“The big Satan has forgotten 9/11 and needs some thing bigger. Last time it was a great big boom… but soon that will be the thing of past, just wait for few more day. That idiot Sahzad has complicated things… he failed being so clumsy, the bugger could not even get out in time.”
The depth of vehemence conveyed in tone and sense of commitment by Waqar alarmed Tariq. Though it was not the first time he heard such display of deep hatred. May be he was just letting his steam off and would go back to mind his religious activities. His words made Tariq more uneasy than before.
Waqar always dreaming of a fantastic revenge on USA for its despised support to Israel, invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan drone attacks. The list was long with tedious explanations conveying his deep vehemence. Though he felt indebted to Waqar, Tariq avoided him most of times. It was too much listening about crazy terror plots. His troubled wife Praveen was against meeting Waqar. Tariq was unable to refuge meeting his crazy old friend, perhaps for the last time.
“You look nice with out that god damn beard…good you shaved that off.”
“I don’t need that now. Did you hear what I said?”
“Please….no crazy revenge bull shit now…Okay?
“So you don’t want to listen?” Waqar was tipsy and eager to discuss his pet subject further.
“I don’t know what you are talking about?”
“The big Satan deserves few big booms.”
“I don’t like politics and its quite good life here.”
“No, it is lowly dog’s life, serving white blood sucking imperialists and killers.”
“Why did you come here Bhai, if you don’t like it now, go back?”
“Go back to where? They bombed most of my ancestral house in my village… killed many ….I have to take a revenge….its enough and I have developed a good plan…. No one can stop me now?”
“Are you serious?” Tariq had wished it were his usual ranting and nothing more serious.
“Well every one wants to do more in life.”
“But why you think of the crazy bull shit all times.”
“And once again I let some one else become a hero, why not me?”
“Well, I don’t waste time dreaming such crazy stuff and now I am not going to meet you ever again….you are getting mad.”
“You coward, silly, greedy, soft man, only love wads of dollars and decadent life. But ever you thought, those dollars has some ones blood?” Waqar looked with a piercing gaze
“Forget it. We were supposed to relax. Weren’t we?”
“Forget what?” An angry Waqar sat up.
“Nothing brother... Now please don’t shout and spoil the picnic. The ladies and kids are looking. Please stop this non sense. Will you?”
Waqar has always been very authoritative but it was getting too much. Tariq hated his unpredictable vicious attacks and personal insults along with stupid terror plots.
“Shut up! You have no conscience. Why you hide your face when I tell you about the injustices, sacrifices, pain, blood and death? You have been a sissy! Be a brave man and accept the reality. You are an unbeliever, not a man enough, too fond of debauched life.”
“Debauched… me… Are you crazy? You…were debauched and your crazy imagination and fascination with terror doesn’t make you more faithful or pure now.”
“I have changed completely and you have forgotten our religion. I don’t see you any more in the mosque and don’t like it.” He snarled.
“Is it some thing so wrong?’
“Yes it is. I am talking of - revenge, martyrdom; and you are telling me all this bullshit….and its not just fascination…I have been working…and now ready…for the sacrifice and glory”
“You can’t be serious!”
I am very serious and ready for the supreme sacrifice, the martyrdom. What about you?”
Suddenly Waqar sounded calmly serious. A chilled Tariq felt the depth of his belief and was curious to know more about his plans.
“I love my little family and the peaceful life.”
“A true soldier never thinks of these things during a war.” A cold Waqar persisted.
Tariq was shaken to core and silently judging him. Waqar kept looking up and nodding, slowly he began to speak.
“You must think about those unfortunate villagers being bombed. I know you don’t give a damn….but I do…every one can not be expected to offer the supreme sacrifice at once. It takes time.” Waqar’s voice was clear and calm. Just few moments before he was speaking like a drunk with no self-control. Tariq wondered whether he was witnessing subtle acting.
“I am here for job, money, better life and have no interest in the politics…hate your crazy ideas.”
They were sitting crossed legged on a flower printed sheet, at their favorite picnic spot. He could see Praveen and Jahida taking a stroll, watching children play hide and seek behind bushes. Tariq frequently changed posture to ease pressure on his back muscles, to avoid relapse of dreaded painful backache.
“I know you badly need money…don’t you?” Waqar said in low voice, intensely watching his reaction.
“I am sure you are sick and badly need counseling...”
Waqar was silently looking at ladies and children having a good time, laughing, and running after each other.
“I too have family to take care of and a sick mother back home. But I am not greedy and selfish like you. I may be caught some day, betrayed by some rascal. Then what will happen to them?”
“I am worried about you… fail to understand…why are you planning such things…what is the crime of innocent people…who will die…you have money..Take it easy…do some social work…but please stay way from those mad mullahs. ”
Waqar didn’t reply and again looked at blue sky, brooding, slowly nodding, as if listening and agreeing to some divine voice from above. He seemed to have gone to his trance once again. Tariq drank and waited patiently, closed his eyes and thought about Praveen and Adnan, his son. He firmly decided to cool off his relations with Waqar. It would do him no harm or perhaps be a better option, given to his friend’s dangerous obsession and preoccupation with the lunatic revenge plan. He wished it was one of those crazy ranting and Waqar would go back to his life as before.
“I some times wonder who I am today!”
Tariq could feel he was being exposed to some hereto-secrets hidden in recess of his friend’s tormented fertile brain. He listened carelessly as he had always done-betraying no keen interest, which he was indeed developing.
“I am an unknown banker, but who knows me back home? No body.”
“Is it that important to be well known?”
“Yes it is. I want my name remembered by every body.”
“Remembered? What do you mean?”
“I loved football and wanted to be a professional footballer. But my Abba wanted me to be a doctor. He never listened to me and made sure I missed my practice of the day, being locked up with heartless monstrous tutors of various sizes and shapes to mug up physics, chemistry and biology lessons. They would test my memory and hit a ruler on my extended soft palm. I felt humiliated and I wanted to kill those devils and thought of various methods. But could not venture beyond the planning and never gathered courage to execute the plans and prove myself, ….thought it would be different here….but here again I was made to feel small…not good enough by my asshole Jews and Indian bosses…who wanted impossible results …I told them to fuck off...and now…see where is that 150 years old big bank? In the deep stinking shit…”
Waqar took out another beer and resumed his monologue.
“Now I am sure that stage is near and with in my reach. I have some like-minded, focused and resourceful young friends with me. And they are as passionate and willing as I am… I mean…to give a bloody kick in Yankee bums.”
“And you are doing this to make your self well known back home…a hero?
A silent Waqar looked away, turned his face looking at the noisy children, his eyes becoming moist. His daughter Henna raced toward them threw herself at him and started to sob.
“Arre, what happened to my dear little darling?” Waqar wiped his tears and Tariq took his beer to save it from spilling over the child.
“I don’t like Bhai pulling and messing my hairs.” Henna increased her effort to gather tears and started to howl loudly.
“Oh, he is just a small child and does not know any thing.” Waqar made a funny face to pacify her.
“Why don’t you tie his hands?”
She stopped howling and demanded abruptly and then resumed. Her voice was shrill and effortlessly produced streams of tears from her innocent large eyes. She could rain teardrops on drop of a hat to smoother her dotting father to outrageous demands. Henna now seemed proud of running little streams flooding her pink cheeks and delicate neck. Her mother Jahida gave up completely and let Waqar deal with the little girl. She told him to find a boy for Henna, who could put up with such noisy tantrums. She would better be excused of such daunting responsibility.
She would say- we don’t know what troubles she might face in her adult life? What kind of boy would she merry, how would he treat her. Please have mercy, don’t spoil her and think of future. Nobody likes a woman who throws tantrums and behaves unreasonably.
“No need for that. I will tell him to behave.” Waqar put Henna on his lap and promised softly. Tariq could see little tears still sticking to his friend’s eyes.
“He won’t. I hate him.” She resumed her howling and threw legs violently on his chest.
Waqar caught hold of her tiny legs and made a funny face. She stops shrieking.
A flock of birds descended nearby and she sat up, wide eyed.
“Abba, see these birds, I will catch one today.” She forgot her hair-pulling brother, funny-faced father and developed keen interest in the flock and ran after it.
Waqar slowly drew his contorted muscles back in place and returned to his menacing, brooding, lamenting posture. Tariq watched him being transformed from a loving father of a little girl to a fanatic, dreaming of a grand terror strike. Which will deprive many young girls of their funny-faced fathers, loving harassed mother and hair pulling cute little brothers? They perhaps, will never dare to howl again and would seize forever their interest in flock of noisy birds.
They watched as Henna ran after birds.
Waqar had come to America as a student like him and settled down. He was a tall fair man. Lately he has shown greater interest in religious affairs and social work. His once modern home office has slowly acquired religious posters, big stick of incense spewing heady scented coils of smoke. The table and chairs have been removed and a big white covered cushion appeared for cross-legged sitting, the wall providing back support. Tariq avoided sitting crossed leg because of the acute backache. .
He drew closer and spoke in steady low voice.
“Brother, today I want to share some inner thoughts with you. I know you are a damn greedy fallow, but that’s all right with me. You are like my own younger brother. You have to promise me that if some thing happens to me you will take of my family. Repay whatever I have done for you. Money is not a problem; I have enough for their needs. What they might need is guidance and support in difficult times ahead.”
A deeply troubled Tariq listened carefully and cursed himself to meet his old friend gone crazy so completely. Waqar seems to have made a decision, and would carefully set to do the job in a systematic and organized manner. He silently nodded to abide by his friend’s wishes.
Waqar again lapsed in to his brooding posture, looking at sky, listening to some divine voice, nodding his neck and making some decisions, analyzing thoughts.
They were silent for some time before he eventually turned his fierce eyes on him. His voice disclosed a strange finality and conviction, which made Tariq nervous.
“I will try to do the job alone but if the situations demand I might have to take Jahida and Henna with me.”
Tariq froze as he heard his friend disclose the sinister plan.
“One more thing; if my plans are exposed, you take care of them.”
Tariq felt numb and disoriented.
“Don’t worry I won’t be caught alive and sure to take maximum enemies with me.”
“Enemies…who are they…innocents?”
“In a war…that happens often…It happened in Afghanistan…I was there…so I know..”
“You were where…Don’t tell me that…”
“No one knows…it was in late eighties…for about a year…seen all…blasts. Helicopter gun ships mowing down every thing that moved…blasts…blood…death. Collected and buried dismembered bodies…aged…women and small kids…killed many godless soviets…”
A stunned Tariq listened to his friend’s hidden past and present motivation.
“Forget it…it was in past..Long back…”
“I just can’t. It keeps me awake and troubled…fought injustice then and doing same now.”
“Don’t do it…and don’t involve Bhabhi and Henna in this mad stuff?”
“I will try, not to. But if there no other way left, we three will be become martyrs and they too will always be remembered. And I am sure you would do some thing about it and our sacrifices don’t go waste. It must be used to motivate more people.”
“Bhabhi knows about it?”
“No. Not yet.. I won’t tell her ...it’s not needed and I am sure she will agree. ..she will have to... but even if she does not.... she has no other option but to obey me...I would hate to put my little darling Heena in danger...but.... One must be ready to sacrifice the dearest...I hope you know that?” Waqar avoided him and looked away.
“But why are you telling me this… crazy stuff…why..?”
“I just don’t know…really…”
Tariq did not eat. Waqar showed any interest in his favorite delicacies. Jahida was disappointed and asked whether the she cooked well or not. She was not satisfied by answers she got from the men and she could sense the tension in air and curiously kept asking about their serious expressions and silent sparse eating.
“Bhai, I wonder every thing is okay? You guys are so serious today, didn’t even bother to play with kids and show them some thing interesting around?”
“Yes every thing ok. We were just discussing some old friend.” Tariq looked at Waqar and lied.
‘Some one I know?”
“No.” Waqar curtly silenced her innocent curiosity.
Tariq felt bad but was relieved to be spared of further lies and answer questions from a simple Jahida. He was greatly troubled and foxed about being exposed to the horrible terror plan.
A motivated and focused terrorist would never disclose the gory secretes to any one!
Waqar was still lost in his thoughts and avoided his gaze. Jahida tried to initiate conversation with her husband and Tariq. But she had to go back to an aloof Praveen and the noisy children and helped them eat.
Waqar hugged him closely and kissed his forehead.
“Don’t do it...Please...” Tariq whispered.
