The truth of what Modi did or did not say at a meeting on February 27 2002 is, as far as I'm concerned, always going to be what it is now: a hotly contested matter of "I was there and I heard him say XYZ" and "He was not there and Modi never said XYZ."
Those whose politics lean towards Modi's will believe the second statement. Those who think he is responsible for, at a minimum, failing to protect lives in 2002 will believe the first. And so it will go.
So until this gets resolved, if ever, I prefer to focus on something else.
On February 27 2002, a mob burned and killed 56 Indians in Godhra. Several people were accused of this crime, chargesheeted and tried. In March this year -- just about nine years after the atrocity -- 20 were given life imprisonment and 11 were sentenced to death.
The day after that atrocity in Godhra, a mob burned and killed 69 Indians in Gulberg Society in Ahmedabad. To date -- over nine years since it happened -- nobody accused of this crime has been sentenced to anything.
Why is this discrepancy A-OK with so many of us? Or ask this: how many even consider it a discrepancy, or one worth paying attention to?
April 25, 2011
April 24, 2011
Cannonball tree
Any tree lovers out there? One that I know rather well has sent me this query that I don't know much about. If you have any answers, please let me know.
The cannonball tree is fairly well known in Bombay. It is also known as Nagalingam in Tamil and Maheshwar or Kailaspati in Marathi.
Its botanical name is Couroupita guianensis which indicates its origins in Guiana.
The tree sends out woody tendrils on its main trunk, say about three or four feet above ground and continuing upwards till beore the branches. In our building compound we have some of these trees that were planted roughly around 1969 and they continue to grow and flourish.
In the last couple of years or so I have noticed that the woody tendrils are now apppearing above the branches and along the trunk, and they bear flowers. But there are flowers along the branches too now, and the flowering seems to be climbing upwards. Another nearby cannonball tree also has flowers blooming way up!
Is there a reason for this? Are there knowledgeable tree lovers who could explain this phenomenon?
The cannonball tree is fairly well known in Bombay. It is also known as Nagalingam in Tamil and Maheshwar or Kailaspati in Marathi.
Its botanical name is Couroupita guianensis which indicates its origins in Guiana.
The tree sends out woody tendrils on its main trunk, say about three or four feet above ground and continuing upwards till beore the branches. In our building compound we have some of these trees that were planted roughly around 1969 and they continue to grow and flourish.
In the last couple of years or so I have noticed that the woody tendrils are now apppearing above the branches and along the trunk, and they bear flowers. But there are flowers along the branches too now, and the flowering seems to be climbing upwards. Another nearby cannonball tree also has flowers blooming way up!
Is there a reason for this? Are there knowledgeable tree lovers who could explain this phenomenon?
April 20, 2011
Vasanta Subramanian, once more
My tribute to a school teacher, Vasanta Subramanian, was in this space a couple months ago. A modified version is in Tehelka this week, here.
Yes, comments welcome again.
Yes, comments welcome again.
Num8er My5teries
Really, that's the name of the book: Num8er My5teries. I'm still looking for creative ways to pronounce it. The Sunday Guardian asked me to review it, and they published what I came up with ten days ago, here.
Comments welcome.
Comments welcome.
April 15, 2011
To thinking
Update: Not long after I posted what's below, the Supreme Court granted bail to Binayak Sen. It has also said the evidence on record proves no charge of sedition against Sen. And the bench made this observation: "Symphatising with Maoists is no ground for Sen's arrest [and] possession of literature is no proof of Maoist involvement."
Read what's below in that light.
***
The Supreme Court will hear today (April 15), barring yet another adjournment sought by the Government of Chhattisgarh, the appeal for bail for Binayak Sen.
Right off the bat, there's this comment (Hindi) to remember from the Home Minister of Chhattisgarh, Nankiram Kanwar: that since some doctors in Ganiyari, he thinks, are working for Sen's bail, they have "Naxal connections". With the reasonable assumption that doctors in Ganiyari are in no way privileged over the rest of us, we may assume from Shri Kanwar's reasoning that anyone who works for Sen's bail has "Naxal connections."
Therefore Shri Kanwar must believe that the lawyers arguing the bail appeal today in the Supreme Court have Naxal connections. He must believe that the innumerable groups and individuals all over India, indeed all over the world, who have asked for Sen's release all have Naxal connections. He must believe that the 20-plus Nobel prize winners who have asked for Sen's release have Naxal connections.
