1984. I was in Kolkata on a business trip. I was watching life go by through the large bay windows at our office, sipping hot chai, when I noticed a flurry of activity. Shops pulled their shutters down rapidly, swarms of buses pulled across to block streets and white cars with flags wove dangerously through a melee of people scurrying away. I soon learnt why. Indira Gandhi had been shot. We closed business and wound our way back home. I innocently agreed to walk a frightened sardarji to a safe house couple of miles away. Having safely deposited him in his gurudwara, I ducked, hid and ran the eleven miles back to the guest house I was staying in as I watched, without comprehension, mobs with hate-filled eyes go after people that till then were woven into the fabric of the city. That day, I saw hate and anger like never before, and read more about it the next day. A small part of me died that day.
Many years later, I was visiting my city, Mumbai for an extended stay. Singapore had become my new home a couple of years back. Mumbai was putting on its best behavior - business was surging, software industry was exploding, and mood was very upbeat. And then it happened. A mosque went down in Ayodhya. And neighborhoods went up in flames in Mumbai. From my vantage point atop the water tank in our home, I watched with horror, as a section of a hillock not afar, was set on fire. When the frenzied killings abated a few days later, a thousand families and a million dreams lay shattered. Hopes lost. Nation guilty. Once again, hate had won. It can never get worse, I thought. My spirits took a beating.
Early 2001, we moved from Singapore to California. To live in a world and amongst people, that believed in the rule of law, that respected other cultures and faith, and as far as I recalled, untouched by terror. It was truly a wonderful life out there. And then 9/11 happened. That fateful day, I was busy running a dawn conference call with my colleagues on the other coast. Suddenly, the call terminated. One of my colleagues messaged me to turn my television on. Just as the box came to life, a plane came into view, heading for the second tower. My heart stopped momentarily. It cannot be, I reasoned. This is America. No one can hurt this country. This is the most powerful nation on earth. But alas I was wrong. How evil could people get? Their warped minds had once again snuffed out three thousand lives, and destroyed a nation's innocence. I think my belief in the goodness of humanity took a beating that day.
A couple of months later, while I was idling at a Burger King during a pit stop at Cedar Rapids in Iowa, an old white lady walked up to me with a simple question "Why do the Indians and Pakistanis hate each other so much?". I asked her as to what piqued her curiosity. She said that she was shocked by the events of 9/11 and could not comprehend why anyone would hurt America. She had then read about India, Pakistan, Palestine, Iran and all the trouble spots around the world. It was a simple question, innocently asked, by a woman cocooned from the problems of the world. I answered as best as I could, about India and Pakistan, about our differences and our different political systems. She sighed and said "We are really so ill-informed about the world. Our leaders have failed us". She loudly wondered whether America always had enemies or if it was a recent acquisition. I guess the old woman lost her innocence that day.
It has been four months since our move back to India after an eighteen-year stint overseas. This time, we came back with a 13-year old in tow, with hopes in our heart, and dreams in our eyes. We did not want our child to live in a bubble. We wanted him to enjoy the India we loved so much while we were growing up. We wanted him to bond with the extended family he barely knew. We wanted him to learn languages, visit places, and know his roots. We knew and prepared our son for the violence that so often erupts without warning in India. But we did not bargain for terror once again. We were coming to a country with a 'can-do' attitude. A country that had no time for anything but growth and prosperity. But it looks like terror is just a block away anywhere in India.
Since our arrival in Bangalore in July, we watched bombs go off in Bangalore, Delhi, Amdavad, Guwahati and now Mumbai. The country seems to be in a perennial state of war. Will this ever end?
I am tired. But I am not terrified anymore. I am a bit numbed. But I won't let any part of me die anymore. Angry as I am, with the ineptness of the government, I refuse to cow down to these hate mongers. I refuse to stay indoors. I refuse to stay away from buses, trains and planes. I shall shop. I shall travel. I shall go to crowded places. My kid shall play cricket every weekend. We will eat out. I shall live my life MY WAY. And I shall deal with these zealous nuts the best way I know. I will face them head on. While the government is busy mending its ways and figuring whether and how to save the people it represents, I will stand up and fight. Till I defeat these lunatics with twisted ideologies, modern weapons, and a lot of hate. Because they cannot control my mind. I refuse to die.
Comments
But think about how things would be in the next hundred years. Will these parasites come and hunt our children, grand children on streets, in their homes and outside, the same way every single day of their lives? This issue is not about discrimination, this is not about Kashmir, this is not about any broken masjid. This is a 1000 year onslaught, a unbridled blood lust that continues to this day. Unless the threat is addressed on a permanent basis, any which way the peaceniks or warmongers prefer to choose, there is no end to Indian blood flowing on pavements and railway stations.
Never has the need for diminishing poverty and enhancing literacy across the world been more urgent.
Without it, I am afraid things will get worse, much worse.
Gita