A FEW STEPS FOR TACKLING TERRORISM

Unfortunately terrorism too is an ideology. Been frequently resorted to by self righteous groups like fanatics, facists, racists and communist, oligarchic and anarchic establishments alike, it thrives on a simple principle of obstructing the democratic processes by attempting to choke the popular voices and goading the unwilling to fall in their line of thinking. It is least surprising then that people who resort to terror should have no respect whatsoever for democratic concepts as fundamental rights and freedoms. Islamic fundamentalist groups all over the world have been known to frequent this methodology and even come up with innovative techniques of terrorising civilians. However, when it comes to notoriety surprisingly it is not any fundamentalist Islamic outfit that tops the chart but it is the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Elam (LTTE), operating from Jaffna Peninsula the northern tip of Sri Lanka and infamous for plotting and executing large conspiracies as assasination of Rajiv Gandhi, ex-Prime Minister of India or President Premdasa of Sri Lanka besides scores of suicide bombings that has rocked civilian parts of Sri Lanka for more than a decade now. There are several other organisations operational in India and different parts of the world that have chosen the path of terror to realise their goals and yet terror has increasingly come to be projected as the other side of the Islamic coin. A part of the credit for this should go to biased reportage by media, especially the western media who has at times chose to call a spade a shovel by terming terrorists as acitivists. A part of it definitely goes to the activities of fundamentalist Islamic organisations as Hamas and Al Qaeda and the violence that the Israel-Palestinian conflict or Talibans orthodox regime in Aghanistan was marred with.Since terrorism is an idelogy it should be dealt with at ideological levels. Certainly, the importance of a well equipped and trained forces coupled with vigilance and surveillance cannot be ruled out in this regard but if the menace of terrorism is to be contained it must be tackled on ideological grounds. The effectiveness of this can be seen from our previous successes in containing the Jarnialsingh Bhindranwale led Khalistan Seperatist Movement which never returned in a big way thereafter and more recently the overwhelming response to the attempts of the Indian Government to restore peace and democracy in the Kashmir Valley in terms of the huge voter turnout which certainly should be a huge blow to the seperatists. The menace of terrorism cannot be only left to be dealt with by the men in uniforms lest it should amount to mere prunning of the tree that needs to be uprooted. Tackling the menace of terrorism globally would require its victims like the United Kingdom, United States Of America and India and other like minded states who have firm belief in the democratic principles to come together on a common platform keeping aside their differences and agenda's and launching a worldwide crussade against the menace in an orderly manner. At microlevels terrorism can only be dealt with by strict adherence to democratic principles and secular credentials and assimilating the minorities especially the Muslims into the social and political mainstream to evolve a national concensus on the issue by shedding our communal biases. The discriminatory approaches towards the Indian Muslims, especially in the wake of terror attacks by Islamic fundamentalist groups, have served no purpose except to alienate them from the mainstream and encouraged the formation of community specific localities only to be cleverly exploited by anti social elements and greedy politicians alike thereby posing a grave danger to the unity, integrity and more importantly the secular fabric of the country. Questioning the loyalty and patriotism of Indian Muslims would amount handing out a raw deal to someone who at the time of partition had chosen to be a part of a secular setup over a setup founded over communal idelologies and overlooking the rich contributions made by people like Dr. Salim Ali, M.F. Hussain, Ustad Zakir Hussain, Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi, Azim Premji and Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalaam and several others thereby bringing glory to this country. Those questioning the loyalties and patriotism of Indian Muslims must remember that Muslims have not only been a part of the uprising of 1857 but also fought India's freedom struggle both as Satyagrahi's and soldier's of Azad Hind Sena. However,the bitter truth is that today most of the terrorists are Muslisms but then let us not brood over the fact and overlook another vital fact that a vast majority of the Muslims who are not terrorists too are the direct or indirect victims of terror as the rest of us.

-Bhushan Sarmalkar (JAI).

The Bleeding And Wailing Common Man

     Event's as these (terror attacks) targeting the innocent, unsuspecting civilians, remind me of an ugly game played by the British Army Officers during the colonial era. A full grown swine would be let in a closed room full of army officers who would try to poke their swords into the anus of the animal. As the animal retaliated other officers would try to distract it in the same manner from the other end. Soon the animal would be running all around, bleeding profusely and wailing in pain, seeking cover, only to be pursued by the men in uniforms, like a pack of hungry wolves, who would rest only after the animal had collapsed and bled to death! Is the suffering of the common man any different from that of the swine bleeding profusely, wailing in pain and seeking cover? And are the corrupt and the exploitative class any different from the officers seeking beastly pleasures? Infact, a second thought will reveal that the officers were far better than the later since they targeted an animal whereas the later target their own kind!

