This is an actual letter written by a common man to the Prime Minister of India post the Terrorist attacks in Mumbai on 29/11/08.
_____________________________________________________
Dear Mr. Prime ministerI am a typical mouse from Mumbai. In the local train compartment which has capacity of 100 persons, I travel with 500 more mouse. Mouse at least squeak but we don't even do that.
Today I heard your speech. In which you said 'NO BODY WOULD BE SPARED'. I would like to remind you that fourteen years has passed since serial bomb blast in Mumbai took place. Dawood was the main conspirator. Till today he is not caught. All our bolywood actors, our builders, our Gutka king meets him but your Government cannot catch him. Reason is simple; all your ministers are hand in glove with him.If any attempt is made to catch him everybody will be exposed. Your statement 'NOBODY WOULD BE SPARED' is nothing but a cruel joke on this unfortunate people of India.
Enough is enough. As such after seeing terrorist attack carried out by about a dozen young boys I realize that if same thing continues days are not away when terrorist will attack by air, destroy our nuclear reactor and there will be one more Hiroshima.
We the people are left with only one mantra. Womb to Bomb to Tomb. You promised Mumbaikar Shanghai what you have given us is Jalianwala Baug.
Today, your home minister resigned. What took you so long to kick out this joker? Only reason was that he was loyal to Gandhi family.Loyalty to Gandhi family is more important than blood of innocent people, isn't it?
I am born and bought up in Mumbai for last fifty eight years. Believe me corruption in Maharashtra is worse than that in Bihar. Look at all the politician, Sharad Pawar, Chagan Bhujbal, Narayan Rane, Bal Thackray , Gopinath Munde, Raj Thackray, Vilasrao Deshmukh all are rolling in money. Vilasrao Deshmukh is one of the worst Chief minister I have seen. His only business is to increase the FSI every other day, make money and send it to Delhi so Congress can fight next election. Now the clown has found new way and will increase FSI for fisherman so they can build concrete house right on sea shore. Next time terrorist can comfortably live in those house , enjoy the beauty of sea and then attack Mumbai at their will.
Recently I had to purchase house in Mumbai. I met about two dozen builders. Everybody wanted about 30% in black. A common person like me knows this and with all your intelligent agency & CBI you and your finance minister are not aware of it. Where all the black money goes?To the underworld isn't it? Our politicians take help of these goondas to vacate people by force. I myself was victim of it. If you have time please come to me, I will tell you everything.
If this has been land of fools, idiots then I would not have ever cared to write you this letter. Just see the tragedy, on one side we are reaching moon, people are so intelligent and on other side you politician has converted nectar into deadly poison. I am everything Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Schedule caste, OBC, Muslim OBC, Christian Schedule caste, Creamy Schedule caste only what I am not is INDIAN.You politician have raped every part of mother India by your policy of divide and rule.
Take example of former president Abdul Kalam. Such a intelligent person, such a fine human being. You politician didn't even spare him. Your party along with opposition joined the hands, because politician feels they are supreme and there is no place for good person.
Dear Mr Prime minister you are one of the most intelligent person, most learned person. Just wake up, be a real SARDAR. First and foremost expose all selfish politician. Ask Swiss bank to give name of all Indian account holder. Give reins of CBI to independent agency.Let them find wolf among us. There will be political upheaval but that will better than dance of death which we are witnessing every day.Just give us ambient where we can work honestly and without fear. Let there be rule of law. Everything else will be taken care of.
The choice is yours Mr. Prime Minister. Do you want to be lead by one person or you want to lead the nation of 100 Crore people?
Prakash B. Bajaj
Other Contact Details hidden due to security reasons.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
City of Dreams
Once, in early 2007, just a month after I had moved to Mumbai, in my rush to exit an overcrowded train pulling into CST, I fell hard on to the platform, scraping the skin from my hands and knees and tearing two holes in my trousers.
Lying there humiliated, limbs flailing in every direction, I felt like an outsider, a voyeur, one who didn't quite belong. Someone who'd never unlock the secret to South Asia's City of Dreams. But suddenly, before I could finish the thought 'I want to go home,' five helpful hands lifted me to my feet, dusted me off and assuaged me of my embarrassment. "All ok, baba?" a man asked tenderly, with genuine concern.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to register the faces attached to those hands, because my unknown saviours were gone in seconds, disappeared into the immense throng of people coming and going, melted back into the crowd. I marvelled then at the strange amalgamation of anonymity and intimacy that defines this city.
