Ladhak is the beauty with little air

Ladhak is immensely beautiful. Naked, untouched, flawless….picture perfect. Scenes that I had imagined and had seen only in photo frames stood just in front of me. “It’s so well maintained’, was what I exclaimed when I first saw it at Leh Kushok Bakula Rimpochhe Airport airport. For those traveling first time must definitely look out of the flight windows for a life time Himalayan experience.

Never before had I seen the hills and the range of mountains to be so different, varied and yet so sync picture perfect. Probably, because I have all my life lived far away from the hills in the plains, amongst the maddening hordes of people and that this place was so dissimilar. Ladhak was simply so beautiful with its barren great mountainous range all around with very little green and no trees around.

The place is special very special …because of the sun shine in the blue sky with little cumulus clouds peeping out of the mountain peaks. There is very little or no vegetation and people cannot afford to plant trees too. “This would attract clouds and subsequent rains’, had explained one of colonel of the Indian army who had willingly played host to us. “ We are on the rain shadow side of the Himalayas and so it does not have adequate vegetation leading to the low level of oxygen. Rains would wash off the sandy and muddy mountains” It was then I realized that the persistent headache that we had developed was due to low oxygen and we had to be acclimatized first to the surrounding before venturing for more unquenchable mountain views.  

“You cannot take risks. People develop blood pressure and due to this unless you get used to this weather, it is difficult to stay here”. We were there for a week as guests with friends in the Indian army who promised to take us around. “Drink lots of water for better supply of oxygen to your body. Work and walk slowly” were the advices given before we planned our trip to the most exotic sites of Ladhak.

Leh is the biggest city of Ladakh and in first glance it appears it is one of those small hilly towns that would be immensely popular for its exotic location. But it has its own identity. A huge contingent of the Indian Army deployed on the India China border is headquartered in Leh. With low sex ratio still you would find women working as daily laborers with the Border Roads Organization (BRO) that builts beautiful roads on mountains.

The trip to Khardung La ie the Kardung pass was extremely exiting. Besides the meandering roads in the snow covered mountainous range, the low availability of oxygen makes it all the more difficult. But to overcome the simple uneasiness, drowsiness and nausea is the real challenge. Sleeping through the trip increases the discomfort but amazingly the local drivers are so well versed with the turnarounds, the avalanches, the muddy village paths that the fifty kilometer trip becomes a lifetime experience. Snow filled mountains of different colors, sizes, shapes would surround you and you are lead to the K Top said to be the highest motorable road on earth. All uneasiness would vanish as you lower height through the K top to North Pullu to Nubra valley that has got the double humped camels as the star attraction in midst of the grey sandy dunes.

Besides the Thiksey and Hemis Monastery, Shey and Leh Palace, Shanti stupa what more can be explored is another trip hundred and fifty kilometers up and down to Pangong Tso Lake, the brackish water  lake in the India China Border across Changla Pass. A young twenty nine year old Major of the Indian Army confessed when I complimented him about the place he lived. “It is beautiful with no air. Good to live here for vacation but hard on duty”. The high and lows of the roads leading to the lake for the four hour drive in low air area makes you believe that ‘nothing comes easy in life’. To really enjoy the beauty of this side of the Himalayas is adventures and the difficult path makes it all the more desirable.

China stands a few kilometers away across the blue divide of the Pangong  Tso (Lake). Even with minimal vegetation it is amazing to watch snow deer, yaks, Pashmina goats, wild horses grazing around in the very low dull green pastures. That makes the trip and ultimate adventure excursion. “Do they get adequate food”, I wondered. My driver cum guide Dorji explained, ‘You adapt with what is available”. Given said that this is worth mentionable that it could be the only place in India that I have seen the free sale of Oxygen cylinders for personal use. It’s so easy and handy for tourists available at all pharma shops as small perfume bottles. Also the deal is worth noticeable that if it is not used during high point trips it can be exchanged back in the shop once when you get back.

Only had Ladakh got a little more air, a little more electricity, little more water in the snow, life would have been much easier for the tourists and also for the people who really live in hard situations. Even in those hardships monasteries are built in the highest points above fifteen thousand feet and little monks in their maroon habits keep praying in the most difficult circumstances for a better world.

 

 

Is killing the killer the answer to contain rape in India?

I personally do not endorse the idea of ‘killing the killer ‘ and considering it to be a deterrent measure against rarest of the rare cases. Because living in a civilized world and considering myself to be representing the civilized community, I cannot bring myself to justify that merely by aping the killer and making him pay back in the same coin would serve to be lessons for aspiring killers.