Perhaps this is a farce that I should not be taking seriously. But I cannot help wondering, how is it that Sen's detractors -- and there are plenty of those -- are unable to see the case against him for what it is: a tissue of whisper and insinuation that on even the most cursory examination holds no water? In other words, a farce.
I mean, think of it: if a Home Minister -- a Home Minister! -- is this oblivious of the working of law and justice, what does that say about his government's case against this man?
But you don't even have to read that news report to wonder on these lines. The case is full of stuff that should give any reasonable Indian enough questions to ask.
Two examples:
* One chargesheet against Sen starts by saying he met Naxals "accused of murder", "looting", "kidnapping", and "he has been meeting Narayan Sanyal repeatedly." (Sanyal, of course is the 70+ year-old imprisoned man whose meetings with Binayak Sen are the basis of this case). All of which may be true, but where's the crime in meeting such men? It may offend you, but where's the crime? Even Sen's detractors, surely, must wonder about the legitimacy of guilt by association?
* Next, the same chargesheet has a couple of paragraphs near the start that talk of a Maoist magazine seized from another accused in this case, Piyush Guha. The paragraphs tell us that this magazine talks of boycotting the Lok Sabha elections, "strengthening the guerrilla Army", etc. No mention of Sen anywhere. Then there's one sentence I'll spell out in a bit. Then there's a list of Maoist crimes: they destroy schools and bridges, they are dangerous, they are creating terror around the country, they battle CRPF personnel in Dantewada, etc. Still no mention of Sen.
No, but the sole mention of Sen in all this is in that sentence right in the middle: "Like this accused Piyush Guha together with Dr. Binayak Sen with directions from Narayan Sanyal was working for the Maoist organization."
Nice, no? Mention a magazine owned by an accused. Mention what it contains. Fill half a page listing Maoist crimes. Somewhere in the middle, toss in a mention of Binayak Sen and his co-accused.
This is not even guilt by association. This is guilt by the hope that when you stumble across names stuck in the middle of a critique of Maoists, you will just assume those names are Maoist too.
There is just plenty more of this stuff, too much for a mere blog post. Riding on such tissue, a man has been sentenced to life in prison.
To me, Sen's case raises plenty of questions about us, for us. But maybe it raises this one above all: why is it that as soon as a government mentions the word "Maoist", so many of us willingly give up thinking?
Read what's below in that light.
The Supreme Court will hear today (April 15), barring yet another adjournment sought by the Government of Chhattisgarh, the appeal for bail for Binayak Sen.
Right off the bat, there's this comment (Hindi) to remember from the Home Minister of Chhattisgarh, Nankiram Kanwar: that since some doctors in Ganiyari, he thinks, are working for Sen's bail, they have "Naxal connections". With the reasonable assumption that doctors in Ganiyari are in no way privileged over the rest of us, we may assume from Shri Kanwar's reasoning that anyone who works for Sen's bail has "Naxal connections."
Therefore Shri Kanwar must believe that the lawyers arguing the bail appeal today in the Supreme Court have Naxal connections. He must believe that the innumerable groups and individuals all over India, indeed all over the world, who have asked for Sen's release all have Naxal connections. He must believe that the 20-plus Nobel prize winners who have asked for Sen's release have Naxal connections.
Perhaps this is a farce that I should not be taking seriously. But I cannot help wondering, how is it that Sen's detractors -- and there are plenty of those -- are unable to see the case against him for what it is: a tissue of whisper and insinuation that on even the most cursory examination holds no water? In other words, a farce.
I mean, think of it: if a Home Minister -- a Home Minister! -- is this oblivious of the working of law and justice, what does that say about his government's case against this man?
But you don't even have to read that news report to wonder on these lines. The case is full of stuff that should give any reasonable Indian enough questions to ask.
Two examples:
* One chargesheet against Sen starts by saying he met Naxals "accused of murder", "looting", "kidnapping", and "he has been meeting Narayan Sanyal repeatedly." (Sanyal, of course is the 70+ year-old imprisoned man whose meetings with Binayak Sen are the basis of this case). All of which may be true, but where's the crime in meeting such men? It may offend you, but where's the crime? Even Sen's detractors, surely, must wonder about the legitimacy of guilt by association?