Waqar avoided looking at him and suddenly broke off; stopped for a moment as if trying to remember some thing and then thoughtfully got in to his car. Tariq waited for car ahead to move and clear his way. The tiny hand of Henna waved them good by and disappeared from their sight. A nudge from his wife broke his frozen composure and turned the key.
“What’s going on?” Praveen enquired.
“Nothing...” Tariq didn’t look at her.
He knew she didn’t believe him. His own voice seemed peculiar, as if it belonged to a complete stranger, beginning to wonder if Waqar’s fanaticism has influenced him in some way. His thoughts went back to howling Henna, throwing her tiny legs and a demure, simple Jahida serving him food.
“Abba ...Henna is going to New York.” His son Adnan spoke with a tinge of jealousy and expectation.
So the mad Waqar has already decided to take them along on his mission of destruction. He has a personal agenda; passing off as stupid jihad and all that crazy mumbo-jumbo. To be famous, is his aim; a star footballer, his father did not allow. Or perhaps lately wanted to make a mark at least as a banker, but failed. Blowing up people is easy; some explosives, a timer and boom. One can make a mark, be famous so easily.
“When will we go to New York?” Adnan was impatient to hear a promise from him.
“Abba will tell you later. Now will you please let him drive?” Praveen come to his rescue.
A crimson sun was setting in the wide horizon and the road seemed as if heading for the mighty fireball. The car ahead appeared to head for it, gradually becoming smaller till it turned in to a tiny dot and then it was gone. Tariq felt dizzy and stopped the car on side and asked for the bottle of water. He stepped out and splashed cold water on his face again and again until he felt better. He looked away from the sun, as deep feeling of helplessness took over.
Praveen looked at him with troubled curiosity. Her face hidden in a scarf she always wore so elegantly. Tariq knew she was worried and would need a proper explanation- always a difficult task.
Adnan laughed and asked Praveen to let him imitate his Abba; he didn’t wait for her approval. He come to him and extended his hand and took bottle and immediately splashed water on his face, drenching his cloths wet.
He was not happy with the result and sheepishly looked at Tariq for help in his venture. Tariq felt secure that his tears were hidden in cold water, invisible to his son, who always thought him to be a brave man: beyond such cowardice. He went to Adnan and knelt down.
“Sorry Abba.”
“It’s alright beta. Let’s go.” He picked him up.
“I will drive.” A pale Praveen has shifted to the driving seat.
Tariq avoided looking at her, but had already made a decision.
Waqar’s face was all over on all the TV channels and news papers. The former banker turn rabid religious preacher was caught few hours before he could detonate bombs in crowded places and running underground trains. About a dozen youngsters were also arrested from different cities with explosives. The police credited the success to their secrete operatives, informers and regular surveillance of suspected terror cells.
Praveen held his and hand and whispered, “Don’t feel bad…it saved so many innocent lives …”
Tariq closed moist eyes and hugged her closer.
“The big Satan has forgotten 9/11 and needs some thing bigger. Last time it was a great big boom… but soon that will be the thing of past, just wait for few more day. That idiot Sahzad has complicated things… he failed being so clumsy, the bugger could not even get out in time.”
The depth of vehemence conveyed in tone and sense of commitment by Waqar alarmed Tariq. Though it was not the first time he heard such display of deep hatred. May be he was just letting his steam off and would go back to mind his religious activities. His words made Tariq more uneasy than before.
Waqar always dreaming of a fantastic revenge on USA for its despised support to Israel, invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan drone attacks. The list was long with tedious explanations conveying his deep vehemence. Though he felt indebted to Waqar, Tariq avoided him most of times. It was too much listening about crazy terror plots. His troubled wife Praveen was against meeting Waqar. Tariq was unable to refuge meeting his crazy old friend, perhaps for the last time.
“You look nice with out that god damn beard…good you shaved that off.”
“I don’t need that now. Did you hear what I said?”
“Please….no crazy revenge bull shit now…Okay?
“So you don’t want to listen?” Waqar was tipsy and eager to discuss his pet subject further.
“I don’t know what you are talking about?”
“The big Satan deserves few big booms.”
“I don’t like politics and its quite good life here.”
“No, it is lowly dog’s life, serving white blood sucking imperialists and killers.”
“Why did you come here Bhai, if you don’t like it now, go back?”
“Go back to where? They bombed most of my ancestral house in my village… killed many ….I have to take a revenge….its enough and I have developed a good plan…. No one can stop me now?”
“Are you serious?” Tariq had wished it were his usual ranting and nothing more serious.
“Well every one wants to do more in life.”
“But why you think of the crazy bull shit all times.”
“And once again I let some one else become a hero, why not me?”
“Well, I don’t waste time dreaming such crazy stuff and now I am not going to meet you ever again….you are getting mad.”
“You coward, silly, greedy, soft man, only love wads of dollars and decadent life. But ever you thought, those dollars has some ones blood?” Waqar looked with a piercing gaze
“Forget it. We were supposed to relax. Weren’t we?”
“Forget what?” An angry Waqar sat up.
“Nothing brother... Now please don’t shout and spoil the picnic. The ladies and kids are looking. Please stop this non sense. Will you?”
Waqar has always been very authoritative but it was getting too much. Tariq hated his unpredictable vicious attacks and personal insults along with stupid terror plots.
“Shut up! You have no conscience. Why you hide your face when I tell you about the injustices, sacrifices, pain, blood and death? You have been a sissy! Be a brave man and accept the reality. You are an unbeliever, not a man enough, too fond of debauched life.”
“Debauched… me… Are you crazy? You…were debauched and your crazy imagination and fascination with terror doesn’t make you more faithful or pure now.”
“I have changed completely and you have forgotten our religion. I don’t see you any more in the mosque and don’t like it.” He snarled.
“Is it some thing so wrong?’
“Yes it is. I am talking of - revenge, martyrdom; and you are telling me all this bullshit….and its not just fascination…I have been working…and now ready…for the sacrifice and glory”
“You can’t be serious!”
I am very serious and ready for the supreme sacrifice, the martyrdom. What about you?”
Suddenly Waqar sounded calmly serious. A chilled Tariq felt the depth of his belief and was curious to know more about his plans.
“I love my little family and the peaceful life.”
“A true soldier never thinks of these things during a war.” A cold Waqar persisted.
Tariq was shaken to core and silently judging him. Waqar kept looking up and nodding, slowly he began to speak.
“You must think about those unfortunate villagers being bombed. I know you don’t give a damn….but I do…every one can not be expected to offer the supreme sacrifice at once. It takes time.” Waqar’s voice was clear and calm. Just few moments before he was speaking like a drunk with no self-control. Tariq wondered whether he was witnessing subtle acting.
“I am here for job, money, better life and have no interest in the politics…hate your crazy ideas.”
They were sitting crossed legged on a flower printed sheet, at their favorite picnic spot. He could see Praveen and Jahida taking a stroll, watching children play hide and seek behind bushes. Tariq frequently changed posture to ease pressure on his back muscles, to avoid relapse of dreaded painful backache.
“I know you badly need money…don’t you?” Waqar said in low voice, intensely watching his reaction.
“I am sure you are sick and badly need counseling...”
Waqar was silently looking at ladies and children having a good time, laughing, and running after each other.
“I too have family to take care of and a sick mother back home. But I am not greedy and selfish like you. I may be caught some day, betrayed by some rascal. Then what will happen to them?”
“I am worried about you… fail to understand…why are you planning such things…what is the crime of innocent people…who will die…you have money..Take it easy…do some social work…but please stay way from those mad mullahs. ”
Waqar didn’t reply and again looked at blue sky, brooding, slowly nodding, as if listening and agreeing to some divine voice from above. He seemed to have gone to his trance once again. Tariq drank and waited patiently, closed his eyes and thought about Praveen and Adnan, his son. He firmly decided to cool off his relations with Waqar. It would do him no harm or perhaps be a better option, given to his friend’s dangerous obsession and preoccupation with the lunatic revenge plan. He wished it was one of those crazy ranting and Waqar would go back to his life as before.
“I some times wonder who I am today!”
Tariq could feel he was being exposed to some hereto-secrets hidden in recess of his friend’s tormented fertile brain. He listened carelessly as he had always done-betraying no keen interest, which he was indeed developing.
“I am an unknown banker, but who knows me back home? No body.”
“Is it that important to be well known?”
“Yes it is. I want my name remembered by every body.”
“Remembered? What do you mean?”
“I loved football and wanted to be a professional footballer. But my Abba wanted me to be a doctor. He never listened to me and made sure I missed my practice of the day, being locked up with heartless monstrous tutors of various sizes and shapes to mug up physics, chemistry and biology lessons. They would test my memory and hit a ruler on my extended soft palm. I felt humiliated and I wanted to kill those devils and thought of various methods. But could not venture beyond the planning and never gathered courage to execute the plans and prove myself, ….thought it would be different here….but here again I was made to feel small…not good enough by my asshole Jews and Indian bosses…who wanted impossible results …I told them to fuck off...and now…see where is that 150 years old big bank? In the deep stinking shit…”
Waqar took out another beer and resumed his monologue.
“Now I am sure that stage is near and with in my reach. I have some like-minded, focused and resourceful young friends with me. And they are as passionate and willing as I am… I mean…to give a bloody kick in Yankee bums.”
“And you are doing this to make your self well known back home…a hero?
A silent Waqar looked away, turned his face looking at the noisy children, his eyes becoming moist. His daughter Henna raced toward them threw herself at him and started to sob.
“Arre, what happened to my dear little darling?” Waqar wiped his tears and Tariq took his beer to save it from spilling over the child.
“I don’t like Bhai pulling and messing my hairs.” Henna increased her effort to gather tears and started to howl loudly.
“Oh, he is just a small child and does not know any thing.” Waqar made a funny face to pacify her.
“Why don’t you tie his hands?”
She stopped howling and demanded abruptly and then resumed. Her voice was shrill and effortlessly produced streams of tears from her innocent large eyes. She could rain teardrops on drop of a hat to smoother her dotting father to outrageous demands. Henna now seemed proud of running little streams flooding her pink cheeks and delicate neck. Her mother Jahida gave up completely and let Waqar deal with the little girl. She told him to find a boy for Henna, who could put up with such noisy tantrums. She would better be excused of such daunting responsibility.
She would say- we don’t know what troubles she might face in her adult life? What kind of boy would she merry, how would he treat her. Please have mercy, don’t spoil her and think of future. Nobody likes a woman who throws tantrums and behaves unreasonably.
“No need for that. I will tell him to behave.” Waqar put Henna on his lap and promised softly. Tariq could see little tears still sticking to his friend’s eyes.
“He won’t. I hate him.” She resumed her howling and threw legs violently on his chest.
Waqar caught hold of her tiny legs and made a funny face. She stops shrieking.
A flock of birds descended nearby and she sat up, wide eyed.
“Abba, see these birds, I will catch one today.” She forgot her hair-pulling brother, funny-faced father and developed keen interest in the flock and ran after it.
Waqar slowly drew his contorted muscles back in place and returned to his menacing, brooding, lamenting posture. Tariq watched him being transformed from a loving father of a little girl to a fanatic, dreaming of a grand terror strike. Which will deprive many young girls of their funny-faced fathers, loving harassed mother and hair pulling cute little brothers? They perhaps, will never dare to howl again and would seize forever their interest in flock of noisy birds.
They watched as Henna ran after birds.
Waqar had come to America as a student like him and settled down. He was a tall fair man. Lately he has shown greater interest in religious affairs and social work. His once modern home office has slowly acquired religious posters, big stick of incense spewing heady scented coils of smoke. The table and chairs have been removed and a big white covered cushion appeared for cross-legged sitting, the wall providing back support. Tariq avoided sitting crossed leg because of the acute backache. .
He drew closer and spoke in steady low voice.
“Brother, today I want to share some inner thoughts with you. I know you are a damn greedy fallow, but that’s all right with me. You are like my own younger brother. You have to promise me that if some thing happens to me you will take of my family. Repay whatever I have done for you. Money is not a problem; I have enough for their needs. What they might need is guidance and support in difficult times ahead.”
A deeply troubled Tariq listened carefully and cursed himself to meet his old friend gone crazy so completely. Waqar seems to have made a decision, and would carefully set to do the job in a systematic and organized manner. He silently nodded to abide by his friend’s wishes.
Waqar again lapsed in to his brooding posture, looking at sky, listening to some divine voice, nodding his neck and making some decisions, analyzing thoughts.