I really see no logic to it.  Neither do I find any logic in the sane world marching on streets demanding ‘Killers to be hanged until death’ for rape crimes. What a brutality of humankind from people who are examples of sanity and civilization. People keep on protesting, shouting giving examples of the kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Shariah Law where rape and murder convicts are killed in broad daylight so that it serves “a lesson for those daring to ever commit the crime”.

I know just imagining the thought of forgiving someone who could be as brutal as the Delhi rape case perpetrators is also beyond imagination. ‘We are not saints’ one of the girls protesting on the streets against cases of rape was heard shouting. ‘Unless criminals pay for their crimes they will not learn’.

Rape is indeed an act of severe violence that even if the victims survive they would be almost dead for their entire life. I can say this with conviction because I am a woman, with a very small daughter living in constant fear of not going out alone to certain places, living alone or even thinking of going out alone at night for the most of my life. I know and have been brought up to believe that I am a vulnerable section of the society and need to be only in safe places under constant care and support of male members of the family.

But here I am talking of something else. I am talking about criminals whether they should be paid back in the same coin or not. So first this story of a criminal I almost saw being killed.

On 14^th August 2004, teen rape convict Dhananjay Chatterjee was hanged early morning at 4:00a.m at Alipur jail amidst outcry from human rights activists against hanging the guy who had served fourteen years in jail for the crime he had committed. I as a young journalist had waited for his death along with fellow reporters outside the Alipore jail that night in August. In between cups of tea the whole media contingent waited and waited until morning to have a glimpse of the man who had pulled the noose and take shots of the man who had just been to the gallows and was gone.

I had really then wanted him to die and be punished as harshly as possible for the crime he had committed to a fourteen year old way back fourteen year ago. The victim a little younger to me would have been almost grown up to be like me had she lived.

But then I felt the eerie surrounding the death of the criminal. I was also imagining that the perpetrator would have also not been the same man after all these years. Who knows he was already a changed man? He had spent his fourteen years in a correctional home (jail).  Was it anyway civilized to do the same to him (kill him) now after he has been through this major correction process of his life.

It is true…his action deserved severest punishments and his action could not be undone. But this was also true how come we remain civilized by answering him in the same coin.

I have sincerely no sympathies for Dhanajay. He took away a precious life…just as I have one. And I strongly relate to Hetal the victim who lost her precious life only because she was a woman…weak and fragile to be killed so easily. Dhanajay remained weak, aged, fragile in the same way after so many years and the stronger civilized world of us was taking away his life.

That moment I felt it was simply the different viewpoints that altered the scene of crime. We were on the other side doing the same as what Dhanajay the powerful criminal that fatal night felt while killing Hetal.

This is not again about equating both the actions. One was the action and the other reaction. Killing a person who is in custody or already convicted of his crime is no big deal. He is weak, dependent and prisoner…what more can be taken out of him.

But now the question also arises as to how his execution can prove deterrent…Rather what appeared to me was the fact that merely Dhanajay’s prosecution led him to the gallows. Now if that be the case then criminals of his stature would now not just commit the crime but also try to evade the law. Here then there will be more chances of committing double crimes of not just the action as such but also the cover up.

Yes, rape as a crime has to be deterrent. But how is it possible in a country where one citizen (women) has restricted permits to visit places at restricted timing. I believe rape as a crime is against a sexual community with the idea to suppress, overpower and eradicate the very existence of womanhood.

This definitely cannot be stopped by punishing people who have committed violent sex crime by giving violence in return.  The need is to stop the crime first and then hunt for criminals.

We have to stop the crime and rectify the criminal and not do the opposite of rectifying the crime scene and stopping the criminal. The latter will definitely not serve to be a great lesson to be taught.

Feku versus Pappu war: Which side are you?

I am no great Rahul fan. And consciously I could never endorse Narendra Modi’s policies. Yet the ongoing debate on the Feku versus Pappu hash tags on social media has left me amused. I want to join the debate with some of the arguments like if there was indeed a choice between a Feku and a Pappu and they happen to be the only available options, who would be then considered best for my nation and which side will I be.

First the Pappu…. My husband’s pet name is Pappu. In India almost every mohalla will have someone named Pappu or else identified as Pappu. Pappu is a pet name for an innocent, sweet child who was not into any crafty business.  Pappu is a dumb kid, would be ignorant of things, can be fooled easily but he is harmless. He might not have great achievements in life but he could be reliable, consistent and devoted.

Indeed it has been true that in India people make fun of the Pappus only because they were naïve and could not make their way up by any means.

If Rahul Gandhi symbolizes the Pappus of India, he could be the one representing many young Indians who have consistently worked all their lives and got nothing much in return. So when Rahul made friends with painter Girish in a train journey to Mumbai couple of years back I can understand his willingness to befriend another Pappu of the country.