* Next, the same chargesheet has a couple of paragraphs near the start that talk of a Maoist magazine seized from another accused in this case, Piyush Guha. The paragraphs tell us that this magazine talks of boycotting the Lok Sabha elections, "strengthening the guerrilla Army", etc. No mention of Sen anywhere. Then there's one sentence I'll spell out in a bit. Then there's a list of Maoist crimes: they destroy schools and bridges, they are dangerous, they are creating terror around the country, they battle CRPF personnel in Dantewada, etc. Still no mention of Sen.
No, but the sole mention of Sen in all this is in that sentence right in the middle: "Like this accused Piyush Guha together with Dr. Binayak Sen with directions from Narayan Sanyal was working for the Maoist organization."
Nice, no? Mention a magazine owned by an accused. Mention what it contains. Fill half a page listing Maoist crimes. Somewhere in the middle, toss in a mention of Binayak Sen and his co-accused.
This is not even guilt by association. This is guilt by the hope that when you stumble across names stuck in the middle of a critique of Maoists, you will just assume those names are Maoist too.
There is just plenty more of this stuff, too much for a mere blog post. Riding on such tissue, a man has been sentenced to life in prison.
To me, Sen's case raises plenty of questions about us, for us. But maybe it raises this one above all: why is it that as soon as a government mentions the word "Maoist", so many of us willingly give up thinking?
April 10, 2011
Charged to someone else
* Good friends of ours, god-fearing religious-institution-visiting couple, had us over for dinner one evening some years ago. Told us with satisfaction that they can make unlimited calls from their MTNL phone within India and outside, because of a deal they have just made with their MTNL lineman, paying him Rs 100 a month.
"So who actually pays for the calls?" we asked.
"Oh we don't know," they said. "He told us the calls just get charged to someone else. If you want the same facility we can tell him to come meet you."
This used to be common. With the coming of mobiles and cheap long-distance calls, it probably doesn't happen much any more. But it used to be common.
* A bachelor uncle lived for many years in a smallish building in one of Bombay's more desirable suburbs. At one point, he began noticing that he was getting inordinately high electricity bills, over double what he was used to paying. He couldn't understand it: there were no new electrical appliances in the house, it wasn't as if he suddenly had his geyser on 24/7.
Months of puzzlingly high bills with no explanation, driving my uncle round the bend. Eventually, a technician from the power company found the problem. One of his neighbours had disconnected the wires from his own electrical meter and connected them to my uncle's meter.
* Driving home this afternoon, came up to a red light. A few cars stopped; the rest barreled straight through the red light. When it turned to green, those of us who had stopped, started moving. But the cross traffic now showed no sign of stopping. Nerve-wracking few seconds getting through the junction.
* Website I visited that had some discussion about Anna Hazare's fast also had a poll: "Who would you like to see as India's next Prime Minister?" Perhaps ten names were listed.
77 per cent of nearly 1000 respondents (when I visited) had chosen the first name on the list, Narendra Modi.
* For a brief and largely sticker-shocked period, my wife and I went house-hunting in Bombay. We visited one poky little flat that was half-way decent, so we asked about the price. After getting the usual sticker shock, we asked our usual question anyway: "will you take a cheque?"
The owner looked strangely at us. "Why?" he asked. "You're from some church group or something?"
* Builder we know of once told the story of how he provides water to the buildings he builds. "The Municipality supplies water for a fixed period every day, and they require pipes x inches in diameter." (I don't remember what x was, sorry). "So when I put up a building, I pay off the Municipality and use pipes 1.5x inches in diameter. So my customers get more water." That last, said with pride for his dedication to his customers.
"What about the other buildings in the area, wont' they get less water then?" someone asked.
"Not my problem," said the man.
(I can't vouch for the veracity of whether 1.5x diameter pipes for one building actually mean more water for that building).
These anecdotes make up just a few of the reasons I'm pessimistic that even a new law will be able to fight corruption and the slide in values so many bemoan.
"So who actually pays for the calls?" we asked.
"Oh we don't know," they said. "He told us the calls just get charged to someone else. If you want the same facility we can tell him to come meet you."
This used to be common. With the coming of mobiles and cheap long-distance calls, it probably doesn't happen much any more. But it used to be common.
* A bachelor uncle lived for many years in a smallish building in one of Bombay's more desirable suburbs. At one point, he began noticing that he was getting inordinately high electricity bills, over double what he was used to paying. He couldn't understand it: there were no new electrical appliances in the house, it wasn't as if he suddenly had his geyser on 24/7.
Months of puzzlingly high bills with no explanation, driving my uncle round the bend. Eventually, a technician from the power company found the problem. One of his neighbours had disconnected the wires from his own electrical meter and connected them to my uncle's meter.