     During my recent visit to Dubai, I was surprised by the kind of surveillance the tiny Emirate has, especially at the places of public utility. And this becomes all the more important considering the fact that the Emirate has yet to see terrorist activity of any sorts! Well built, alert, polite and assisting, the Dubai police will seldom leave you unimpressed! Mumbai, on the other hand, witnessed its first gruesome terror attack in 1993. The attack targeting prime locations in Mumbai, left hundreds dead and several more maimed for life - to die a new death every coming day, proving that Mumbai and its inhabitants were far more vulnerable than they had ever imagined. The success of the terror attack was unarguably due the absence or the compromised surveillance which was never beefed up even in the wake of such threats. The direct result of this was another terror attack, this time on local trains – the life line of Mumbai, on 11^th July 2006 and then the terror attack that targeted The Taj and The Trident Hotels in Mumbai along with the Chhabad House on 26^th November 2009 followed by the recent terror attack on 13^th July 2011, where thousands of innocents again lost their lives. The reason often touted for this shortfall is the shortage of manpower faced by the Police Department. But then the Police are never to be found at places where they should be found and are more than often found at places where they should never be found. And this is more so at times when surveillance is badly needed. In the backdrop of such tragic events the Government unfailingly requests the citizens to be patient and peaceful. That's all it has been doing promptly over the years since 1993. But then how does one convince aging parents who lost their only college going son to a terror attack that was a direct outcome of callous approach of the Government to be patient? It took eighteen long years, nearly two decades, for the judiciary to pronounce its verdict in 1993 bombing case. How many of the victims of 1993 bombings or their kins survived to see the day? Isn't justice delayed justice denied? Don't they know that Peace is not merely absence of war/conflict/struggle but prevalence of justice and equality?And if it is so then isn't the Government indulging in mockery of justice and equality??

• Bhushan Sarmalkar (JAI)

Megh Malhar 2011

But for my busy schedules, with the likes of Smt Asha Khadilkar and Jayteerth Mevundi performing at this years Megh Malhar, I would have more than just loved to attend all the three days of the festival. Smt. Yashaswi Sathe- Sirpotdar, a protégé if Smt Padma Talwalkar, opened the second day of the festival with her melifious rendition of 'Mia Malhar' in 'Vilambit taal' dotted with crystal clear taans reflecting her sincerity and more importantly her solid homework. The rendition can easily be rated by me as one of the finest ones with me having been audience to the 'out of the world divine' rendition of Mia Malhar by none other than the grand and the last of the original diva's Smt Kishori Ammonkar. That year was 2008 and thereafter no other vocalist’s rendition of the monsoon raaga has been able to leave as much as a mark on my mind. Smt. Yashaswi Sathe-Sirpotdar's rendition of Mia Malhar cannot be compared with that of the 'Gaana Saraswati's' rendition but yes it certainly is in that league of the few memorable renditions that I have ever heard! Smt Yashaswi Sathe-Sirpotdar winded up her performance with Goud Malhar amidst loud applause of the mesmerised audiences who held nothing back while conveying their appreciation for the young vocalist and paved way for the veteran vocalist Smt Asha Khadilkar.

As the curtains rolled up for post break session for the second and the concluding part of the second day of the festival, I was moved to see a greying Asha Khadilkar looking tired. Draped in an emrald green silk saree with a broad turmeric yellow border, Smt Khadilkar presented Shudh Malhar bringing back to my mind the memories when she performed in sangeet nataks. If I am not wrong I can faintly recall her playing the lead role along with vocalist Ajit Kadkade in 'Sangeet Sharada Swayamvar', a musical. I was in primary then. Having seen her rendering the energetic Natya Sangeet I was deeply moved to see her looking tired. Artists I felt were like Lord Krishna who unknowingly steal their ways into their audience’s hearts so much so that they start identifying themselves with them more than with their own kith and kin! Artists like Smt Asha Khadilkar who have devoted their entire lives to serve music are inarguably a class apart - I guess that’s why they are loved and respected so much by the people. With a ' Bhoopkali' bandish being rendered next by the veteren artist to capture the essence of monsoons, the evening was winded up with what she does best – rendition of a Meera Bhajan that too capturing the esssence of rains which kept reverberating in my mind for the next two days! Needless to say that her being a veteran who has honed her skills under the tutelageof the likes of Pt. Vasantrao Deshpande, Pt. Jeetendra Abhisheki, Smt. Manik Verma and Yashwantbua Joshi to name a few, was reflected in the ease with which Smt Asha Khadilkar delivered soulful renditions. I was left deeply touched and was full of reverence for the the selflessly devoted noble souls called 'artists' as the curtains went down a coughing veteran vocalist Smt.Asha Khadilkar!!