I am particularly impressed when this emerging Pappu the leader, talks about India being a bee hive. I as a young student during early school days have written essays on the bee hive and how does it depict a great world in itself. The queen bee is the mother bee, identified for laying eggs and giving birth to the progeny even as the workers take care for rearing and advancing the community. The drones that happen to be the male bees die just after fertilizing the mother bee. And the rest of the community labors hard to collect the honey for the younger community to grow and prosper. What an amazing story of life and inclusive growth.

I identify with the hundreds of the worker community who would strive and toil for development growth and life of their own world. And most of we Indians have lived like them, happen to be them. So when the Pappu who is hoping to lead the ‘Pappuland’ talks about the beehive India his dream land, I see myself in it, my role in it.

Not that I would ever want to work and strive just like another worker bee but that where is the option. It is my world and it is the way I have lived all through.

Pappu talked of me, like me. Naïve with may be no great magic wand to undo things and only hopes of a refreshed new beehive. When he says that he is not a politician and wants to work as an ordinary worker, somehow I get a feeling that he is no queen bee but the ordinary worker bee just leading the swarm of bees towards finding honey. Or even if he was the queen bee, he could do little to change the bee hive. The hive grows big with collective effort and not just by one queen bee syndrome.

Now the Feku. I have known the Feku for some years now. He talks business, I am told. With his magic wand he took away the great Tata’s Nano project from West Bengal the sick, outdated, dying state to ‘Vibrant Gujrat’. Look at the ‘Gujrat Model’ people say. Roads are great, ports have potential, people are entrepreneurs and the air has vibrancy and enthusiasm. All big investors are moving there, investing….developing.

Feku advises people of moving ahead and not looking back to the gory past. People are prosperous, happy and positive. Feku talks of ‘Gujrat ki Asmita’ and any criticism to his era of golden rule is seen as a blow to the self respect of six crore people of Gujrati self respect.

Feku gives examples of the ‘Gujrat model’ of prosperity where everyone is an entrepreneur and a business woman innovated pizza with her add on desi recipe some two decades ago beacuse of the magic of Gujrat of today. How people have moved to Gujrat leaving other places for business and livelihood! I am amused..awestruck and wonder about the dream land and dream world.  

Actually the word Feku means ‘The Exaggerator’. As kids we would listen to ‘Feku’ frien ds and tell them ‘to give away more so that we could wrap around’. (fakiye fakiye hum lapette hain). I was just wondering how our ‘Feku’ friend can give away stories with such efficacy to make the concept of dreamland look so real. 

At least he does whatever he says, says one. Don’t you know what changes he has brought in these years of his tenure in Gujrat. ‘You can’t just keep living in the past of 2002’. “He has really changed Gujrat”. Have’nt you heard the stories of development?

I have…..I have heard so many stories of prosperity, development, vibrancy, investment, enthusiasm and advancement. I have heard of the ‘Gujrat model’ and have heard tales of self proclaimed ‘Vikas Purush’, and his so called ‘hard decisions’. Oh...I have heard tales of development as to how big investors patted the government and how investors find scope of development in the developed state.

Oh I keep hearing ….I kept hearing the tales from the Feku and keep wondering if these were fairy tales. Which government has been criticized vociferously by any investor ever? Were they not bestowing accolades, when the new government came to power out staging the communist rule in Bengal after thirty five years? Investors have to look up to the government for infrastructural support and politics free governance for smooth functioning of business. And they would do the same whether in Bengal or in Gujrat.

I know Feku keeps telling that people had voted him for three consecutive term. But people had done that to so many governments before and are doing that to so many governments now.  People had voted the communists in Bengal for seven consecutive terms before voting them out. The Congress had ruled the country for five terms before the emergency. But how does just ruling consecutive terms in a state make anyone eligible to rule the country. The question is do people know that the Feku wanted to make voting mandatory in his state through a bill or else prosecute people if they did not. Underlining, if there was a scope of also prosecuting people if they did not vote the Feku or ever dared question his concept of dreamland.

Feku’s regime is known to be mastering the art of fake encounters. I wonder if that was the origin of the name ‘ Feku’.  Or were they the tales from the Fekuland that went to the making of the ‘Feku’. Nowhere in India has ever seen senior police officers of the rank of DGP facing prosecution for fake encounters. How can this be attributed as the signs of prosperity?