They were silent for some time before he eventually turned his fierce eyes on him. His voice disclosed a strange finality and conviction, which made Tariq nervous.
“I will try to do the job alone but if the situations demand I might have to take Jahida and Henna with me.”
Tariq froze as he heard his friend disclose the sinister plan.
“One more thing; if my plans are exposed, you take care of them.”
Tariq felt numb and disoriented.
“Don’t worry I won’t be caught alive and sure to take maximum enemies with me.”
“Enemies…who are they…innocents?”
“In a war…that happens often…It happened in Afghanistan…I was there…so I know..”
“You were where…Don’t tell me that…”
“No one knows…it was in late eighties…for about a year…seen all…blasts. Helicopter gun ships mowing down every thing that moved…blasts…blood…death. Collected and buried dismembered bodies…aged…women and small kids…killed many godless soviets…”
A stunned Tariq listened to his friend’s hidden past and present motivation.
“Forget it…it was in past..Long back…”
“I just can’t. It keeps me awake and troubled…fought injustice then and doing same now.”
“Don’t do it…and don’t involve Bhabhi and Henna in this mad stuff?”
“I will try, not to. But if there no other way left, we three will be become martyrs and they too will always be remembered. And I am sure you would do some thing about it and our sacrifices don’t go waste. It must be used to motivate more people.”
“Bhabhi knows about it?”
“No. Not yet.. I won’t tell her ...it’s not needed and I am sure she will agree. ..she will have to... but even if she does not.... she has no other option but to obey me...I would hate to put my little darling Heena in danger...but.... One must be ready to sacrifice the dearest...I hope you know that?” Waqar avoided him and looked away.
“But why are you telling me this… crazy stuff…why..?”
“I just don’t know…really…”
Tariq did not eat. Waqar showed any interest in his favorite delicacies. Jahida was disappointed and asked whether the she cooked well or not. She was not satisfied by answers she got from the men and she could sense the tension in air and curiously kept asking about their serious expressions and silent sparse eating.
“Bhai, I wonder every thing is okay? You guys are so serious today, didn’t even bother to play with kids and show them some thing interesting around?”
“Yes every thing ok. We were just discussing some old friend.” Tariq looked at Waqar and lied.
‘Some one I know?”
“No.” Waqar curtly silenced her innocent curiosity.
Tariq felt bad but was relieved to be spared of further lies and answer questions from a simple Jahida. He was greatly troubled and foxed about being exposed to the horrible terror plan.
A motivated and focused terrorist would never disclose the gory secretes to any one!
Waqar was still lost in his thoughts and avoided his gaze. Jahida tried to initiate conversation with her husband and Tariq. But she had to go back to an aloof Praveen and the noisy children and helped them eat.
Waqar hugged him closely and kissed his forehead.
“Don’t do it...Please...” Tariq whispered.
Waqar avoided looking at him and suddenly broke off; stopped for a moment as if trying to remember some thing and then thoughtfully got in to his car. Tariq waited for car ahead to move and clear his way. The tiny hand of Henna waved them good by and disappeared from their sight. A nudge from his wife broke his frozen composure and turned the key.
“What’s going on?” Praveen enquired.
“Nothing...” Tariq didn’t look at her.
He knew she didn’t believe him. His own voice seemed peculiar, as if it belonged to a complete stranger, beginning to wonder if Waqar’s fanaticism has influenced him in some way. His thoughts went back to howling Henna, throwing her tiny legs and a demure, simple Jahida serving him food.
“Abba ...Henna is going to New York.” His son Adnan spoke with a tinge of jealousy and expectation.
So the mad Waqar has already decided to take them along on his mission of destruction. He has a personal agenda; passing off as stupid jihad and all that crazy mumbo-jumbo. To be famous, is his aim; a star footballer, his father did not allow. Or perhaps lately wanted to make a mark at least as a banker, but failed. Blowing up people is easy; some explosives, a timer and boom. One can make a mark, be famous so easily.
“When will we go to New York?” Adnan was impatient to hear a promise from him.
“Abba will tell you later. Now will you please let him drive?” Praveen come to his rescue.
A crimson sun was setting in the wide horizon and the road seemed as if heading for the mighty fireball. The car ahead appeared to head for it, gradually becoming smaller till it turned in to a tiny dot and then it was gone. Tariq felt dizzy and stopped the car on side and asked for the bottle of water. He stepped out and splashed cold water on his face again and again until he felt better. He looked away from the sun, as deep feeling of helplessness took over.
Praveen looked at him with troubled curiosity. Her face hidden in a scarf she always wore so elegantly. Tariq knew she was worried and would need a proper explanation- always a difficult task.
Adnan laughed and asked Praveen to let him imitate his Abba; he didn’t wait for her approval. He come to him and extended his hand and took bottle and immediately splashed water on his face, drenching his cloths wet.
He was not happy with the result and sheepishly looked at Tariq for help in his venture. Tariq felt secure that his tears were hidden in cold water, invisible to his son, who always thought him to be a brave man: beyond such cowardice. He went to Adnan and knelt down.
“Sorry Abba.”
“It’s alright beta. Let’s go.” He picked him up.
“I will drive.” A pale Praveen has shifted to the driving seat.
Tariq avoided looking at her, but had already made a decision.
Waqar’s face was all over on all the TV channels and news papers. The former banker turn rabid religious preacher was caught few hours before he could detonate bombs in crowded places and running underground trains. About a dozen youngsters were also arrested from different cities with explosives. The police credited the success to their secrete operatives, informers and regular surveillance of suspected terror cells.
Praveen held his and hand and whispered, “Don’t feel bad…it saved so many innocent lives …”
Tariq closed moist eyes and hugged her closer.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Kill Me Mother, but Let Him Live
“Kill me, but let him live..”
That’s how a dying Asha Saini pleaded to the dehumanized killers. But it was in vain; she and her lover Yogesh were brutally beaten and even electrocuted to agonizing deaths, to make sure they do not live. She has known her killers for since her birth. Asha saw them nearby from the very moment she first opened her eyes and looked around. The killers did not listen and kept beating lovers with thick sticks and rods. Like many other before her, she was killed by her own parents and uncle.
Their innocent young blood burst out and faithfully gushed, flowed like a fountains of fresh tomato ketchup, seen in colorful television commercials. As if the gruesome acts were conceived by one of those morbid creative heads and their able henchmen, out to make a high octane impact, catch eyeballs, fiercely motivated to sell plethora of oils, soaps, shampoos, silk, cars and undergarments.
Umesh, a friend of Yogesh , witness to the horrible crime, tried hard to get help. But his mobile was not working and no body else was ready to make him call police and others. These facts further reinforce the tactic collusion and support for the murders by the neighbors.
According to the boyfriend's older sister, Renu, Asha wanted to marry my brother, but her family forcibly fixed her marriage to somebody else. Her mother had come to our place and threatened dire consequences if Yogesh did not stop meeting her.
Sadly, perhaps Asha too believed that she was at fault, by disobeying the family and choosing a boy on her own.
That could be the reason of her dying pleadings to spare the boy.
Asha and Yogesh were one of five couples killed in one week in north India in June. They were in love and wanted to get married. But Asha's family did not approve of Yogesh, a mere taxi driver. For her parents he did not have the right kind of job. But more importantly for them, he was from a lower caste. It was a shame that their daughter was having an affair and that too with a low caste boy. For some parents, it’s deemed to be the matter of ultimate shame, dishonor, and sense gets accentuated by suffering gleeful taunts from others with in close society.
Despite their strong objections and threats, Asha, kept seeing Yogesh.
"We killed them because we were totally against their sordid relationship. What else you can do if someone comes to your house to meet your niece at midnight?"
Her unrepentant uncle, Om Prakash, with out any remorse told reporters in televised remarks outside a police station in Delhi after his arrest. He actively helped his brother and sister in law, to kill their way ward daughter.
The Meghla case is latest in a series of such attacks on women in the Tamilnadu, dispels the popular notion that 'honor killings' are merely confined north India. Now there are cases from even southern states, such as Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, witnessing similar gruesome incidents. Many of them are sparked off when educated single women walk out of their homes and choose their own partners, sometimes from another community or caste.
What influences turns loving parents in to such dehumanized killers, apart from the age old ones?
Why this distorted notion of honor is traveling and seeping across regional boundaries?
What could be the reason for spiraling, so called “Honor Killings”, which are in fact “Horror Killings?
Is media unknowingly or carelessly being guilty of marketing sordid concepts of family honor and its horrific ways of redemption?
Media coverage of horror killings does seem to influence in some way the angered and conflicted parents to take such extreme steps. The banal generalization and pathetic dramatization of sensitive issues do lead to reinforcement of wrong societal stereotypes and their unintended multiple negative influences.
Is there a link between one such killings, its dramatized reporting, terming it as honor killing, leading to next blood letting by girls parents?
The careless last moment competitive spicy packaging of these events and high powered selling of these sordid bloods letting as events of expected and eventual honor savings seems to play a crucial role in chain of murders by family members.
It is for experts to find out how much covert role is unwittingly played by 24x7 high power media by dramatizing the sense of so called concept of family honor and how it was saved or avenged by killings of unfortunate young lovers? The dramatized propagation of age old concept of honor by still to mature media, its profound loss and redemption by killing tells an unmistakable link.
It is not that these tormented parents suddenly got wind of their sibling’s love affairs and decided to hound or kill them? Their tribal sense of honor and its perceived dilutions by females of families has been claiming lives of girls since ages.
The explosion of media has played its role in various ways.
Many oldies and saviors of traditions get upset and bemoan the young boys and girls hands locked, thronging the markets, cinema halls, multiplex and parks. The blame is placed on media for pushing the shameful openness, daring female outfits and their greater mixing with boys than what was possible a decade ago. Explosion of higher education and jobs creations across country has created much more mixing and socializing between sexes than what was possible twenty years ago.
In north Indian there have been about 20 horror killings in 80 days. The weight of honor of a family traditionally resides in its daughters, and when the girl goes against their wishes, it is seen as the ultimate disrespect.
There’s a growing feeling, given the fast pace of change in modern India that parents are now in no position dictate who their children will marry. The village councils in Haryana, near Delhi, they have ruled that couples cannot marry within their gotra or lineage, or sometimes within their village or a group of villages and they have come up with death sentences parents have to implement”.
Sociologists opine that “the murderous intensity is in itself an indicator of a feeling of losing control in some rural parts of India. The mere word of an elder is no longer enough to deter a couple from taking certain actions”.
In some villages bordering New Delhi, families are ostracized if they cannot make their children obey local marital tradition. But the killings have emerged in big cities, like New Delhi, and are making headlines across the world.
It is not clear if there has been an increase in these types of killings or a rise in reporting of them. India's Supreme Court is pressing the northern states where these killings are more frequent to take action and to specify what they are doing to curb the problem.
The Government of India is busy discussing and formulating stricter punishment for those involved in "honor killings."
A group of ministers aided by experts are considering changes to criminal law that would make groups that order these killings liable for murder charges. The changes would attempt to rein in traditional village councils that have been brazenly holding summary trials and order punishment in cases of inter-caste marriages.
Sadly, the renowned sociologists, intellectuals and opinion makers are still seeing the cases as extreme examples of the clash of modern India versus the strict interpretation of ancient traditions. It is still not known if they are also aware of impact of powerful marketing of traditional concept of family honor, its loss and redemption by murders.
Asha and Yogesh were not the first couples nor would they be last, exterminated to save the so called sense of family honor.
In another case during May, of such killing, Ramesh Choudhury, brother of the local BSP MLA, was arrested for allegedly killing his daughter and her lover in Hamirpur district. He confessed that he strangulated his 20 year old daughter Priyanka and her lover Santosh Kumar, 30, with the help of two servants. Santosh used to give tuitions to Priyanka and the two had been in a relationship for quite some time.
Apart from other well known social factors the media influences involved in these killings must be properly investigated to formulate related reporting policies standards.
Agonies and lives of few more such unfortunate couples can be saved by responsible coverage. The all powerful media, busy judging others, must now have a deep look inwards to introspect. The greatly sensitive nose of media personnel is on look out on 24x7 to scoop worthy news. The harassed and worn out editors collude with their TRP seeking marketing honchos to paddle commerce. Their uneasy relationships swing wildly between conflicting to telescoping postures, personal egos and unavoidable personality clashes .
It’s amazing that there are hardly any systematic and organized efforts, funded by cash rich big boys to do some serious social audit, the time of which has come long back and still being overlooked. At the same time, Government’s apathy or lack of awareness about these issues is cause of worry.