* Driving home this afternoon, came up to a red light. A few cars stopped; the rest barreled straight through the red light. When it turned to green, those of us who had stopped, started moving. But the cross traffic now showed no sign of stopping. Nerve-wracking few seconds getting through the junction.
* Website I visited that had some discussion about Anna Hazare's fast also had a poll: "Who would you like to see as India's next Prime Minister?" Perhaps ten names were listed.
77 per cent of nearly 1000 respondents (when I visited) had chosen the first name on the list, Narendra Modi.
* For a brief and largely sticker-shocked period, my wife and I went house-hunting in Bombay. We visited one poky little flat that was half-way decent, so we asked about the price. After getting the usual sticker shock, we asked our usual question anyway: "will you take a cheque?"
The owner looked strangely at us. "Why?" he asked. "You're from some church group or something?"
* Builder we know of once told the story of how he provides water to the buildings he builds. "The Municipality supplies water for a fixed period every day, and they require pipes x inches in diameter." (I don't remember what x was, sorry). "So when I put up a building, I pay off the Municipality and use pipes 1.5x inches in diameter. So my customers get more water." That last, said with pride for his dedication to his customers.
"What about the other buildings in the area, wont' they get less water then?" someone asked.
"Not my problem," said the man.
(I can't vouch for the veracity of whether 1.5x diameter pipes for one building actually mean more water for that building).
These anecdotes make up just a few of the reasons I'm pessimistic that even a new law will be able to fight corruption and the slide in values so many bemoan.
April 09, 2011
Some of my concerns
I have enormous respect for the people in this whole India Against Corruption effort: Anna Hazare, Shanti Bhushan, Prashant Bhushan, Arvind Kejriwal and many other names, some of whom I know personally. I have great respect for the cause itself: the corruption that's such an apparently indelible part of Indian governance will, I worry nearly every day, destroy us all. I don't say that lightly.
So given all that, why am I less than ecstatic about this victory after Anna Hazare's fast?
There are some reasons that others before me have expressed far more lucidly than I can manage (e.g. Gautam Patel, Shuddabrata Sengupta), so I won't repeat those. As an aside, given some of the comments on the TV coverage of the last few days, I'm glad -- yet again -- that I don't possess a TV.
Here are some of my concerns. There may be more.
* Half of this country does not care to go vote at election time. There is anecdotal (my own, among others) and other evidence to suggest that an even greater fraction of the urban middle- and upper-classes stay away from the ballot box. Yes, we need some way to tackle corruption. But it seems to me that any such method can only languish in the face of electoral apathy on such a scale. After all, if more of us had cared to vote all along, and therefore demonstrate our engagement with democracy, it's likely corruption would not have the vice-like grip on India it does today.
* There's a difference between making the best use of what we have and reaching out for something new. It's not always clear to me that we've made the best use of what we have before, in our frustration, reaching for something new. This applies to flashy bridges across the sea just as surely as it does to tough-sounding laws. (Think: traffic planning, public transport, implement existing laws).
* I'm a big fan of the Web, of blogs and Twitter (though less of Facebook). But I am not convinced that these tools, marvellous as they are, can substitute for active engagement with our democratic system. I worry that this victory by Hazare will subtly persuade people that these tools can indeed be such a substitute.
* Perhaps my greatest worry: where are the clean people who will root out corruption? The notion that all's well with us except that we are ruled by a rotting political mafia makes no sense to me. Face it: Politics reflects the rest of our society.
I wish the newly set-up committee good luck in drafting this new bill, and more than that, in addressing the concerns a lot of us have.
But you'll forgive me if I cannot shake a certain pessimism, even through today's euphoria, about ridding ourselves of corruption.
So given all that, why am I less than ecstatic about this victory after Anna Hazare's fast?
There are some reasons that others before me have expressed far more lucidly than I can manage (e.g. Gautam Patel, Shuddabrata Sengupta), so I won't repeat those. As an aside, given some of the comments on the TV coverage of the last few days, I'm glad -- yet again -- that I don't possess a TV.
Here are some of my concerns. There may be more.
* Half of this country does not care to go vote at election time. There is anecdotal (my own, among others) and other evidence to suggest that an even greater fraction of the urban middle- and upper-classes stay away from the ballot box. Yes, we need some way to tackle corruption. But it seems to me that any such method can only languish in the face of electoral apathy on such a scale. After all, if more of us had cared to vote all along, and therefore demonstrate our engagement with democracy, it's likely corruption would not have the vice-like grip on India it does today.