Let’s not forget the Nano car showcased as greatest achievement of Feku regime was because the people of Singur did not give their farmland in exchange for cars. Let’s us also not forget that Feku wants people to forget that 2002 ever happened in his kingdom but never reaffirms that it will never be repeated. He has never expressed apology for failing to save his own people who also contribute to the six crore gujrati asmita. 

Feku talks of giving reservations to women political participation at grassroots panchayats forgetting the fact that the one bill that is still pending in his state has been implemented in many other states of this country and is a successful model. Feku forgets that women are not mere mothers, wives or daughters but equal citizens of the country. Women’s reservation in politics is actually inclusive politics and mere proposals do not make an achievement story.

Feku talks of the five crore Gujrati’s self respect and how he enjoys their support. Is it true that even sixty percent of the total vote of Gujrat were actually in his favour. Feku is on Facebook, on twitter but does he actually know how many people have access to Facebook or Twitter in his own state. Does he have a count as to how many people still are in refugee camps in his state? Does he have a figure as to how many people have been prosecuted and convicted for human rights violation in his prosperous state? Does he also have a figure that how many people in his own state did not go out during the day of elections and where do they live or which community they come from? 

Feku does not include me in his vision. I don’t figure in his success story. I am not included in the self respect account of the six crore Gujratis.

Where do then I figure in his tales? If the success story of six crore (mere hearsay) people showcase the life of one twenty one crore, it is a real fake assessment. 

I will not be for Feku as his estimation to attend to 1.27 billion Indians only through what he has done for much less than even the six crore people of his state is nothing less than just an over statement.

 

Mausumi, is gone......

Mausumi, my friend

Never in the remotest corner of my mind had it struck even once, that one day I will be writing a eulogy for a friend, a classmate, a competitor for grades in school, in this manner. Mausumi, my friend died in far off Canada’s Sherbrooke city, silently battling ovarian cancer for the last five years. Her father and her few friends were with her. “They performed all her ‘last rites as she had wished’, wrote a friend from there on Facebook.

I came to know of her present status from Facebook. In fact, I was not in touch with her for long and despite a fact that ‘her friend’s request’ was left pending with me I had not accepted it. It could be because I think I am not the ‘Facebook Types’, just go to ‘FB for work’ and would not appreciate lot of private messages on ‘Fb’. Yet, I had kept track of her being, her research work in ‘Bio physics’, and also her fondness for ‘Shri Shri Ravi Shankar’, for which I often had pulled her. ‘Why is the man known more to Indians in Canada than in India’, and ‘what made a scientists as her being charmed by a spiritual charmer (read guru)’?

We were sometimes on ‘Chat’ just trying to update ourselves and our present status and I would always pull her for not getting married ‘at this age’. She would laugh off by ‘no men available’ and I would joke ‘come back to India’, ‘we have no single women available’ here. To my ‘please come backs’, she would say ‘now this is my home’.

Mausami was my classmate and I had earnestly competed with her. There was no one else than even the first boy in the class who had mattered so much to me than her. Don’t know why I had always set her my ultimate goal in studies and would do anything to get better grades. Even a single mark more than her had then appeased me. It could just be for personal cheer or self conciliation or because she was too good with draconian subjects as Maths and Physics. I detested them both and since she was the benchmark, I had to even mug up Mathametics and physics sums, to make up.

I was more of the outgoing types that made me the school pupil leader in the last year of my school days. I would study at the last moments and do all to get better marks than her. In the dormitory of Ursuline school, Muri, where I shared the room with four of my other classmates and many more juniors, I was amongst the leaders playing pranks on the sweet Bengali girl, studious enough to sneak out of the dormitory at midnight and let us all be sleeping while she studied in dim lights. She never wore spectacles then while I and Ellen another classmate and a lot more my type played even with our eye sights reading ‘Mills and Boons’ in the low night bulbs of hostel dormitory.

Anuka, Asha, Ellen and Mausami and me, were the Pandavs of that year but four of us would turn Kauravs during those Ursuline Convent days in Muri. We would try hard to distract Mausami for her love of the  ‘cruel ’ subjects as Mathametics and Physics. But she remained our weak link in the group, loved by most teachers particularly the warden who taught Geography with her enormous topographical maps. Sister Celestina had a particular fondness for Masumi and the rest of us detested her doing home works thoroughly, not wasting time as the rest of us and being too devoted to the teachers. Masumi would never call teachers by names and we would call her ‘Appu’ for being a little plump and a ‘teacher’s pet’.  Masumi would finish all her lessons trying hard to let us forget the same and pretending that she was as casual as us. Neither was she nor were we. She would work her way out even inside her blanket in torch lights while we would try hard to divert the teacher’s attention the next day in asking for the home works. Those were great efforts, yet sincere, innocent classroom competition, much healthier than I have ever found in my life again.