- JAI

The Lost Monsoon

I was woken up by a slender tube lights silent battle with the monsoon darkness that filled my house. The scene outside wasn’t very different. Nearly a fortnight after the onset of monsoon in Mumbai an army of dark clouds laid siege over the otherwise clear blue sky. The sun had virtually gone underground and would seldom make an appearance till August as if he had to honour some unwritten agreement with the monsoon. It was consistently drizzling outside as a herd of buffaloes grazed in knee deep waters just across the road, in front of my house. A dozen odd yellow beaked storks paroled the waters pecking fry and frog tadpoles. I often wondered where the fish came from in the waters that accumulated in the grounds that were dry for most part of the year. Unable to answer that I had convinced myself that they fell from the sky with the rain drops! A few storks were taking a free ride on the buffalo backs and that didn’t seem to bother them a bit. One or two of them had perched on the peripheral trees that silently stood relishing the monsoon melody. Rills of clear waters flowed across the road murmuring monsoon sonnets. Our regular baker – a Muslim fellow braved even the wet conditions with his pajama folded to the knee and head covered by a plastic sheet. Even on that day he had come at his usual time to deliver eggs and bread on his bicycle. The song ‘ Saawan Ke Jhoole Pade’ from the movie ’Jurmana’ being played on Vividh Bharati was summing up all this.

Ready for my school complete with gumboots and raincoat, I was waiting for our maid servant, a chronic alcoholic who would walk me to my school and back home after the school which wasn’t very far away. She would take my belongings and I would walk ahead of her splashing the water puddles on my way to school. In the class room the story wasn’t very different. There would be atleast four tube lights putting up a brave battle against the monsoon darkness. Water bottles and raincoats hung from the grills of our class room windows. The noise of the rains outside would often overpower our teacher’s voice who would occasionally walk upto the window to view the situation. It seemed she enjoyed the sight of bushes and shrubs freaking out in the rains. Often the rains and the winds would soar and roar which sounded like two racing bikers at their helms in a race. At times the University building, otherwise visible from our classroom window, would start appearing as a foggy image that would completely disappear as the rains caught up and reached its helm. Only one or two Haryanvi women cutting grass in the vast stretch of marshes that lay between our school and the University campus could be seen even when the rain was at its helm – courtesy their fluorescent dresses. Suddenly our teacher rushed to the neighboring class and returned with the other teacher to show her something exciting. To this day I don’t know what it was that amused them to no end. Some said it was a shoal of fresh water fish, others said it was a pair of fresh water snakes, still others suggested it was the designs that the water flowing from roof tops had created on the mud below while still others said that it was a pair of beautiful coloured stones that had come down with rains all the way from the heavens! In the recess while all the class had gathered at the window to figure out the same, Arnold my Jewish friend, who spoke spotless Marathi whispered, “Wait after school, we will play in the water “. I agreed. Arnold met me as planned. “Let’s make waves! “ he said. So we two, all covered with raincoats, put hands across each other’s shoulders and waddled through the water making waves. Suddenly, our principal Mrs Gokhale, appeared from nowhere. She was leaving for the day. We wished her a good afternoon but concerned as she always was, “Not going home?” was all that she retorted! “Going madame”, we muttered as we headed to the schools main gate. My maid servant was waiting at the main gate. The watchman knew she was an alcoholic so they won’t let her in. Although an alcoholic she was extremely trustworthy and so she was always treated with great respect in my house inspite of her chronic alcoholism. Often she would buy me things and answer my curious questions with her little knowhow. Arnold, apart from being my class mate was a family friend since his extremely beautiful mother Julie who ran a beauty parlour in Bandra was my father’s friend. Both his parents frequented our house. His father a very fair and tall man of robust built resembled Elvis Priesley and dressed in an orthodox style. He looked more of a European but spoke fluently in Marathi. Arnold would come home on Saturdays or on half days (month ends), play on our ground and then go home. He was a tall boy, very thin and had wheatish complexion unlike both his parents and wore thick glasses. He was poor in studies and often got punished but that hardly bothered him. But then he was a very affectionate fellow. That day in his eagerness to play on slides, he broke a bottle of cosmetics that his father had asked him to deliver home to his mother. That upset him to no end and he left without playing.