* There's a difference between making the best use of what we have and reaching out for something new. It's not always clear to me that we've made the best use of what we have before, in our frustration, reaching for something new. This applies to flashy bridges across the sea just as surely as it does to tough-sounding laws. (Think: traffic planning, public transport, implement existing laws).
* I'm a big fan of the Web, of blogs and Twitter (though less of Facebook). But I am not convinced that these tools, marvellous as they are, can substitute for active engagement with our democratic system. I worry that this victory by Hazare will subtly persuade people that these tools can indeed be such a substitute.
* Perhaps my greatest worry: where are the clean people who will root out corruption? The notion that all's well with us except that we are ruled by a rotting political mafia makes no sense to me. Face it: Politics reflects the rest of our society.
I wish the newly set-up committee good luck in drafting this new bill, and more than that, in addressing the concerns a lot of us have.
But you'll forgive me if I cannot shake a certain pessimism, even through today's euphoria, about ridding ourselves of corruption.
April 06, 2011
Man of steel
Drove out of town this past weekend, yes, far enough away from the World Cup tamasha that we entirely missed it. Not even the sound of blaring horns overwhelmed the sounds where we were, the cowbells, the chirrups of birds, the waves.
We went to do something that's been in the works for a long time. Early in his IAS career, my father, JB D'Souza, was Collector in Kolaba district (now called Raigad), across the harbour south of Bombay. He loved his time there, the work, the swims in the sea, the walks on the beaches, the beauty of the land, the work. When he died in September 2007, we cremated him and decided we'd like to immerse some of his ashes in this stretch of sea that he had grown so fond of.
It took us nearly four years, but this past weekend, that's what we made our way into Raigad district to do. This being the age it is, on Sunday morning we got onto two jetskis and bounced and roared over the unusually large waves till we got a couple hundred metres from the shore.
There, we spent a few quiet moments immersing his ashes.
It may not have been the placid Ganga. But it meant something to us. JB was never much given to symbolism. But I think he would have liked the idea of being one with that coast. I'm glad we finally fulfilled that little dream.
***
A couple of weeks ago, the Afternoon had this generous tribute to JB: Man of Steel.
We went to do something that's been in the works for a long time. Early in his IAS career, my father, JB D'Souza, was Collector in Kolaba district (now called Raigad), across the harbour south of Bombay. He loved his time there, the work, the swims in the sea, the walks on the beaches, the beauty of the land, the work. When he died in September 2007, we cremated him and decided we'd like to immerse some of his ashes in this stretch of sea that he had grown so fond of.
It took us nearly four years, but this past weekend, that's what we made our way into Raigad district to do. This being the age it is, on Sunday morning we got onto two jetskis and bounced and roared over the unusually large waves till we got a couple hundred metres from the shore.
There, we spent a few quiet moments immersing his ashes.
It may not have been the placid Ganga. But it meant something to us. JB was never much given to symbolism. But I think he would have liked the idea of being one with that coast. I'm glad we finally fulfilled that little dream.
A couple of weeks ago, the Afternoon had this generous tribute to JB: Man of Steel.
April 05, 2011
Dhanga Baiga
In March 2010, I spent a week at the Jan Swasthya Sahyog, a health clinic in the village of Ganiyari, Chhattisgarh. My photographer buddy Tom was along too. We spent a fascinating few days watching the doctors at the clinic cope with the load of patients, speaking to some of the patients. It was an eye-opening time, one that, for various unfortunate reasons not entirely under my control, I have not written about enough.
JSS has an active outreach programme. What this means is that they train health workers in villages where there is little or no health care, and these people are able to cope with simple issues. Once a week, a JSS team runs outreach clinics. Residents of various nearby villages can come to these day-long clinics and meet JSS doctors about concerns the health workers cannot handle.
One outreach clinic runs every Tuesday, in a village called Bamhni that's about 60 km from Ganiyari. When Tom and I got there with the JSS team, several dozen people people from the area were waiting patiently to see Dr Yogesh Jain, the JSS doctor who had come that day.
Among them was Dhanga Baiga, a man whom it was sad and difficult to even look at. I'd have guessed he was 55, though it was hard to say for sure. He must have been close to 6 feet tall, and had legs and arms like proverbial sticks. He was suffering from TB, endemic in such corners of the country.