That’s how a dying Asha Saini pleaded to the dehumanized killers. But it was in vain; she and her lover Yogesh were brutally beaten and even electrocuted to agonizing deaths, to make sure they do not live. She has known her killers for since her birth. Asha saw them nearby from the very moment she first opened her eyes and looked around. The killers did not listen and kept beating lovers with thick sticks and rods. Like many other before her, she was killed by her own parents and uncle.
Their innocent young blood burst out and faithfully gushed, flowed like a fountains of fresh tomato ketchup, seen in colorful television commercials. As if the gruesome acts were conceived by one of those morbid creative heads and their able henchmen, out to make a high octane impact, catch eyeballs, fiercely motivated to sell plethora of oils, soaps, shampoos, silk, cars and undergarments.
Umesh, a friend of Yogesh , witness to the horrible crime, tried hard to get help. But his mobile was not working and no body else was ready to make him call police and others. These facts further reinforce the tactic collusion and support for the murders by the neighbors.
According to the boyfriend's older sister, Renu, Asha wanted to marry my brother, but her family forcibly fixed her marriage to somebody else. Her mother had come to our place and threatened dire consequences if Yogesh did not stop meeting her.
Sadly, perhaps Asha too believed that she was at fault, by disobeying the family and choosing a boy on her own.
That could be the reason of her dying pleadings to spare the boy.
Asha and Yogesh were one of five couples killed in one week in north India in June. They were in love and wanted to get married. But Asha's family did not approve of Yogesh, a mere taxi driver. For her parents he did not have the right kind of job. But more importantly for them, he was from a lower caste. It was a shame that their daughter was having an affair and that too with a low caste boy. For some parents, it’s deemed to be the matter of ultimate shame, dishonor, and sense gets accentuated by suffering gleeful taunts from others with in close society.
Despite their strong objections and threats, Asha, kept seeing Yogesh.
"We killed them because we were totally against their sordid relationship. What else you can do if someone comes to your house to meet your niece at midnight?"
Her unrepentant uncle, Om Prakash, with out any remorse told reporters in televised remarks outside a police station in Delhi after his arrest. He actively helped his brother and sister in law, to kill their way ward daughter.
The Meghla case is latest in a series of such attacks on women in the Tamilnadu, dispels the popular notion that 'honor killings' are merely confined north India. Now there are cases from even southern states, such as Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, witnessing similar gruesome incidents. Many of them are sparked off when educated single women walk out of their homes and choose their own partners, sometimes from another community or caste.
What influences turns loving parents in to such dehumanized killers, apart from the age old ones?
Why this distorted notion of honor is traveling and seeping across regional boundaries?
What could be the reason for spiraling, so called “Honor Killings”, which are in fact “Horror Killings?
Is media unknowingly or carelessly being guilty of marketing sordid concepts of family honor and its horrific ways of redemption?
Media coverage of horror killings does seem to influence in some way the angered and conflicted parents to take such extreme steps. The banal generalization and pathetic dramatization of sensitive issues do lead to reinforcement of wrong societal stereotypes and their unintended multiple negative influences.
Is there a link between one such killings, its dramatized reporting, terming it as honor killing, leading to next blood letting by girls parents?
The careless last moment competitive spicy packaging of these events and high powered selling of these sordid bloods letting as events of expected and eventual honor savings seems to play a crucial role in chain of murders by family members.
It is for experts to find out how much covert role is unwittingly played by 24x7 high power media by dramatizing the sense of so called concept of family honor and how it was saved or avenged by killings of unfortunate young lovers? The dramatized propagation of age old concept of honor by still to mature media, its profound loss and redemption by killing tells an unmistakable link.
It is not that these tormented parents suddenly got wind of their sibling’s love affairs and decided to hound or kill them? Their tribal sense of honor and its perceived dilutions by females of families has been claiming lives of girls since ages.
The explosion of media has played its role in various ways.
Many oldies and saviors of traditions get upset and bemoan the young boys and girls hands locked, thronging the markets, cinema halls, multiplex and parks. The blame is placed on media for pushing the shameful openness, daring female outfits and their greater mixing with boys than what was possible a decade ago. Explosion of higher education and jobs creations across country has created much more mixing and socializing between sexes than what was possible twenty years ago.
In north Indian there have been about 20 horror killings in 80 days. The weight of honor of a family traditionally resides in its daughters, and when the girl goes against their wishes, it is seen as the ultimate disrespect.
There’s a growing feeling, given the fast pace of change in modern India that parents are now in no position dictate who their children will marry. The village councils in Haryana, near Delhi, they have ruled that couples cannot marry within their gotra or lineage, or sometimes within their village or a group of villages and they have come up with death sentences parents have to implement”.
Sociologists opine that “the murderous intensity is in itself an indicator of a feeling of losing control in some rural parts of India. The mere word of an elder is no longer enough to deter a couple from taking certain actions”.
In some villages bordering New Delhi, families are ostracized if they cannot make their children obey local marital tradition. But the killings have emerged in big cities, like New Delhi, and are making headlines across the world.
It is not clear if there has been an increase in these types of killings or a rise in reporting of them. India's Supreme Court is pressing the northern states where these killings are more frequent to take action and to specify what they are doing to curb the problem.
The Government of India is busy discussing and formulating stricter punishment for those involved in "honor killings."
A group of ministers aided by experts are considering changes to criminal law that would make groups that order these killings liable for murder charges. The changes would attempt to rein in traditional village councils that have been brazenly holding summary trials and order punishment in cases of inter-caste marriages.
Sadly, the renowned sociologists, intellectuals and opinion makers are still seeing the cases as extreme examples of the clash of modern India versus the strict interpretation of ancient traditions. It is still not known if they are also aware of impact of powerful marketing of traditional concept of family honor, its loss and redemption by murders.
Asha and Yogesh were not the first couples nor would they be last, exterminated to save the so called sense of family honor.
In another case during May, of such killing, Ramesh Choudhury, brother of the local BSP MLA, was arrested for allegedly killing his daughter and her lover in Hamirpur district. He confessed that he strangulated his 20 year old daughter Priyanka and her lover Santosh Kumar, 30, with the help of two servants. Santosh used to give tuitions to Priyanka and the two had been in a relationship for quite some time.
Apart from other well known social factors the media influences involved in these killings must be properly investigated to formulate related reporting policies standards.
Agonies and lives of few more such unfortunate couples can be saved by responsible coverage. The all powerful media, busy judging others, must now have a deep look inwards to introspect. The greatly sensitive nose of media personnel is on look out on 24x7 to scoop worthy news. The harassed and worn out editors collude with their TRP seeking marketing honchos to paddle commerce. Their uneasy relationships swing wildly between conflicting to telescoping postures, personal egos and unavoidable personality clashes .
It’s amazing that there are hardly any systematic and organized efforts, funded by cash rich big boys to do some serious social audit, the time of which has come long back and still being overlooked. At the same time, Government’s apathy or lack of awareness about these issues is cause of worry.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wielding a Lathi in London
Tilak Raj Sharma, an ex footballer from Punjab had migrated to England years ago. Obviously he went through whatever a strong willed sturdy migrant does in an opportune foreign land. I never asked much as he was a fiercely private person, yet occasionally prone to bouts of bragging, telling bits and pieces of his story.
Sharmaji adored his two well built sons and two perky daughters. The younger son, a budding kick boxer could kick a steep six feet high with a powerful muted cry of Jai Hanuman and would send an imaginary opponent repent his misdeeds forever. By mid eighties, when he was my host in London, a sizable rent from hard earned properties made his life comfortable at fifty plus. But it was not an easy life either, dealing with ever changing shady tenants from various continents. They didn’t mind him paying what he asked, with out being inquisitive.
Further he loved to devote his considerable time and resources to help Indian friends in midst of any serious crisis.
While the boys had freedom to attend late night parties with fast changing girlfriends, the grown up daughters were a constant source of grave worries. He repeatedly asked me to find good matches for them in India fast. I lamely assured him to do just that back in India. But the girls secretly disapproved of his weird plan to get them married to unknown boys from India. Behind his back they requested me not to look for any boys.
“Papa is so impossibly weird and he will never allow us to mix with boys we want to be like any other girls and experience life, don’t want to get married so early, there is so much to see and experience. He controls us so closely… and look...brothers Ronny and Mony have all the freedom they are allowed night outs with girlfriends and we have nothing he is still stuck in some lousy Panjabi village I am friendly with few boys. Can’t help it, its so natural and not a big deal here.”
The rebellious Richa poured her worries when Sharmaji went away early one morning.
“Don’t try to compete with your brothers. We are Indian and have different culture than these corrupt English people.” Mrs. Sharma softly reminded Richa.
“Oh yea different of course I know we are a bunch of horrible hypocrites and what about the many secret affairs of so called honorable Indian couples? Don’t tell me, you don’t know who is sleeping around with whom.”
“None of your business, you have no shame Richa, and we parents know what is good for you, isn’t it Bhaisaab?”
A troubled Mrs. Sharma feebly tried to defend her draconian husband and looked at me for support. I had to a give a small nod but preferred to be silent; devouring tasty butter soaked spiced paranthas.
“He has no right to insult my friends. Patrick only come to see me when I was ill and you know how he was insulted. Its awful and I hate it, my friends think we are weird.”
“He is your father and has every right how many times I have told you not to let any boys visit home. Pratibha knows this and obeys papa, why can’t you be like her?”
Mrs. Sharma tried to reason and seemed quite peeved at her younger daughter discussing her boyfriends in my presence.
“You mean discreet? I am honest and don’t hide and you know she is friendly with few boys too, I know when she lost her virginity and to whom, it’s so natural, but she is a real sissy and terribly afraid of papa.”
“Shut up Richa, that’s enough. How dare you called me dishonest.” An angry Pratibha tried to stop her rebellious sister.
“I didn’t say any thing like that sis…”
“No, you did, horrible bitch…”
The verbal dual fast deteriorated to the extent of the combative girls using forbidden four letter words. A helplessly ashamed Mrs. Sharma was in tears.
“Shut up both of you if your father comes to know about such shameful things he will kill you. I wish you shameless girls were never born but it his own fault to let you both live…”
“And what do exactly mean by...we were never born…haan…tell us mama..” Richa was in tears.
“Just shut up you know what I meant and you are living and hell bent on making me feels so much of shame leave me alone now…”
Richa pushed the chair back violently and rushed upstairs. Pratibha was immobile hiding her face, weeping silently.
I had already lost the appetite and was feeling uncomfortable and uneasy by sudden disclosures of family secrets.
“Bhai sahab, please don’t tell any one these are the hidden torments we suffer here foolish girls. I am so sorry I know they will go away with one of these boys they have no feelings for their father who loves them in his own way. He wont be able to bear.”
I nodded and silently slipped out to avoid further embarrassments.
Oblivious of the simmering discontent and secretes of his dear daughters, Sharmaji along with few equally motivated souls did impossible and dangerous tasks to save the brittle honor of bewildered and helpless Indian parents shocked by elopement of their teenager daughters with those devious Firangs of various back grounds and colors.
He kept one well oiled Lathi in each of his four cars to confront any miscreants in his not so honorable neighborhood and elsewhere. His limp came handy in explaining presence of the weapon to any curious policeman, as it also doubled as his walking stick.
“This is my late grand father’s hundred year old walking stick and through it I feel him nearby, any problems about that, officer?”
The suspicious policeman would nod, force an understanding smile, wave and turn away.
“You see this is the way to deal with these foolish
Englishmen. Give them emotional and historical garbage and they turn soft but not all, some are really mean bastards too happy to trouble us endlessly.”
His popularity and respect cut across among the regionally and linguistically divided Indians of the city. He some times did give me exclusive permission of witnessing some of his not so legal activities. That made me roam through markets, pubs and take nap in his parked car for hours, while he was busy helping Indians in difficult situations. He and his gang of young Indian boys would keep an eye and thrash any miscreants during community Diwali and Holi celebrations.
A south Indian doctor couple was in tears explaining how much they trusted their daughter, pursuing doctorate in anthropology and how they were deceived by her. She went missing with her African boy friend and had not even bothered to inform them. May be it was their misfortune to have a daughter in this permissive land of butter and honey and to experience the horrible trauma she had just subjected her unsuspecting loving parents.
Sharmaji was furious and severely reprimanded them for allowing an unholy friendship to grow with an African and now bothering him with their misery
The couple repeatedly appealed with folded hands, touched his feet and begged for the help, as the police would not interfere in the matters concerning two consenting adults.