Masumi would keep her eatables nicely locked in her truck and we would break it open to have them. Sometimes we were very close friends in packing our bags much ahead of the school vacation and sleep on empty beds waiting for the week to end and holidays to begin. Childhood is about celebrating all differences together and getting cozy with similarities. We called her names and she thought we were useless.

I was the smarter one. I could manage good numbers in my tenth standard to get admitted in Patna Women’s College. Masumi achieved numbers with hard work and went on to pursue her dreams of studying Maths and Physics. She had by then lost a parent (her mother) and had a younger brother to take care of, yet education brought the two of us again in the same city, Patna.  We would bang on, each other albeit not so frequently yet our on and off relationship continued. We argued till we fought and she would get angry for pulling her, but we made up once our meeting were over. She was but the same impulsive, emotional and innocent even as she grew up. I was the realist, deliberate yet pessimist and it was the differences that we celebrated together. There seemed to be an unwanted, unintentional bonding and despite new friends propping in life something kept us tied together till today. 

Couple of years later when I had moved to Kolkata as a working journalist one day Masumi suddenly called me on my landline phone from Canada. My maid said a friend ‘ Masumi Mazumdar’ called up from Canada. I was impressed but I prayed it could not be Masumi so far away. She called back that evening and we talked for long hours on the phone. She had in fact ‘googled’ my number from ‘Calcutta telephone directory’ to reach out to me. I was very touched. “You are amazing’ and she said ‘she missed home and friends’. I said how many more years you will study and she said “what do I do if I don’t study’. I said ‘come back home, get married and take care of your old father’. She replied ‘I want to research on medicines for cancer’.

That year she insisted I come to see her in Canada during one of my U.S trips. I did not as I wanted to come back home soon. She came the next year and was insisting on getting me a great gift. I said ‘you come over’ and ‘catching up older times will be the best gift’. She was convinced and when she came I went to see her at her father’s residence in Barrackpur. We were buddies then again, giggling, fighting, yet uncertain about all around us. Masumi’s father, the old man cooked a wholesome lunch for us and we as kids ate every bit of it. Saurav her brother had grown up but Masumi still called him ‘Chhoto Bhai’. They had a big house and I teased her father ‘ get her married’ even as she kept on blushing as she would during school days at the mention of boyfriends.

That was the last time I saw her. We spoke a few times after that on chat but I did not approve of her getting too spiritual with ‘her association with the Art of living group’.

I knew little about her after that yet I could see her on facebook, sometimes, and get a one liner mail some other time. I was too busy with my own pace of life and when I told her about my mother’s death, she said ‘you live with the loss of a lost relationship’, ‘I have lived all through with mine’. It was true, I have since then lived and carried the burden of my mother’s absence forever.

Then, came this day.  Another friend on Facebook wished Masumi. He wrote for her “in her heavenly abode as she rested in peace”. It was shocking, disturbing and unbelievable. I could not understand at first what had happened until her friends updated me that Masumi was gone. My Competitor at school had crossed the last checkpoint.

She left us to be the first girl in class letting us ‘to live with a lost relationship'.

The dreaded world ‘Junglemahal’ ( Part 2)

"We are fighting for our 'right to Speak' ": Manoj Mahato, the elusive PCPA spokesperson

Twenty five year old Manoj has a tattoo in his left arms. Imprinted in English it says P+ M. I stare at it with undue interest and he shyly declares, “It is something very personal”.

“Your girlfriend”, I quiz and he nods gleefully.

Manoj is supposedly said to be the armed member of the Maoist squad in Jangalmahal. But officially he is the spokesperson for the PCPA ie the People’s Committee against Police atrocities popularly known as the ‘Jan Sadharan Committee’in the jangalmahal.

He came like a bandit in his Bajaj Pulsar…face covered to meet us. In a red colored bike a dark skinned youngster in bright yellow T shirt, he appeared to be the perfect blend of modern day rebel. A gold plated Titan watch flashed on his right wrist while a golden bracelet on his left, he was greeted by his comrade in strange signals.

Manoj Mahato had come to speak for the tribals of Jangal mahal in a small mud plastered hut in midst of bamboo forests in Pathri village some thirty kilometers from Midnapur town. A small table fan was switched on for us as we waited for him on that hot afternoon after four days of the Gyaneshwari express disaster.

We had crossed a football ground to reach this hut. His two comarades had guided us there. I tried to find out from them if it was Manoj’s residence.