My mother had bought crabs that day. She had kept a small one for me to play with. She tied the leg of the crab with a thread and handed it over to me. I took it out in the muddy waters and suddenly I could no longer feel the crab! It was gone. I desperately searched for it but it was nowhere to be seen. Aarti who stayed on the first floor and who was of the same age as me, peeped through her kitchen window and enquired as to what I was looking for. I told her the issue and she told me not to worry she would come down and help me find the crab. The very next moment she ran down the stairs and asked me as to where I had lost the crab. I showed her the spot where I had detected the loss. She remarked that the way I was searching wasn’t a correct one. Instead she suggested we splashed the water with feet so that the ground becomes visible and the crab could be seen. We tried hard that but to no avail. The crab was long gone for good!

We were done with the lunch by half past one or so. After my mother was done with all her kitchen chores, we were off to an afternoon siesta. With my father fast asleep on Deewan, my mother kept us- me and my three year old brother, apart and soon we all were fast asleep with the rain drizzling at a consistent pace outside our half open window. After the afternoon siesta, with no disturbances except for the monsoon drizzles, I was woken up by a strong odour of brewing tea. Things had changed drastically by then. It was a new picture altogether. My papa was gone. Nearly twenty seven years had passed after he had lost his battle to a chronic kidney ailment. My mother now a senior citizen, all of sixty three, had retired with her life virtually revolving around her five year old grandson. I was no more that primary going school boy anymore but all of thirty six, a father of a five year old son. My son had replaced my three and a half year old brother who was now married staying close by with his interior designer wife. As years had moved on we too had moved from Bandra to Borivali. But the very prospect of monsoons makes me nostalgic every year and I inevitably return to my roots in Bandra where I spend the most formative years of my life. But then it never rained as it used to then. The vast grounds that virtually turned into lakes in monsoon had metamorphosed into gardens and jogging tracks. And ofcourse buffaloes were not allowed in there. But actually speaking there weren’t any buffaloes left to break in! There were only swine’s that now run amok, grunting with a dozen odd piglets. The peripheral trees seemed to stretch out to the skies begging for the storks that once perched on their branches but hadn’t returned for years now. The marsh land behind our colony was lost to slums. You could no longer see the University building now and the Haryanvi women no longer ventured the fast disappearing marsh lands for grass. My old asbestos-roofed school was gone and there was a concrete building that stood in its place. I wonder if the rains made that old melody with concrete terraces as it did with the old asbestos sheets. The old play ground in our school premises had shrunk and its level was considerably raised so the rainwater merely drained away. Rills of rainwater did flow across the streets but with a difference that the water in them was muddy! And I always wonder what happened to the baker who so religiously delivered bread and eggs even in the monsoons? And then what about the hawkers who sold peanuts at dusk. And whatever happened to the hawker who sold roast corn on hand carts in monsoons and others who sold guavas, jamun, custard apples and other things on handcarts? Arnold, my Jewish friend, changed his school as his family moved out of Bandra but they were in touch on and off till my father passed away and then we lost touch completely. I wonder where he is now. In Israel I guess having his family and looking after his aging parents. Aarti is married and has a daughter Srushti and stays at Parel. Children no more wear raincoats and gumboots have left for good. No one waddles through water puddles or splish sploshes as he goes to school anymore. No one makes paper boats anymore and I too have forgotten to make one! And it’s terrible to see a child stretch out his hand to feel the rains and find that he can’t because there’s a tin shade protruding!! I wonder whether this is the end of innocence. And that of poetry as well? Hope not!! On an optimistic note I hope someday the storks will perch on the peripheral trees, fish for tadpoles and take free rides on buffalo backs. The wind and rain will soar and roar like speeding bikers and herbs and shrubs freak out in torrential rains as some school going boy will splish splosh his way through the rains and capture its essence in his own unique way to present his own version of yet another beautiful rainy day!
- Bhushan Sarmalkar (JAI).