I remember Yogesh sitting in his room attending to a stream of patients, and then Dhanga walked in slowly, haltingly. I don't like being a voyeur with doctors and their patients. But I could not help looking in a few times as Yogesh and Dhanga sat there, for all the world like a father wasting away and his son trying to reassure him. It was in the soft, calm tone Yogesh used, in the resigned air Dhanga had, in the gentle hand I saw Yogesh put on Dhanga's knee.
Something in the quiet bond between these two men touched me somewhere deep.
A few minutes later, Dhanga walked unsteadily to a blue weighing machine. Even as he stepped onto it, I feared he would fall. But he didn't, and the machine duly recorded his weight: 28.9 kg.
Nearly my height, older than me, Dhanga Baiga weighed ten kg less than my ten year-old son. A JSS report from later in 2010 has Tom's picture of Dhanga weighing himself on its cover, with this comment inside: "Dhanga Baiga, 55 years old, suffering from tuberculosis and chronic hunger. Weighs 28 kilos. Body Mass Index 10.9, considered too low to be compatible with life."
Those last few words were prophetic. I was in Bamhni again on a Tuesday two weeks ago. Dhanga wasn't there, and I met Yogesh in the Ganiyari clinic that evening. "We just heard," he told me. "Dhanga died last night."
***
Tom has his account of this sad story, with some of his pictures from our week there (including the one from the weighing machine) on his blog here: The Sad Story of Dhanga Baiga.
JSS has an active outreach programme. What this means is that they train health workers in villages where there is little or no health care, and these people are able to cope with simple issues. Once a week, a JSS team runs outreach clinics. Residents of various nearby villages can come to these day-long clinics and meet JSS doctors about concerns the health workers cannot handle.
One outreach clinic runs every Tuesday, in a village called Bamhni that's about 60 km from Ganiyari. When Tom and I got there with the JSS team, several dozen people people from the area were waiting patiently to see Dr Yogesh Jain, the JSS doctor who had come that day.
Among them was Dhanga Baiga, a man whom it was sad and difficult to even look at. I'd have guessed he was 55, though it was hard to say for sure. He must have been close to 6 feet tall, and had legs and arms like proverbial sticks. He was suffering from TB, endemic in such corners of the country.
I remember Yogesh sitting in his room attending to a stream of patients, and then Dhanga walked in slowly, haltingly. I don't like being a voyeur with doctors and their patients. But I could not help looking in a few times as Yogesh and Dhanga sat there, for all the world like a father wasting away and his son trying to reassure him. It was in the soft, calm tone Yogesh used, in the resigned air Dhanga had, in the gentle hand I saw Yogesh put on Dhanga's knee.
Something in the quiet bond between these two men touched me somewhere deep.
A few minutes later, Dhanga walked unsteadily to a blue weighing machine. Even as he stepped onto it, I feared he would fall. But he didn't, and the machine duly recorded his weight: 28.9 kg.
Nearly my height, older than me, Dhanga Baiga weighed ten kg less than my ten year-old son. A JSS report from later in 2010 has Tom's picture of Dhanga weighing himself on its cover, with this comment inside: "Dhanga Baiga, 55 years old, suffering from tuberculosis and chronic hunger. Weighs 28 kilos. Body Mass Index 10.9, considered too low to be compatible with life."
Those last few words were prophetic. I was in Bamhni again on a Tuesday two weeks ago. Dhanga wasn't there, and I met Yogesh in the Ganiyari clinic that evening. "We just heard," he told me. "Dhanga died last night."
Tom has his account of this sad story, with some of his pictures from our week there (including the one from the weighing machine) on his blog here: The Sad Story of Dhanga Baiga.
Soothing the pain
So Shahid Afridi's got on a lot of people's nerves, after he returned home? Yes, mine too; in that sense rather reminiscent of Shoaib Malik apologizing to Muslims across the globe after losing the T20 World Cup final to India in '07.
But let's make a shortlist of things Afridi may have had in mind, why not?
* "Once he gives the aadesh, who can flout it?" -- a Shiv Sena leader tells us last February that his leader will "decide" whether Pakistan can play in Mumbai if they reach the final.
* "randee key bachay u give full toss to javed" and other choice abuse directed at Chetan Sharma. Part of one of the comments on this clip, of an event that happened a quarter century (!) ago. (i.e. it's even odds that the commenter wasn't even born when the event happened).
* That same event from a quarter century ago described as a "collective traumatic wound".