It was of Lakhim Mahato of Pathri village, a small time farmer owning nine bighas of land. He had with two daughters and a son who was hauled up by the police from the Barisal high school hostel last year until his mother with other women of the locality had gheraoed the local police station and freed the guys allegedly having Maoists links. This story was time and again told to us by our hosts with accusations that the media termed them as lady Maoists.

Manoj asked me to show my identity proof before he settled down for the interaction. I had none. I had left it in the car some two kilometers away.

I asked my cameraman. “Can you hand over your ID proof”. He had his. He showed them. Manoj taunted, “Government of West Bengal”, Press card. It was his state accreditation card. A small some twelve year old then took out a mobile phone to take our photos. We obediently obliged.

“We want to be over sure about you all”, “you do not have a problem”, he asked.

I nodded.

Manoj sat in a plastic chair given to us outside the room.

I begin by asking him “Why are you all so suspicious about people?”

“Why should’nt we”, “whoso ever comes here comes with a purpose”. “You could be police agents”, he clarified. “Mind you, the police camouflaged as journalists had actually caught hold of our general secretary Chhatradhar Mahato’

“But still we do not mind”, he continued “We want our right to speak”.

“You have got so” “as any of us”, I was reasoning.

“Do you know people come here to catch us, term us Maoists and try us under your law”.

“What do you mean?” “Is the PCPA out of the purview of the Indian law”, I thought he was unreasonable.

“No you use the state’s law according to your own benefits”. “Presently the CPIM is doing that along with the state police”, “The centre is doing that according to their own needs”, it was Manoj.

“Why is the joint operation being held here? To kill the tribals who are questioning the legality and the authority of the police operation,” he continued.

“No, not at all but that is the government’s decision. And anyway the people here started this war. You questioned the presence of law in this area”, I was answering his defiance.

“We are not Maoists or whatever you call them. I am talking for the PCPA. We want tribal rights, nothing short of that. Tribals rights to speak , live and live on their own terms’.

“But there is a law. Why would you not allow people to enter this place? Why has junglemahal become the dreaded area these days?

“Because we would not let anyone come here. Our people want to live in peace. We do not want any more exploitation”, “We have been exploited for generations”.

“I want to give an example. The police came to Barisal school hostel, picked up boys of class eight or nine and termed them Maoists. Your media showed Maoists have been caught in Lalgarh. And then if the mothers of the accused go to the thana to protest and get back their children it is like Maoists women have attacked the thana to get back their comrades”.

“You blame Bapi Mahato for the Gyaneshwari attack”, “We have never attacked common people. Bapi was booked by the CID caught and kept in jail and released on bail because the police could not even file a chargesheet against him. Now you have another case and you are terming him Maoists and an accused in the Gyaneshwari case”. He was speaking for the tribals.

“But why is he running away and in this manner no problem will be sorted out. You ‘ll have to lay your arms first, then try and come to the mainstream’, I was arguing with him.

He appeared dismissive. “We have our way of life. We are neither rich nor educated that we shall be able to compete with the government”.

Manoj Mahato does not appear to have a political acumen to defend his acts but is defiant in his words. Talking in local Bangla he had passion in his words and some people from around the village stood in awe listening to him.

I ask him, “how old are you”?

He laughs, “twenty-five”, “quite old for us”.

“So now ….what?”

“We ll fight till our last”.

I ask, “tell me are you with Mamata Banerjee”, “she supported the PCPA once.”

“She does not have courage and just wants political mileage”, “she tried to disatance herself from us last time she was in Jhargram”. “We have served her purpose”.

I see the airtel dish antenna above the mud hut. Manoj asks one of his comrades to leave us till the road. I was leaving when I heard Manoj boasting to his comrades around, “ Police amader pichone. Kono din ekhane attack korte pare kinto amader ke eeii ladaii lorhte hobe”, (Police is after us. They can attack us any day. But don’t worry we ll have to fight this war).

The dreaded world ‘Jangalmahal’ ( Part 1)

Bandits of Jangalmahal…..

Jangalmahal is a dreaded region these days. Some eight kilometers away from the dreaded Jangalmahal, Gyaneshwari Express got derailed and hit by the goods train on the fateful dark night of the 28th of May. Until now hundred fifty innocent passengers on their way to Mumbai have lost their lives. Two hundred and fifty others are still battling for life in various hospitals in Kolkata.

But the ones who are being held responsible of human intervention so as to derail the train and kill innocents are located some eight kilometers away from Rajabandh in the jungles of Jangalmahal (the forest castle) comprising the forest area of three districts Bankura, Purulia and West Midnapur. They are the Maoists as being termed by the home ministry and so do all of us living out of the purview of ‘Jangalmahal’ perceive.