Sharmaji asked me to be on my own as he went about discharging his responsibility with zeal of a true savior of Indian honor. After few days the girl was back with her parents after the adventurous African was suitably thrashed to repent his folly of seducing a demure Indian girl. A proud Sharmaji later told me how he had used his well oiled Lathi to overpower the well built suitor. His son was helpful in delivering a hard kick to the unsuspecting African and the girl was freed with out much trouble.
For Sharmaji and his gang, dealing with the demure African with an expired visa was a cake walk. He happily described the events in great details enabling me to visualize few important scenes. The African, a scholarly loner not having any links with gangs of his tribe was petrified by threats of him being linked with dreaded drug trafficking.
The gusty tall girl threatened Sharmaji with dire consequences as she would report the matter to the police.
“You fucking dog asshole. How dare you?”
An angry Sharmaji sprang up and gave her few hard slaps.
“This is shameful, a girl abusing elders, I will kill my daughters if they utter such filthy worlds.”
Sharmaji was livid with anger as the couple begged him to forgive the stupid girl.
“Don’t forget to keep an eye on and marry her off fast. You have only one day, better you hurry up and take next flight to India.”
“I hate you guys, how could you allow this brute?”
The girl stopped speaking as Sharmaji raised his bony hand again to hit her. He brazenly brushed off girl’s threats and asked the parents to keep her locked in a room with out a phone and arrange to marry her off fast before she would bring more dishonor to them. The relieved couple thanked him for his help.
I secretly despised what he did to that girl and many others before her, but could not even dare to stop or discourage him at all. Any such foolish attempts of mine would have surely invited his deep anger laced with volley of choicest Panjabi gaalis. I also dreaded as a consequence, the sure termination of his much needed comfortable hospitality in a foreign land. The small window he provided to view life of some of the Indian Diasporas was also of great value. So I willfully resigned myself to being a silent privileged witness.
When I asked wasn’t it dangerous to use strong arm tactics in this law abiding country, his answer was typically Indian: Jiski Lathi Uski Bhains.
He practiced this universal truth and his good connections within the police saw him through these small problems.
The girl was some how cajoled, persuaded to get over her infatuation, drugged and transported to madras to be married off to a New York based green card.
Later she divorced the green card and joined her lover in Canada. They lived together for few years and gradually parted away.
True to her independent spirits Richa, dated and married her Shri Lankan classmate. Sharmaji was deeply hurt but gradually manage to forgive her. Pratibha didn’t mind an arranged marriage with a bright Panjabi doctor, produced by her loving father.
Last I heard of Sharmaji, he was in some real deep trouble with the British police.
Sharmaji adored his two well built sons and two perky daughters. The younger son, a budding kick boxer could kick a steep six feet high with a powerful muted cry of Jai Hanuman and would send an imaginary opponent repent his misdeeds forever. By mid eighties, when he was my host in London, a sizable rent from hard earned properties made his life comfortable at fifty plus. But it was not an easy life either, dealing with ever changing shady tenants from various continents. They didn’t mind him paying what he asked, with out being inquisitive.
Further he loved to devote his considerable time and resources to help Indian friends in midst of any serious crisis.
While the boys had freedom to attend late night parties with fast changing girlfriends, the grown up daughters were a constant source of grave worries. He repeatedly asked me to find good matches for them in India fast. I lamely assured him to do just that back in India. But the girls secretly disapproved of his weird plan to get them married to unknown boys from India. Behind his back they requested me not to look for any boys.
“Papa is so impossibly weird and he will never allow us to mix with boys we want to be like any other girls and experience life, don’t want to get married so early, there is so much to see and experience. He controls us so closely… and look...brothers Ronny and Mony have all the freedom they are allowed night outs with girlfriends and we have nothing he is still stuck in some lousy Panjabi village I am friendly with few boys. Can’t help it, its so natural and not a big deal here.”
The rebellious Richa poured her worries when Sharmaji went away early one morning.
“Don’t try to compete with your brothers. We are Indian and have different culture than these corrupt English people.” Mrs. Sharma softly reminded Richa.
“Oh yea different of course I know we are a bunch of horrible hypocrites and what about the many secret affairs of so called honorable Indian couples? Don’t tell me, you don’t know who is sleeping around with whom.”
“None of your business, you have no shame Richa, and we parents know what is good for you, isn’t it Bhaisaab?”
A troubled Mrs. Sharma feebly tried to defend her draconian husband and looked at me for support. I had to a give a small nod but preferred to be silent; devouring tasty butter soaked spiced paranthas.
“He has no right to insult my friends. Patrick only come to see me when I was ill and you know how he was insulted. Its awful and I hate it, my friends think we are weird.”
“He is your father and has every right how many times I have told you not to let any boys visit home. Pratibha knows this and obeys papa, why can’t you be like her?”
Mrs. Sharma tried to reason and seemed quite peeved at her younger daughter discussing her boyfriends in my presence.
“You mean discreet? I am honest and don’t hide and you know she is friendly with few boys too, I know when she lost her virginity and to whom, it’s so natural, but she is a real sissy and terribly afraid of papa.”
“Shut up Richa, that’s enough. How dare you called me dishonest.” An angry Pratibha tried to stop her rebellious sister.
“I didn’t say any thing like that sis…”
“No, you did, horrible bitch…”
The verbal dual fast deteriorated to the extent of the combative girls using forbidden four letter words. A helplessly ashamed Mrs. Sharma was in tears.
“Shut up both of you if your father comes to know about such shameful things he will kill you. I wish you shameless girls were never born but it his own fault to let you both live…”
“And what do exactly mean by...we were never born…haan…tell us mama..” Richa was in tears.
“Just shut up you know what I meant and you are living and hell bent on making me feels so much of shame leave me alone now…”
Richa pushed the chair back violently and rushed upstairs. Pratibha was immobile hiding her face, weeping silently.
I had already lost the appetite and was feeling uncomfortable and uneasy by sudden disclosures of family secrets.
“Bhai sahab, please don’t tell any one these are the hidden torments we suffer here foolish girls. I am so sorry I know they will go away with one of these boys they have no feelings for their father who loves them in his own way. He wont be able to bear.”
I nodded and silently slipped out to avoid further embarrassments.
Oblivious of the simmering discontent and secretes of his dear daughters, Sharmaji along with few equally motivated souls did impossible and dangerous tasks to save the brittle honor of bewildered and helpless Indian parents shocked by elopement of their teenager daughters with those devious Firangs of various back grounds and colors.
He kept one well oiled Lathi in each of his four cars to confront any miscreants in his not so honorable neighborhood and elsewhere. His limp came handy in explaining presence of the weapon to any curious policeman, as it also doubled as his walking stick.
“This is my late grand father’s hundred year old walking stick and through it I feel him nearby, any problems about that, officer?”
The suspicious policeman would nod, force an understanding smile, wave and turn away.
“You see this is the way to deal with these foolish
Englishmen. Give them emotional and historical garbage and they turn soft but not all, some are really mean bastards too happy to trouble us endlessly.”
His popularity and respect cut across among the regionally and linguistically divided Indians of the city. He some times did give me exclusive permission of witnessing some of his not so legal activities. That made me roam through markets, pubs and take nap in his parked car for hours, while he was busy helping Indians in difficult situations. He and his gang of young Indian boys would keep an eye and thrash any miscreants during community Diwali and Holi celebrations.
A south Indian doctor couple was in tears explaining how much they trusted their daughter, pursuing doctorate in anthropology and how they were deceived by her. She went missing with her African boy friend and had not even bothered to inform them. May be it was their misfortune to have a daughter in this permissive land of butter and honey and to experience the horrible trauma she had just subjected her unsuspecting loving parents.
Sharmaji was furious and severely reprimanded them for allowing an unholy friendship to grow with an African and now bothering him with their misery
The couple repeatedly appealed with folded hands, touched his feet and begged for the help, as the police would not interfere in the matters concerning two consenting adults.
Sharmaji asked me to be on my own as he went about discharging his responsibility with zeal of a true savior of Indian honor. After few days the girl was back with her parents after the adventurous African was suitably thrashed to repent his folly of seducing a demure Indian girl. A proud Sharmaji later told me how he had used his well oiled Lathi to overpower the well built suitor. His son was helpful in delivering a hard kick to the unsuspecting African and the girl was freed with out much trouble.
For Sharmaji and his gang, dealing with the demure African with an expired visa was a cake walk. He happily described the events in great details enabling me to visualize few important scenes. The African, a scholarly loner not having any links with gangs of his tribe was petrified by threats of him being linked with dreaded drug trafficking.
The gusty tall girl threatened Sharmaji with dire consequences as she would report the matter to the police.
“You fucking dog asshole. How dare you?”
An angry Sharmaji sprang up and gave her few hard slaps.
“This is shameful, a girl abusing elders, I will kill my daughters if they utter such filthy worlds.”
Sharmaji was livid with anger as the couple begged him to forgive the stupid girl.
“Don’t forget to keep an eye on and marry her off fast. You have only one day, better you hurry up and take next flight to India.”
“I hate you guys, how could you allow this brute?”
The girl stopped speaking as Sharmaji raised his bony hand again to hit her. He brazenly brushed off girl’s threats and asked the parents to keep her locked in a room with out a phone and arrange to marry her off fast before she would bring more dishonor to them. The relieved couple thanked him for his help.
I secretly despised what he did to that girl and many others before her, but could not even dare to stop or discourage him at all. Any such foolish attempts of mine would have surely invited his deep anger laced with volley of choicest Panjabi gaalis. I also dreaded as a consequence, the sure termination of his much needed comfortable hospitality in a foreign land. The small window he provided to view life of some of the Indian Diasporas was also of great value. So I willfully resigned myself to being a silent privileged witness.
When I asked wasn’t it dangerous to use strong arm tactics in this law abiding country, his answer was typically Indian: Jiski Lathi Uski Bhains.
He practiced this universal truth and his good connections within the police saw him through these small problems.
The girl was some how cajoled, persuaded to get over her infatuation, drugged and transported to madras to be married off to a New York based green card.
Later she divorced the green card and joined her lover in Canada. They lived together for few years and gradually parted away.
True to her independent spirits Richa, dated and married her Shri Lankan classmate. Sharmaji was deeply hurt but gradually manage to forgive her. Pratibha didn’t mind an arranged marriage with a bright Panjabi doctor, produced by her loving father.
Last I heard of Sharmaji, he was in some real deep trouble with the British police.
The Girl Who Lived
It was a hot and humid afternoon.
Indra knew the expected outcome of their relationship was near, as Prerna looked tense and forlorn as never before. She had avoided meeting him and messages sent through her cute little brother Pintoo to her remained unanswered.
They were sitting silently in his room; the door was left wide open to make them visible to any passerby in the inner gallery. It was advised by a fiercely independent Prerna, Indra found it to be very convenient and seemingly acceptable in the building. Some knotted souls were curiously uncomfortable gleefully whispering malicious gossip around. But adventurous Prerna was not perturbed at all and these meetings were held to discuss pressing matters. Being a bright young government officer with individuality, she could afford to be dismissive of such silly concerns.
His suggestion to meet in a nondescript, usually deserted restaurant was mercilessly vetoed by her.
She did confide in him the growing interest shown by a batch mate from same caste. His parents would be too happy to add one more power centre in their household. Prerna was not content being a state government officer and had set her goals higher. A marriage would be a big hindrance in her scheme of things. But she had been quite elusive and unresponsive for a long time, a big change from her unusually independent and straightforward persona.
He wondered if she would meet before his departure to pursue his dream.
“Didi is not talking to Papa and Mummy…. sleeping all day and I can tell you some thing more if you give me two chocolates.” Pintoo had deftly negotiated a few days ago.
“She was weeping whole night and didn’t’ tell me any new story. I really wanted hear that story of Pari she promised, but got a slap…she never hit me before… can you see it here…this red mark?” Pintoo disclosed with a sad face and cutely pointed to his pink cheek.
“Can you tell her not to hit me again or I will not sleep with her ...and won’t give your messages too…I will throw them away.”
“Sure, I will tell her and she will not hit you again.” Indra had pulled him near and made a promise.
“But Didi will not talk to you…how can you promise me that?” Pintoo was unusually sharp and argumentative for his age.
“Aap jhoothe ho…katti.”
Lost in thoughts, Indra let Pintoo, run away, and sensed his tender hurt.