* The Indians who buzzed around my neighbourhood late into the night after India beat Pakistan in the semifinals, shouting "Pakistan ke maa ki chut!"
* Remarks such as "you fuck afridi have biggest heart for terrorist extremist rapist", besides plenty more.
* Gautam Gambhir being asked if beating Pakistan "will soothe the pain" of the victims of 26/11, and replying "I am sure the win against Pakistan would have helped."
* Gambhir is told: "whatever we do, whoever we play, we should never lose to Pakistan".
Some of this is just the usual paranoia about Pakistan too many Indians seem unable to shake.
I wonder though, about cricket "fans" who seem uninterested in who else the Indian team loses to, so long as we "never lose to Pakistan". My hope is that someday we will tell Gambhir: go play your heart out and win every time, whether your opponent is Australia or Pakistan or Zimbabwe or Fiji. We're not obsessed merely with beating Pakistan.
I also wonder how beating Pakistan helps "soothe the pain" of the 26/11 victims. Leave aside the "it's just a game" (it never is) rhetoric. What is the connection between the murderous scum who came ashore to kill Indians in November 2008 and Afridi's team?
The scum and the team are all Pakistani, you say?
Then consider this: what is the connection between the murderous scum who killed 3000 Indians in Delhi in 1984 and Dhoni's team? Those scum and the team are all Indian, right? So how would you react if someone said that beating the Indian team will help "soothe the pain" of the 3000 victims of the 1984 massacre? How would you react if someone said our loss to South Africa in the league stage of the World Cup had helped "soothe the pain" of the victims of the 1984 massacre?
I know how I'd react: with revulsion and nausea. The absurdity of such a suggestion is matched only by the absurdity of Gambhir's suggestion about 26/11. Yet not only was Gambhir not asked questions about this absurdity, the headline on that news item is "I play for India, I play for people of my country."
I've seen some baffled comment about Afridi, saying that since he was applauded for his remarks in Pakistan, the middle class there must agree with him, they must have similar attitudes towards India. Well, what should we make of the reaction in India to Gambhir's remark, as also to the other remarks I've quoted above? Do we agree with Gambhir's remark?
Be outraged over Afridi, sure. (I am). But there may be something to be learned from the friendly neighbourhood mirror.
But let's make a shortlist of things Afridi may have had in mind, why not?
* "Once he gives the aadesh, who can flout it?" -- a Shiv Sena leader tells us last February that his leader will "decide" whether Pakistan can play in Mumbai if they reach the final.
* "randee key bachay u give full toss to javed" and other choice abuse directed at Chetan Sharma. Part of one of the comments on this clip, of an event that happened a quarter century (!) ago. (i.e. it's even odds that the commenter wasn't even born when the event happened).
* That same event from a quarter century ago described as a "collective traumatic wound".
* The Indians who buzzed around my neighbourhood late into the night after India beat Pakistan in the semifinals, shouting "Pakistan ke maa ki chut!"
* Remarks such as "you fuck afridi have biggest heart for terrorist extremist rapist", besides plenty more.
* Gautam Gambhir being asked if beating Pakistan "will soothe the pain" of the victims of 26/11, and replying "I am sure the win against Pakistan would have helped."
* Gambhir is told: "whatever we do, whoever we play, we should never lose to Pakistan".
Some of this is just the usual paranoia about Pakistan too many Indians seem unable to shake.
I wonder though, about cricket "fans" who seem uninterested in who else the Indian team loses to, so long as we "never lose to Pakistan". My hope is that someday we will tell Gambhir: go play your heart out and win every time, whether your opponent is Australia or Pakistan or Zimbabwe or Fiji. We're not obsessed merely with beating Pakistan.
I also wonder how beating Pakistan helps "soothe the pain" of the 26/11 victims. Leave aside the "it's just a game" (it never is) rhetoric. What is the connection between the murderous scum who came ashore to kill Indians in November 2008 and Afridi's team?
The scum and the team are all Pakistani, you say?
Then consider this: what is the connection between the murderous scum who killed 3000 Indians in Delhi in 1984 and Dhoni's team? Those scum and the team are all Indian, right? So how would you react if someone said that beating the Indian team will help "soothe the pain" of the 3000 victims of the 1984 massacre? How would you react if someone said our loss to South Africa in the league stage of the World Cup had helped "soothe the pain" of the victims of the 1984 massacre?