It is a great opportunity for us journalists trying to get in touch with the Maoists of Jangalmahal. For they are the ones most wanted and we are the ones wanting them for their great untold inconclusive story… about one part of our country that has turned dismissive towards the other.

But it is usually them who get in touch with us. A sudden sms from unknown quarters can throw up adrenalin in our stomachs because it has supposedly come from the most wanted ones these days.

Just the next day when all of us cried hoarse about how brutal are these ‘maoists terrorists’ in the Jangalmahal, a sms from someone unknown said in Bangala, ‘Jhargram ghotnar aamra ninda kori. Amader lodai sadharan manusher jonno ie we condemn the jhargram incident. We do not kill common people. We fight for them.

‘Perpetrators of violence’ and looking for a dignity and acceptability in the Indian democracy…..I thought that day until on the 1st of June I traveled to Midnapur hospital to take stock and file stories on the dead.

But then it is four days after the tragedy. The victims no more make news. We are now on the hunt for the perpetrators. I try to get in touch with the PCPA members as they are the ones who are being cornered for the crime. The Maoists seem to have a frontal organization as the ‘PCPA’ (People’s Committee against Police atrocities), who are supposedly said to be behind the deed.

No one seemed to answer the calls on the available numbers. My contact in Midnapur tells me that with all these no one would want to talk to the press. I tried one last time in a number of ‘Manoj Mahato’, the young PCPC tribal spokesperson.

“Where are you?” was the question after my initial introduction.

“At the Midnapur hospital but I would want to know your side of the story”, I replied.

“Our side”, “what do you mean, how can you even connect us to the train mishap”.

“But… please meet me and tell all this. Everyone is talking about your party as the frontal organization of the elusive Maoists.”

“Who is talking except you all” was the terse reply.

What do you mean except you all, everyone in the country, I persisted.

“No not us. We are also in this country”, it was Manoj, the tough guy.

“Who are the ‘us”, I question.

“I mean.. We, tribals fighting for our cause. We.. the people of Junglemahal. But you would not take our side of the story”, “as if we are people of the different world”.

“I want to meet you”, I was persisting.

“Ok, come to the Kulsibhanga high school and give me a ring”.

“How far is that”?

“It is in the Junglemahal and some twenty five kilometers from where you are standing”.

“I shall come just now”, I said before disconnecting.

I ask my contact to actually follow us on to ‘Kulshibhanga.

“Rather you follow us. Your car can be a problem. You come behind us”, he was supportive.

We started following. After we passed some twenty kilometers, I again called up to confirm our meeting. He gave me another mobile number and asked to ring up once I reach Kulshibhanga high school. “Somebody will be waiting for you”.

I was enthusiastic. Really did not expect such a meeting with the ‘bete noire’ of the outside world.

We reached Kushibhanga High school after traveling the deserted main road and then the ‘brickdust’ lanes. I waited impatiently outside the locked school gate that seemed deserted in this summer heat. An abandoned kiosk outside the school building had a ‘open chulha’ or mud oven, that was appeared not to be in use for months. The mobile signal did not work and I did not know how to approach my hosts.

I tried to cross the road and try to knock in the double storied mud hut neatly plastered by mud.

No one appeared. A small child peeped out and just asked us to wait.

We waited impatiently for someone to approach us. Then we see a motorbike a Bajaj Pulsar, driven by two guys with their face wrapped in the local cotton towel.

He comes in and says, “ Only didi ( that’s me) can go with us in the bike”.

I decline, “ I am a TV journalist, I need my team along with me”.

They decline, : You said you wanted to come and see us”.

After much persuasion and their insinuations they agreed. One of them by the name of ‘Kalia Mahato,’ accompanied us in our white car. He had a just healed injury on the left cheek. He was traveling with us while another bike with two new youths followed us.

“ What happened on your face. It looks like an injury’, I started the conversation

“You journalists read too much,” nothing…remember ..we live in jungles and not in cities, These wounds are common”. He said in chaste hindi very unusual from tribals of Midnapur.

“Where are you from?” “You speak good hindi”, I again tried to keep the conversation going.

“I am from the Jangalmahal, but I have worked for ten years in Jharkhand. So the hindi….”

“But now I have come back and want to live here,” was the terse reply.

We were going through kuchha mud roads. There were deep pits and thick bamboo forests and seemed the dead end, with bamboos and leaves blocking the road.

“Can the car go”, the driver asked.

“Yes yes, your tires would be better after these running in these roads”, he tried to joke.

“These are mere leaves felled on the way to prevent the police to enter the villages”.

“But have you all done this:, “and Why?” “Why do you want to stop the police from coming here”.

“What for the police should come here”? “ You believe someone will come and catch us, fire at us and we will allow them to enter here”.