His heart sank further in despair. So the greedy parents have prevailed over a bright girl, pushing her in an unwanted alliance to get one more officer in the household. He presumed.
Suddenly she materialized and sat brooding before him. Pintoo was reminded of the pending homework and skillfully dispatched to earn a big chocolate in lieu of it.
She looked too depressed to be probed, almost fragile. Indra waited for her to speak and give him the bad news. He would not remind her of those promises made and would accept her decision. He would never forget her ever and felt the growing pain. Perhaps they were not made for each other and this would have happened sooner or later.
She set her dream to get in to Indian civil services and his, a fragile and uncertain acting career in Mumbai.
“Do you know Indra, why I have three cute sisters?’
Surprised at the question, Indra couldn’t answer. He stared blankly at her swollen eyes and rarely sad face.
‘Because, they didn’t have a machine, so I am sitting here with you.’
‘What machine?’
‘Oh! You ignorant fool.’ She said in a mock surprise.
That was good she was recovering, getting normal and arrogant as before. Indra decided to react as nothing abnormal had happened.
‘Yes... I don’t have to cram irrelevant shit to pass those bloody exams.’
‘Defeated?’
‘I know you love to hear that… want to see others defeated? You people are trained to make common people like me…. feel and think defeated.’
‘It’s a non-sense.’ She said.
‘I just don’t want to know that. Is that clear, madam? But please tell me why do you look so sad? Where were you all these days? What happened…some office problems perhaps?’
Prerna become silent again and didn’t reply. He waited and braced him self may be now she would disclose her decision to obey her parents and dump him forever.
Their raised voices immediately attracted attention of an alert Shanno, reclining on sofa, languidly chewing a pan. She rose and lifted the gaudy curtain to make herself visible in her usual finery. Sound of her anklets alerted Indra and Prerna to lower their voices. She looked at them with a mischievous smile and proceeded to hang a towel on the balcony railing, taking her time, smoothing the wrinkles of the puffy cloth, turning it over many times. Her numerous bangles making clinking noises, ears tuned and hungry for any exciting sound bytes.
The gang of five was about to visit her, to watch some exciting film together and indulge in floating malicious gossips. She was excited by the prospects of her tidbits being the juiciest. She was a generous host and the ladies were addicted to her tasty pakoras and tea. Further her deaf mother in-law was greatly envied by all the visiting ladies. It gave them freedom to enjoy video films, loud music and unhindered-uninhibited exchange of notes about their own vicious mother in law and their wicked ways. She loved being envied for her bulging purse, no kids to look after and a fawning husband.
The bewildered gang members were astonished at the tales of her premarital raunchy escapades with a variety of lusty rustic lovers. They sighed with envy and excitement as she shamelessly unfolded each episode with great explicit details. Some were repeated often on demand, and Shanno loved to tell a juicy tale.
Prerna silently went on looking at him.
“Okay. I am going...If you don’t want to listen.’ She hissed, her eyes betraying deep feeling of hurt.
‘I am sorry… if you feel that way.
She turned her eyes away.
“It’s okay…what it is?’ Indra knew there was no escape and he would have to bear the brunt of her discontent and listen.
'It’s is that sonographic machine……… the doctors now use to detect…’
‘Detect what?’
‘Don’t you know?’
No! I said I don’t know. Didn’t I?’
‘They detect the sex of the child by this horrible machine.’
Indra was silent. Didn’t know what to say and how it is connected by to her woes.
‘Oh that?’
She remained silent, her face clouded further.
‘You look sad.’
‘Yes I am sad. But should you bother?’ Prerna didn’t look at him.
‘I am sorry….I did try to….’
“Don’t be, please. It’s okay..’
Indra avoided her moist eyes, waiting for her to unburden herself, still foxed by a machine and its role in her plight.
‘I shudder to imagine, if they had that machine in those times my all sisters might have all been aborted… killed. Why only my sisters! I too might have been… sucked out of the womb…bundled and disposed off... thrown away to be eaten by hungry dogs.’
‘Please Prerna, why are you thinking like this?’
She didn’t reply.
‘Let’s change the subject…please.’
'So you don’t want to listen. I am going.’ Prerna got up.
‘No. It’s not that. Please stay…. I mean…. please tell me... and ...unburden your self.’
He waited.
‘I feel bad Indra. Being a girl, really bad.’
‘Don’t say that. And of all the girls you are saying this? I am surprised.’
‘Surprised? Are you, why do you think I am monster with no emotions?’
Both were silent. It was getting unbearable.
‘Those girls may have been fortunate they perhaps didn’t hearand if they did might have not felt as bad as I do. They don’t take these things the way I do.’
‘Please calm down.’
‘I heard all this... my self.’
‘What? Heard whom?
Prerna remained silence for long, tears slowly broke free of and hurried unrestrained downwards on a torturous journey. Indra held her hand and made her sit near him.
Shanno watched them from her vantage position, craning her long neck to see the unfolding action.
"I heard the killers...how they aborted three times...after my birth and before Pintoo was born...they killed three girls to get a boy.."
‘Don’t tell me. You mean... your parents?’
‘Yes.’ Her shaking voice betrayed her practiced self-control and dignified poise. She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed silently.
‘Oh my god....please hold your self, Prerna. You are too strong a girl to take such things to heart. May be they didn’t mean…what you have been thinking…. may be you misunderstood.’
‘No. I did not…’
A sense of heavy gloomy helplessness filled the .hot afternoon air. She regained a semblance of control and wiped her tears, moved little away from him, aware of the gossip queen Shanno watching them, spinning a juicy tale.
‘They were discussing the huge finances needed to marry off... all of us...and how unfortunate they are to have four girls…they.... never ever wanted...they wished that ghastly machine had arrived earlier..."
Indra listened, unable to say any thing further.
"How my father went on finding more ways to make money for impending marriages involving huge expenses, you know? They were loudly wondering what sin they might have committed to deserve four daughters...it surely must have been a great sin.’
‘When was this?’ Indra asked cautiously.
Shanno tried hard to catch the whispers, but the low voices assured her further of a rumored affair; a promising attractive young woman officer falling for a handsome scoundrel. She sighed with envy, trying hard to decipher the focus of the seemingly intensely private lovers’ argument.
Her fertile brain raced to decipher hidden meaning in girl’s tense bearing and boy’s alarmed stance. Then it hit her with surety and prospects she loved. Shanno smiled broadly, now sure to score in the ladies gang by divulging the piece of the hottest scoop.
‘It does not matter, when they said it. But the fact is that they did say such horrible things so calmly.... and I was unfortunate enough to hear. I.... do.... try hard.... to forget. But those whispering, repenting and angry voices haunt me every moment…and hit my self-esteem like a sledgehammer. It's even more painful, when they tell me how wonderful they felt when Pintoo was born after four girls. They aborted three unfortunate unwanted girls. Though, I love Pintoo...but now some times I see him in a strange way. I can't explain it... I mean. You know I did hit him…. I feel so bad.’
‘I know that, Prerna.’
‘Do you think you know?’
‘Please, for god’s sake... I mean... I didn’t mean any thing... offending
‘I know that you don’t mean any thing.... you never do. You are just listening to what I am saying now, because you don’t have any opinion. And why should you bother about it...and. if really you do, I suspect it’s just an idea for you... a good plot... for a new lousy play?
“You don’t know how I am feeling. How helpless I am... when I go over.... those horrible utterances of my so called loving and caring parents….killers of three unborn babies.'
They remained silent for a long time and Indra decided to wait.
“I am sorry to have burdened you with all this….but I had to talk to some one….and I have only you...”
“I was worried….you locked your self in room and didn’t reply.”
“Now it’s out…but not fully out…hey can we meet tomorrow evening?” Prerna said, she looked little composed.
“Oh sure ….why not…I will be waiting…here only?”
“Not here dumb boy….you mentioned a restaurant…didn’t you?”
“Yes is it okay with being seen there with me …as you said…”
“Forget all that now…. I am a different Prerna …a free bird…don’t give a damn…let them gossip and spread rumors…will be fun really. Go ahead and tell any one that I am your girl friend. … I know you will feel good about it…” and she was gone, leaving Indra puzzled and yet happy.
They arrived in the restaurant and heads turned to Prerna was becoming a popular public figure in the city due her crusading zeal in solving people’s problems.
“You do know the rumors about us…don’t you?” She sat facing him in her elegant finery.
Indra looked at her happy face.
“I think Shanno has already declared me pregnant.” She laughed and Indra joined in a little warily.
“What about your proposed marriage?
“No marriage…you are out too…. as of now… ...know about your other girls…may be I will meet a suitable person some time…I don’t know…Hey actor, when is your train?”
‘Next Sunday afternoon so that you can see me off... if you want to...”
“Oh so sweet…what about your stay there…could you do some thing?”
“Nothing as yet, will manage some how…”
“Don’t worry; you will see what I have done.”
“Prerna are you ok?” A troubled Indra asked her the nagging question at last.
“Do you think I have gone mad? Don’t you… I know what I am doing…. I have freed my self from pains of being good to all at the cost of my own freedom and desires…and don’t worry, okay? I can take care of myself…”
They drove around in her car and talked as they used to when ever they got a chance. At last Indra tried to kiss her and she didn’t resist…but no further, she set the limit and restored order.
“Stop it…nothing further…not now…when I am ready for it …you will know.”
The sparse luggage was stowed and they sat down in the train. Indra felt heavy and disoriented. Prerna gave him a packet.
“The Keys of your flat in Mumbai… all the details are in there. Call me if there is a problem…now be good and make me proud one day.”
Indra sat numb looking at her.
“This is too much…. how can you be…so…how will I repay you Prerna?”
“Make me pregnant one day…. I may be married or unmarried…it won’t matter…. only I will decide whose seed to nurture…. I am a girl and it’s my privilege and my choice.”
A stunned Indra heard silently, unable to respond in any way.
Prerna stood up.
“The train is about to move now…best of luck and call me when you want too…” She bent down to kiss his temple and was gone.
The train whistled and started to move. A dazed Indra ran to the door…. she waved…he could see her tears…his own self-control broke down…and those long held tears found their journey to dissolve and slowly evaporated as the train sped away.
Indra knew the expected outcome of their relationship was near, as Prerna looked tense and forlorn as never before. She had avoided meeting him and messages sent through her cute little brother Pintoo to her remained unanswered.
They were sitting silently in his room; the door was left wide open to make them visible to any passerby in the inner gallery. It was advised by a fiercely independent Prerna, Indra found it to be very convenient and seemingly acceptable in the building. Some knotted souls were curiously uncomfortable gleefully whispering malicious gossip around. But adventurous Prerna was not perturbed at all and these meetings were held to discuss pressing matters. Being a bright young government officer with individuality, she could afford to be dismissive of such silly concerns.
His suggestion to meet in a nondescript, usually deserted restaurant was mercilessly vetoed by her.
She did confide in him the growing interest shown by a batch mate from same caste. His parents would be too happy to add one more power centre in their household. Prerna was not content being a state government officer and had set her goals higher. A marriage would be a big hindrance in her scheme of things. But she had been quite elusive and unresponsive for a long time, a big change from her unusually independent and straightforward persona.
He wondered if she would meet before his departure to pursue his dream.
“Didi is not talking to Papa and Mummy…. sleeping all day and I can tell you some thing more if you give me two chocolates.” Pintoo had deftly negotiated a few days ago.
“She was weeping whole night and didn’t’ tell me any new story. I really wanted hear that story of Pari she promised, but got a slap…she never hit me before… can you see it here…this red mark?” Pintoo disclosed with a sad face and cutely pointed to his pink cheek.
“Can you tell her not to hit me again or I will not sleep with her ...and won’t give your messages too…I will throw them away.”
“Sure, I will tell her and she will not hit you again.” Indra had pulled him near and made a promise.
“But Didi will not talk to you…how can you promise me that?” Pintoo was unusually sharp and argumentative for his age.
“Aap jhoothe ho…katti.”
Lost in thoughts, Indra let Pintoo, run away, and sensed his tender hurt.
His heart sank further in despair. So the greedy parents have prevailed over a bright girl, pushing her in an unwanted alliance to get one more officer in the household. He presumed.
Suddenly she materialized and sat brooding before him. Pintoo was reminded of the pending homework and skillfully dispatched to earn a big chocolate in lieu of it.
She looked too depressed to be probed, almost fragile. Indra waited for her to speak and give him the bad news. He would not remind her of those promises made and would accept her decision. He would never forget her ever and felt the growing pain. Perhaps they were not made for each other and this would have happened sooner or later.
