India is a 5 star Taj and numerous "thellas" for 'gol gappas'. India is MTV playing Britney Spears for us and our grandmothers counting the beads of their mala in the same room. India – the largest democracy and a tattered poster of a forgotten 'neta'' stuck on an electric pole. India is where neighbours are strangers and there is a never-ending "Ram Ram" to every second passerby on the 'gully' to the bazaar. India is kingfisher liquor in crystals and the coveted piping hot 'chai'' in the earthen bowls. India is a 10 rupee note and 15 languages approving its worth. India is Nehru's "tryst with Destiny" and Hussain's objectionable canvass. India is A. R. Rehman's Bombay, and Himesh's 'suroor' and a 'Kajra re'. India is Madhubala, Nargis, Rekha and Madhuri Dixit and Kajol and zero-ing on Kareena. India is Guru Dutt, Dilip Kumar singing in 'Naya Daur' and SRK leading the women's hockey team to victory and Big B and the two storey high traffic stopping Bollywood poster in London. India is the land of splendor and rags, of dreams and romance. India is the country of hundred tongues, of thousand religions, over two thousand Gods and some billion different Indians.
Jai Hind!!
Phew!! Done!! "Hey I hope you've got up by now. Oh! Your still in bed?"