I know how I'd react: with revulsion and nausea. The absurdity of such a suggestion is matched only by the absurdity of Gambhir's suggestion about 26/11. Yet not only was Gambhir not asked questions about this absurdity, the headline on that news item is "I play for India, I play for people of my country."
I've seen some baffled comment about Afridi, saying that since he was applauded for his remarks in Pakistan, the middle class there must agree with him, they must have similar attitudes towards India. Well, what should we make of the reaction in India to Gambhir's remark, as also to the other remarks I've quoted above? Do we agree with Gambhir's remark?
Be outraged over Afridi, sure. (I am). But there may be something to be learned from the friendly neighbourhood mirror.
April 03, 2011
Fixed, or as it was meant to be?
Two memories from this cricket World Cup.
The first was in the Delhi Metro, the day India crumbled against South Africa. I was waiting for a train at some station or the other, with no real idea of the score -- the last I heard, India was cruising.
But something catastrophic had evidently occured, because a tubby gent stalked up to me and barked in my face, "It's all fixed! Dawood's put 2500 crore into this match! Each of those *$!@#! Indian players has been paid 100 crore to lose!"
I tried remonstrating, not least because I didn't know this guy from Adam and wasn't thrilled that he was barking at me. But it was futile. He was serious and angry and would not be deterred, carrying on almost as if he thought I was responsible. "How else can you explain six wickets gone for 25 runs? Can you? Hmm?"
Inside the train minutes later, everyone in the packed car, and I mean everyone, was going on in much the same vein. I found a seat and listened, astonished at the inventiveness that was being passed off as cricketing wisdom. Some snatches: "Dawood … 100 crore … Sachin never wins the match … what do you mean, how can you blame Sachin? … I'm just saying, he scores centuries, but how often do we win the match? … fixing is easy, just show these !*!@#* cricketers some money … they'll never win anything."
Weeks later, I have no way of finding out, but I'd love to hear what those same men have to say today. Today, after India has won the Cup.
The second memory is from a petrol station in Panvel. During the afternoon yesterday, we drove out of Bombay to where I'm writing this from, on the coast several hours south, for a long-postponed family moment.
Our first stop yesterday was for petrol in Panvel, and the match commentary was blaring through large loudspeakers. The man who filled my tank told me the score -- Lanka was then at something like 73 for 3, I think -- adding: "It's a good score for India!"
As I was paying just minutes later, I heard a cheer and a round of applause from the attendants at the station. I hadn't been paying attention to the commentary, so I asked one of them, what happened?
"Four by Sri Lanka!" he said, smiling.
And I smiled too, and thought to myself: cricket as it was meant to be.
The first was in the Delhi Metro, the day India crumbled against South Africa. I was waiting for a train at some station or the other, with no real idea of the score -- the last I heard, India was cruising.
But something catastrophic had evidently occured, because a tubby gent stalked up to me and barked in my face, "It's all fixed! Dawood's put 2500 crore into this match! Each of those *$!@#! Indian players has been paid 100 crore to lose!"
I tried remonstrating, not least because I didn't know this guy from Adam and wasn't thrilled that he was barking at me. But it was futile. He was serious and angry and would not be deterred, carrying on almost as if he thought I was responsible. "How else can you explain six wickets gone for 25 runs? Can you? Hmm?"
Inside the train minutes later, everyone in the packed car, and I mean everyone, was going on in much the same vein. I found a seat and listened, astonished at the inventiveness that was being passed off as cricketing wisdom. Some snatches: "Dawood … 100 crore … Sachin never wins the match … what do you mean, how can you blame Sachin? … I'm just saying, he scores centuries, but how often do we win the match? … fixing is easy, just show these !*!@#* cricketers some money … they'll never win anything."
Weeks later, I have no way of finding out, but I'd love to hear what those same men have to say today. Today, after India has won the Cup.
The second memory is from a petrol station in Panvel. During the afternoon yesterday, we drove out of Bombay to where I'm writing this from, on the coast several hours south, for a long-postponed family moment.
Our first stop yesterday was for petrol in Panvel, and the match commentary was blaring through large loudspeakers. The man who filled my tank told me the score -- Lanka was then at something like 73 for 3, I think -- adding: "It's a good score for India!"
As I was paying just minutes later, I heard a cheer and a round of applause from the attendants at the station. I hadn't been paying attention to the commentary, so I asked one of them, what happened?
"Four by Sri Lanka!" he said, smiling.
And I smiled too, and thought to myself: cricket as it was meant to be.
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