She set her dream to get in to Indian civil services and his, a fragile and uncertain acting career in Mumbai.
“Do you know Indra, why I have three cute sisters?’
Surprised at the question, Indra couldn’t answer. He stared blankly at her swollen eyes and rarely sad face.
‘Because, they didn’t have a machine, so I am sitting here with you.’
‘What machine?’
‘Oh! You ignorant fool.’ She said in a mock surprise.
That was good she was recovering, getting normal and arrogant as before. Indra decided to react as nothing abnormal had happened.
‘Yes... I don’t have to cram irrelevant shit to pass those bloody exams.’
‘Defeated?’
‘I know you love to hear that… want to see others defeated? You people are trained to make common people like me…. feel and think defeated.’
‘It’s a non-sense.’ She said.
‘I just don’t want to know that. Is that clear, madam? But please tell me why do you look so sad? Where were you all these days? What happened…some office problems perhaps?’
Prerna become silent again and didn’t reply. He waited and braced him self may be now she would disclose her decision to obey her parents and dump him forever.
Their raised voices immediately attracted attention of an alert Shanno, reclining on sofa, languidly chewing a pan. She rose and lifted the gaudy curtain to make herself visible in her usual finery. Sound of her anklets alerted Indra and Prerna to lower their voices. She looked at them with a mischievous smile and proceeded to hang a towel on the balcony railing, taking her time, smoothing the wrinkles of the puffy cloth, turning it over many times. Her numerous bangles making clinking noises, ears tuned and hungry for any exciting sound bytes.
The gang of five was about to visit her, to watch some exciting film together and indulge in floating malicious gossips. She was excited by the prospects of her tidbits being the juiciest. She was a generous host and the ladies were addicted to her tasty pakoras and tea. Further her deaf mother in-law was greatly envied by all the visiting ladies. It gave them freedom to enjoy video films, loud music and unhindered-uninhibited exchange of notes about their own vicious mother in law and their wicked ways. She loved being envied for her bulging purse, no kids to look after and a fawning husband.
The bewildered gang members were astonished at the tales of her premarital raunchy escapades with a variety of lusty rustic lovers. They sighed with envy and excitement as she shamelessly unfolded each episode with great explicit details. Some were repeated often on demand, and Shanno loved to tell a juicy tale.
Prerna silently went on looking at him.
“Okay. I am going...If you don’t want to listen.’ She hissed, her eyes betraying deep feeling of hurt.
‘I am sorry… if you feel that way.
She turned her eyes away.
“It’s okay…what it is?’ Indra knew there was no escape and he would have to bear the brunt of her discontent and listen.
'It’s is that sonographic machine……… the doctors now use to detect…’
‘Detect what?’
‘Don’t you know?’
No! I said I don’t know. Didn’t I?’
‘They detect the sex of the child by this horrible machine.’
Indra was silent. Didn’t know what to say and how it is connected by to her woes.
‘Oh that?’
She remained silent, her face clouded further.
‘You look sad.’
‘Yes I am sad. But should you bother?’ Prerna didn’t look at him.
‘I am sorry….I did try to….’
“Don’t be, please. It’s okay..’
Indra avoided her moist eyes, waiting for her to unburden herself, still foxed by a machine and its role in her plight.
‘I shudder to imagine, if they had that machine in those times my all sisters might have all been aborted… killed. Why only my sisters! I too might have been… sucked out of the womb…bundled and disposed off... thrown away to be eaten by hungry dogs.’
‘Please Prerna, why are you thinking like this?’
She didn’t reply.
‘Let’s change the subject…please.’
'So you don’t want to listen. I am going.’ Prerna got up.
‘No. It’s not that. Please stay…. I mean…. please tell me... and ...unburden your self.’
He waited.
‘I feel bad Indra. Being a girl, really bad.’
‘Don’t say that. And of all the girls you are saying this? I am surprised.’
‘Surprised? Are you, why do you think I am monster with no emotions?’
Both were silent. It was getting unbearable.
‘Those girls may have been fortunate they perhaps didn’t hearand if they did might have not felt as bad as I do. They don’t take these things the way I do.’
‘Please calm down.’
‘I heard all this... my self.’
‘What? Heard whom?
Prerna remained silence for long, tears slowly broke free of and hurried unrestrained downwards on a torturous journey. Indra held her hand and made her sit near him.
Shanno watched them from her vantage position, craning her long neck to see the unfolding action.
"I heard the killers...how they aborted three times...after my birth and before Pintoo was born...they killed three girls to get a boy.."
‘Don’t tell me. You mean... your parents?’
‘Yes.’ Her shaking voice betrayed her practiced self-control and dignified poise. She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed silently.
‘Oh my god....please hold your self, Prerna. You are too strong a girl to take such things to heart. May be they didn’t mean…what you have been thinking…. may be you misunderstood.’
‘No. I did not…’
A sense of heavy gloomy helplessness filled the .hot afternoon air. She regained a semblance of control and wiped her tears, moved little away from him, aware of the gossip queen Shanno watching them, spinning a juicy tale.
‘They were discussing the huge finances needed to marry off... all of us...and how unfortunate they are to have four girls…they.... never ever wanted...they wished that ghastly machine had arrived earlier..."
Indra listened, unable to say any thing further.
"How my father went on finding more ways to make money for impending marriages involving huge expenses, you know? They were loudly wondering what sin they might have committed to deserve four daughters...it surely must have been a great sin.’
‘When was this?’ Indra asked cautiously.
Shanno tried hard to catch the whispers, but the low voices assured her further of a rumored affair; a promising attractive young woman officer falling for a handsome scoundrel. She sighed with envy, trying hard to decipher the focus of the seemingly intensely private lovers’ argument.
Her fertile brain raced to decipher hidden meaning in girl’s tense bearing and boy’s alarmed stance. Then it hit her with surety and prospects she loved. Shanno smiled broadly, now sure to score in the ladies gang by divulging the piece of the hottest scoop.
‘It does not matter, when they said it. But the fact is that they did say such horrible things so calmly.... and I was unfortunate enough to hear. I.... do.... try hard.... to forget. But those whispering, repenting and angry voices haunt me every moment…and hit my self-esteem like a sledgehammer. It's even more painful, when they tell me how wonderful they felt when Pintoo was born after four girls. They aborted three unfortunate unwanted girls. Though, I love Pintoo...but now some times I see him in a strange way. I can't explain it... I mean. You know I did hit him…. I feel so bad.’
‘I know that, Prerna.’
‘Do you think you know?’
‘Please, for god’s sake... I mean... I didn’t mean any thing... offending
‘I know that you don’t mean any thing.... you never do. You are just listening to what I am saying now, because you don’t have any opinion. And why should you bother about it...and. if really you do, I suspect it’s just an idea for you... a good plot... for a new lousy play?
“You don’t know how I am feeling. How helpless I am... when I go over.... those horrible utterances of my so called loving and caring parents….killers of three unborn babies.'
They remained silent for a long time and Indra decided to wait.
“I am sorry to have burdened you with all this….but I had to talk to some one….and I have only you...”
“I was worried….you locked your self in room and didn’t reply.”
“Now it’s out…but not fully out…hey can we meet tomorrow evening?” Prerna said, she looked little composed.
“Oh sure ….why not…I will be waiting…here only?”
“Not here dumb boy….you mentioned a restaurant…didn’t you?”
“Yes is it okay with being seen there with me …as you said…”
“Forget all that now…. I am a different Prerna …a free bird…don’t give a damn…let them gossip and spread rumors…will be fun really. Go ahead and tell any one that I am your girl friend. … I know you will feel good about it…” and she was gone, leaving Indra puzzled and yet happy.
They arrived in the restaurant and heads turned to Prerna was becoming a popular public figure in the city due her crusading zeal in solving people’s problems.
“You do know the rumors about us…don’t you?” She sat facing him in her elegant finery.
Indra looked at her happy face.
“I think Shanno has already declared me pregnant.” She laughed and Indra joined in a little warily.
“What about your proposed marriage?
“No marriage…you are out too…. as of now… ...know about your other girls…may be I will meet a suitable person some time…I don’t know…Hey actor, when is your train?”
‘Next Sunday afternoon so that you can see me off... if you want to...”
“Oh so sweet…what about your stay there…could you do some thing?”
“Nothing as yet, will manage some how…”
“Don’t worry; you will see what I have done.”
“Prerna are you ok?” A troubled Indra asked her the nagging question at last.
“Do you think I have gone mad? Don’t you… I know what I am doing…. I have freed my self from pains of being good to all at the cost of my own freedom and desires…and don’t worry, okay? I can take care of myself…”
They drove around in her car and talked as they used to when ever they got a chance. At last Indra tried to kiss her and she didn’t resist…but no further, she set the limit and restored order.
“Stop it…nothing further…not now…when I am ready for it …you will know.”
The sparse luggage was stowed and they sat down in the train. Indra felt heavy and disoriented. Prerna gave him a packet.
“The Keys of your flat in Mumbai… all the details are in there. Call me if there is a problem…now be good and make me proud one day.”
Indra sat numb looking at her.
“This is too much…. how can you be…so…how will I repay you Prerna?”
“Make me pregnant one day…. I may be married or unmarried…it won’t matter…. only I will decide whose seed to nurture…. I am a girl and it’s my privilege and my choice.”
A stunned Indra heard silently, unable to respond in any way.
Prerna stood up.
“The train is about to move now…best of luck and call me when you want too…” She bent down to kiss his temple and was gone.
The train whistled and started to move. A dazed Indra ran to the door…. she waved…he could see her tears…his own self-control broke down…and those long held tears found their journey to dissolve and slowly evaporated as the train sped away.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Maulana Vastanvi:New Face of Darul Uloom, Deoband?
"Please, don't start your politics of Pakistan from India," Mahmood Madani had bluntly told Musharraf after the latter claimed that Muslims in India were alienated and suggested that this was one of the reasons for terrorism here. Virtually retorting the former Pakistani military ruler, he had said, "Population of Muslims in India is more than that total population of Pakistan. You should be knowing this.”
An unsuspecting Musharraf had turned somberly silent under the spirited attack beamed live, across the world from New Delhi. Madani, member of Rajya Sabha and leader of Jamat-e-Ulema-i-Hind, made it clear to the visiting Pakistani leader, that he or his country need not bother about the condition of Muslims in India.
Currently, Madani is locked in a fierce political battle for control of Darul Uloom, Deoband, the century and half old most respected Muslim seminary. His rival and relative, Maulana Ghulam Mohammad Vastanvi, the newly appointed rector is under blistering attack over his controversial statement praising Gujarat Chief Minister.
An MBA and businessman running many educational institutions with more than 200,000 students, Vastanvi had only taken up the assignment on January 10. He has established himself as a great pioneer in madarsa education, by linking modern education and Islamic teachings, and has transformed lives of hundreds of thousands of Muslims in western India. Coming up a hard way, by starting 30 years ago, a small madarsa from a hut in the tribal area of in Maharashtra’s Nandurbar district, Maulana was able to make it one of India’s top madarsas, known as Jamia Islamia Ishaatul Uloom in Akkalkuwa. It has 15 colleges equipped with most modern facilities besides running engineering, medicine, teaching, pharmacy and information technology courses. The madarsa runs schools in Gujarat and Maharashtra along with 30 well equipped hospitals.
According to some observers, his institutes have grown much bigger than Darool Uloom Deobabd, as far as the number of students, their much needed modern education and jobs are concerned. He has been honoured with the Maulana Abdul Kalam Azad Award by the Maharashtra government.
His fate will be decided in a meeting of the supreme governing council on February 15. He will attend the meeting and until a decision is taken, the Maulana will continue in his post.
Vastanvi was appointed rector following the death of his predecessor Maulana Marghoobur Rahman. But soon after, he sparked a grave controversy, frankly expressing his views on Gujarat by saying that Muslims too have benefited from the development initiative of the Gujarat Chief Minister.
Maulana Vastanvi belongs to Surat in Gujarat and happens to be also the first non UP person to head the institution. He has a long association with the Darul Uloom and as well as, been a liberal contributor. Perhaps the highly politicized and polarized environment of UP politics is also contributing to the perennial insider-outsider twist to the controversy and still there is much more hidden that what meets the eye in the unfolding drama.
But visibly encouraged with swelling support with in the institution, the community and Media focus, Vastanvi seems ready for a fight to finish.