“No, I mean the police is the law enforcing body”, I tried to reason.

“But in Jangalmahal ‘the common people are the law enforcing body”.

“How can you say that. If this be the situation there would be anarchy in the country”.

“Where is the peace?” “P would come here , term us bandits, catch us , torture us and we let them come here easily” and hand over our independence to them”.

“What ll you do?”

“We shall fight till our last… and we are doing that”.

“And you ll stop anybody from entering this region”.

“Yes, all those who think people of Jangalmahal are terrorists and are killing people”.

“If you send forces to fight us what do you expect us to do”, he was emotional.

“ But it is the people here who started this by breaking the law. You cant take law in your hands”.

“This is not your land. You come here for a purpose. You want the trains to ply through this region But you do not do anything for people who are dying of hunger, thirst and even common facilities”.

“I agree there is less development. But you still drive a pulsar here…… So I cannot believe that there is hunger and thirst for food”.

“Ok ok you can drive a car and if we drive a pulsar we become equally rich. Do you know we drive pulsar bought from Midnapur town because there are no roads no or other means of communication. Most people here have not even seen Midnapur and Jhargram town”.

“Most people think here that we have to save our people and our land…You have to understand. The law has to be for the people and not against the people”.

“If your law allows you to kill us and target the tribals here and make them fugitives why do you think people will abide by that”.

“So you justify that you all not allow outsiders or law enforcing bodies to come here”, I again ask him tricky question.

“Do you know the basic income of people here. We do not have high aspirations. We just want to be alive to live here and shall do whatever it takes to keep our identity intact”..

“The police are sent by the government to take away our land, culture and lives….”

“Why do you all think so … The police is here to keep the law of the land”..

“Do you know the police catches young boys as their guard while crossing the Jangal mahal. They themselves live in fear here”, “ How’ ll they save”.

“But do you think the Maoists ll save you?”

He is disturbed. “You mean all those who fight for us and our rights become Maoists” “If fighting for once rights is becoming Maoists then let us be them”, “we do not mind”…

He said with contempt in this tone. We had reached a small football ground in midst of thick bamboo forest. A few mud houses were visible across the bamboos. Mud houses where women sat and counted the ‘Sal’ leaves and dried them in the heat.

No men were seen. We were terribly thirsty. I took out the bottle of mineral water to take a sip. A young girl ran inside to bring a bucket and pull water from the nearby open mud well. “The PCPA had dug it for the villagers”, my host added. “She had almost fallen”, I thought as she stood with legs stretched on the well to pull water more than twenty five feet down. I tried to peep as well. But could see little …..It was deep very deep within.

Out of sight out of blog…catchin’ up with time

I have been traveling recently in the United States on a study tour for a ‘Senior Journalists Fellowship Programme’ conducted by the East West Centre at Hawaii. The programme this year is ‘Bridging the gap between United States and Asian countries having sizeable muslim population. I did not really find in the time to blog as was trying to catch up with tight programme schedule. It is not really just catching up with the programme schedule but is like catching up with time.

It seems you are either trying to match the steps with the sun or sometimes turn around and move away. I am in Honolulu and the time here is fifteen hours behind India.

As I was trying to pack for Honolulu and was wondering how would it be, in far away Pacific Ocean in the islands, I had not realized until I reached here that I would go back to time once I reach here. It is hard and difficult to just wait to catch up with the sun. Not that the mornings and the evenings are any different here but that the feeling of having extra time does dawn on you. Where ever you are once you come to Hawaii, you would come with all the extra grace time you get in life. This was very evident in the flight itself as the sun did not go down for me on the twenty seventh of February this year for long, long hours.

United States is a wonderful nation. You keep setting your watch timings as per their time zones. And the vast country is divided in five time zones. With the big difference in the timings of sun rise and sun set one can understand the vastness in size of this country and all the more if you are in Hawaii.

As I flew from India to the West, the one realization I had that day was that the sun was rising really late that day very lazily.

And then the sun did not go down as I flew on the Pacific Ocean for long eleven hours. It was almost like traveling for half a day and still being on the same time.

Amazing is’nt it. But traveling within the United States is still more intriguing. You are in the United States playing hide and seek with time setting your watch either forward or behind like a game. The sun would rise and set accordingly then United Sates.

A co journalist from Asia commented, 'it's is good to have those extra time in life. Come to hawaii and relive some more time'.

So here I am, just trying to catch up with you guys waiting for the sun to set here and bring the new morning.

Waikiki  Beach sunsets are amazing and I am sure all of us would wanna fly back in time from my part of the world to see the last late sun going down for the new morning here.