However, there is another source of conflict between Madani and Vastanvi over the central government proposal to improve and modernize the Madarsa education in country. While Madani is looking at the proposal as an attempt to take away the fiercely protected autonomy of the institution, Vastanvi has more accommodating and fresh approach, far away from old, rigidly insular mindset to such issues.
It is reported that only around 2-3 dozen students of seminary have been greatly agitated over his open appreciation of on going development in Gujarat. In the fiercely politically correct, lip service afflicted environment of India, Gujarat and its feisty chief minister Narendra Modi has been a persona non-grata, since 2002, being under dark clouds of suspicion to be a willful accomplice in the massacre of minorities.
Taking a bold approach, Vastanvi has advised the community to forget the black episode and move on with the important issues of life with an open mind , accepting and appreciating the new unfolding realities. It is reported that the majority is out to supports Vastanvi inside the institution, outside with in the town of Deoband and as well as across India. He has a very clean and unblemished image of a cleric, who is open to modern education and has already achieved a lot for the community individually by creating modern institutions of learning..
In a meeting of motivated Vastanvi supporters, Maulana Madni was blamed for the ongoing crisis in the seminary. All those present in the meeting openly charged the Jamiat with playing a dirty game to retain power.
After death of Maulana Marghoobur Rehman, Maulana Arshad Madni group had become very active as they saw a bright chance of getting the controls of the seminary in their hands. But instead, the council, being seized of the matter, opted for a modern and progressive Vastanvi, thereby annoying Jamiat old guards.
Terming the tirade against Vastanvi the handiwork of Maulana Arshad group, Badar Kazmi, the Vice President of the Muslim Majlis in UP, said the regressive hardliners did not approve of the modern and progressive people’s association with the seminary
Being young and progressive Vastanvi emerged as a popular choice in the meeting of council and he was the one who faced least opposition. Many members of the council are pained and even surprised by the controversy over his appointment. Interestingly, the deputy vice-chancellor of the seminary Maulanan Abdul Khalik Madrasi has out-rightly resisted any Jamiat politics inside the seminary.
In many televised interviews, Vastanvi confidently challenged the old hardliners by sticking to his views about Gujarat development helping Muslims. He further advised the community to leave the matter to the courts and get on with education and jobs, the most important issues of life. When asked to rate the performance of Modi, he was quick to give him 5 out of 10 and expressed his inability to accuse the Chief Minister of a state of any crimes, as it for courts to decide, not him. Till recently, barely known to the Muslims outside Gujarat and Maharastra, his initiatives and defining contributions has been recognized and replicated by many madarsas across India, earning him admirers and supporters.
Apart from the internal politics of the seminary, the well known faces representing Muslims have left no time in strongly criticizing the despicable statement of Vastanvi and asked him to resign. Being the first Muslim leader to go against the well known cast iron narrative of discrimination, anger and bad past, he must have been certainly aware and prepared for the possible negative consequences. Making a somersault in last few days, Vastanvi even tried to attempt a damage control mode, by criticizing Modi, perhaps betraying a politician in him as well. The well entrenched old guards with age old script are still not ready to give space to difference of opinions to exist and be debated in a rational manner.
But the confident bearings, unhurried demeanor and bristling pragmatism can not be, only his own make over, and might as well represent waves of growing confidence with in the community. Being risen from grass root activism and entrepreneurship, he must have been aware and even an important part of the awakening pragmatic forces, uncomfortable and at odd with the prevailing age old breast beating-antagonistic mindset.
Lately, Vastanvi has tried hard to communicate that he never condoned the Gujarat carnage and like every body else, wants those guilty punished. But he never fails to insist, it is time for Muslims to emerge out of the shadows of past and move on. They must not fail to educate their children so that they do not take to crime or religious extremism and strive to flow within the national mainstream.
His, is a very bold move and conciliatory message and not just to Gujarat's Muslims, who were displaced during the riots. It goes across India and wherever the 2002 events have cast a dark shadow.
There have been a slowly emerging far reaching welcome change with in madarsas to align with the rising needs of Muslim boys and girls. Many madarsas started teaching science, engineering and IT. There by got busy in the much needed development endeavor, refuting the perceptions, heightened post-9/11, that Muslim seminaries have been only stoking fundamentalism and militancy.
In past, Deoband seminary has also been demonized by actions of few belonging to the fringe, who tried to turn it in to a regressive Fatwa Factory, ridiculing any attempt at change and modernity. The number of Muslim seminaries in India are estimated to be over 30,000 and not all of them are controlled by the school of theology that Deoband propagates.
Whatever happens, Vastanvi along with his growing ilk, will now be a force to recon with, during any future discourse and negotiations regarding issues concerning Muslims in India. Even if, he is forced to move away from Deoband, the hereto unknown pragmatism and confidence articulated by him will continue to enforce moderation and rationality, rather than die hard rigidities solely based on emotive tentacles of past conflicts.
To his credit, Mahmood Madani has maintained a silence and so far refused to comment on the on going controversies. He may be representing the old guard mindset, but his familial linkages, eventually might help Vastanvi, thereby strengthen the new forces of moderation and reconciliations.
An unsuspecting Musharraf had turned somberly silent under the spirited attack beamed live, across the world from New Delhi. Madani, member of Rajya Sabha and leader of Jamat-e-Ulema-i-Hind, made it clear to the visiting Pakistani leader, that he or his country need not bother about the condition of Muslims in India.
Currently, Madani is locked in a fierce political battle for control of Darul Uloom, Deoband, the century and half old most respected Muslim seminary. His rival and relative, Maulana Ghulam Mohammad Vastanvi, the newly appointed rector is under blistering attack over his controversial statement praising Gujarat Chief Minister.
An MBA and businessman running many educational institutions with more than 200,000 students, Vastanvi had only taken up the assignment on January 10. He has established himself as a great pioneer in madarsa education, by linking modern education and Islamic teachings, and has transformed lives of hundreds of thousands of Muslims in western India. Coming up a hard way, by starting 30 years ago, a small madarsa from a hut in the tribal area of in Maharashtra’s Nandurbar district, Maulana was able to make it one of India’s top madarsas, known as Jamia Islamia Ishaatul Uloom in Akkalkuwa. It has 15 colleges equipped with most modern facilities besides running engineering, medicine, teaching, pharmacy and information technology courses. The madarsa runs schools in Gujarat and Maharashtra along with 30 well equipped hospitals.
According to some observers, his institutes have grown much bigger than Darool Uloom Deobabd, as far as the number of students, their much needed modern education and jobs are concerned. He has been honoured with the Maulana Abdul Kalam Azad Award by the Maharashtra government.
His fate will be decided in a meeting of the supreme governing council on February 15. He will attend the meeting and until a decision is taken, the Maulana will continue in his post.
Vastanvi was appointed rector following the death of his predecessor Maulana Marghoobur Rahman. But soon after, he sparked a grave controversy, frankly expressing his views on Gujarat by saying that Muslims too have benefited from the development initiative of the Gujarat Chief Minister.
Maulana Vastanvi belongs to Surat in Gujarat and happens to be also the first non UP person to head the institution. He has a long association with the Darul Uloom and as well as, been a liberal contributor. Perhaps the highly politicized and polarized environment of UP politics is also contributing to the perennial insider-outsider twist to the controversy and still there is much more hidden that what meets the eye in the unfolding drama.
But visibly encouraged with swelling support with in the institution, the community and Media focus, Vastanvi seems ready for a fight to finish.
However, there is another source of conflict between Madani and Vastanvi over the central government proposal to improve and modernize the Madarsa education in country. While Madani is looking at the proposal as an attempt to take away the fiercely protected autonomy of the institution, Vastanvi has more accommodating and fresh approach, far away from old, rigidly insular mindset to such issues.
It is reported that only around 2-3 dozen students of seminary have been greatly agitated over his open appreciation of on going development in Gujarat. In the fiercely politically correct, lip service afflicted environment of India, Gujarat and its feisty chief minister Narendra Modi has been a persona non-grata, since 2002, being under dark clouds of suspicion to be a willful accomplice in the massacre of minorities.
Taking a bold approach, Vastanvi has advised the community to forget the black episode and move on with the important issues of life with an open mind , accepting and appreciating the new unfolding realities. It is reported that the majority is out to supports Vastanvi inside the institution, outside with in the town of Deoband and as well as across India. He has a very clean and unblemished image of a cleric, who is open to modern education and has already achieved a lot for the community individually by creating modern institutions of learning..
In a meeting of motivated Vastanvi supporters, Maulana Madni was blamed for the ongoing crisis in the seminary. All those present in the meeting openly charged the Jamiat with playing a dirty game to retain power.
After death of Maulana Marghoobur Rehman, Maulana Arshad Madni group had become very active as they saw a bright chance of getting the controls of the seminary in their hands. But instead, the council, being seized of the matter, opted for a modern and progressive Vastanvi, thereby annoying Jamiat old guards.
Terming the tirade against Vastanvi the handiwork of Maulana Arshad group, Badar Kazmi, the Vice President of the Muslim Majlis in UP, said the regressive hardliners did not approve of the modern and progressive people’s association with the seminary
Being young and progressive Vastanvi emerged as a popular choice in the meeting of council and he was the one who faced least opposition. Many members of the council are pained and even surprised by the controversy over his appointment. Interestingly, the deputy vice-chancellor of the seminary Maulanan Abdul Khalik Madrasi has out-rightly resisted any Jamiat politics inside the seminary.
In many televised interviews, Vastanvi confidently challenged the old hardliners by sticking to his views about Gujarat development helping Muslims. He further advised the community to leave the matter to the courts and get on with education and jobs, the most important issues of life. When asked to rate the performance of Modi, he was quick to give him 5 out of 10 and expressed his inability to accuse the Chief Minister of a state of any crimes, as it for courts to decide, not him. Till recently, barely known to the Muslims outside Gujarat and Maharastra, his initiatives and defining contributions has been recognized and replicated by many madarsas across India, earning him admirers and supporters.
Apart from the internal politics of the seminary, the well known faces representing Muslims have left no time in strongly criticizing the despicable statement of Vastanvi and asked him to resign. Being the first Muslim leader to go against the well known cast iron narrative of discrimination, anger and bad past, he must have been certainly aware and prepared for the possible negative consequences. Making a somersault in last few days, Vastanvi even tried to attempt a damage control mode, by criticizing Modi, perhaps betraying a politician in him as well. The well entrenched old guards with age old script are still not ready to give space to difference of opinions to exist and be debated in a rational manner.
But the confident bearings, unhurried demeanor and bristling pragmatism can not be, only his own make over, and might as well represent waves of growing confidence with in the community. Being risen from grass root activism and entrepreneurship, he must have been aware and even an important part of the awakening pragmatic forces, uncomfortable and at odd with the prevailing age old breast beating-antagonistic mindset.
Lately, Vastanvi has tried hard to communicate that he never condoned the Gujarat carnage and like every body else, wants those guilty punished. But he never fails to insist, it is time for Muslims to emerge out of the shadows of past and move on. They must not fail to educate their children so that they do not take to crime or religious extremism and strive to flow within the national mainstream.
His, is a very bold move and conciliatory message and not just to Gujarat's Muslims, who were displaced during the riots. It goes across India and wherever the 2002 events have cast a dark shadow.
There have been a slowly emerging far reaching welcome change with in madarsas to align with the rising needs of Muslim boys and girls. Many madarsas started teaching science, engineering and IT. There by got busy in the much needed development endeavor, refuting the perceptions, heightened post-9/11, that Muslim seminaries have been only stoking fundamentalism and militancy.
In past, Deoband seminary has also been demonized by actions of few belonging to the fringe, who tried to turn it in to a regressive Fatwa Factory, ridiculing any attempt at change and modernity. The number of Muslim seminaries in India are estimated to be over 30,000 and not all of them are controlled by the school of theology that Deoband propagates.
Whatever happens, Vastanvi along with his growing ilk, will now be a force to recon with, during any future discourse and negotiations regarding issues concerning Muslims in India. Even if, he is forced to move away from Deoband, the hereto unknown pragmatism and confidence articulated by him will continue to enforce moderation and rationality, rather than die hard rigidities solely based on emotive tentacles of past conflicts.
To his credit, Mahmood Madani has maintained a silence and so far refused to comment on the on going controversies. He may be representing the old guard mindset, but his familial linkages, eventually might help Vastanvi, thereby strengthen the new forces of moderation and reconciliations.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Seed Newsvine