Though I had originally come to India for the love of an Indian lady, that day -- when I toppled from the train and Mumbai didn't hesitate to pick me up -- I really and truly fell in love with India herself.
Now I wonder if any of those kind-hearted CST passengers were again passing through the station last Wednesday. I think of all those optimistic, hard-working folks just going about their daily lives. It pisses me off to no end that they were murdered in cold-blood. It could have been, should have been, prevented.
So, no, I'm not prepared to wax eloquent about any real or imagined 'indomitable Mumbaikar' spirit. In the wake of this enormous tragedy, that cliche should be damned to obscurity. Rather, I just want to mention the incredible individual and collective brilliance I've encountered during my 22 months here, to point out what makes this city such an extraordinary place to live, work, learn and love.
I reminisce on the wonderful friendships made, the unforgettable moments shared and the beautiful people met, from rickshaw wallahs to fashion designers and everyone in between: Gujarati housewives and their tasty pickles, Maharashtrians who warmly invited me to their partake in their Ganpati festivals, the Muslim cabbie from Bihar who returned a friend's Rs 30,000 mobile phone only by the compulsion of his own conscience.
I remember late night joyrides along Marine Drive, with the windows down, salty sea breeze heavy in my nostrils and the glinting lights of Malabar Hill off in the distance, bizarre but irresistible Indian pop music blaring from the speakers. Sunday afternoons in Bandra, shopping for books and eating heavenly Alphonso mangoes. Galoti kebabs on Mohammed Ali Road for a pittance and 5-star meals at the Taj. Cold Kingfisher beer at innumerable trendy nightclubs, seedy haunts and cosy cafes. Plays at NCPA, films in Andheri, live concerts in Parel.
But, most of all, I think of the people: Intelligent, motivated, warm-hearted, cosmopolitan, diverse, dynamic, from all major faiths, comprising all possible backgrounds and histories.
This to me is Mumbai. The Mumbai I witnessed in incredible acts of individual heroism and bravery last week: Distraught but duty-bound medical professionals at JJ Hospital and St George's Hospital working calmly and efficiently throughout the night without rest, self-sacrificing staff at the Taj who put the safety of guests before their own, blood donors flooding banks to ensure a healthy supply so that doctors could perform life-saving operations, angry but focused young Mumbaikars assembling to demand answers and accountability.
But, now that the crisis has passed, the jackals are out and they smell blood. They represent that other side of Mumbai, the side I've been warned about: Self-styled demagogues turning countrymen against one another in order to achieve their own selfish political motives, an unresponsive and corrupt bureaucracy, a citizenry either unwilling or incapable to provide proper public vigilance.
From here, there are just three ways to go about the recovery and grieving process: desperate pessimism, pathetic inactivity, or concentrated optimism.
A negative response would see a reprise of communal tensions from years past. Or a game of nuclear chicken with Pakistan. Or another military state-esque Emergency.
An inactive response would be to make cheesy Youtube videos about the 'indomitable spirit of Mumbai' without managing any substantive change. To thrash about like spoiled children for a couple of weeks before retreating into that comfortable cocoon of familiarity. I've read reports that multiple, specific intelligence warnings precipitated this attack, but were not acted upon. I've been told that Mumbai has no elite counter-terrorism encounter force to speak of, and that the city police were hopelessly outgunned by the attackers' modern, automatic weapons. If these concerns aren't addressed, such inactivity would indeed be pathetic, almost resigning ourselves to it happening again in the future.
Concentrated optimism alone will bring together all that individual talent, motivation and brilliance and channel it in the right direction, to ensure that Mumbai is no longer vulnerable. This city will prove its true greatness not by 'getting on with it'; but, rather, by holding accountable those who perpetrated this act and those who allowed it to happen.
So, yes, I'll stop for a beer next time I pass Leopold's, I'll catch a film at Metro Cinema, I'll window shop at the Oberoi (even if I don't have the money to buy a single item at many of the stores). Sure, I'll do all those things, like Suketu Mehta suggested, as a sign of solidarity.
But I will also organise with my fellow young Mumbaikars. I will write politicians. I will petition citizens. I will give something back, in addition to spending money, to this City of Opportunity, the heart of this brilliant, boisterous Democracy I now call home.
For, make no mistake, those who perpetrate these attacks do so because they hate India's freedoms, her successes, her strides forward. They hate her pluralism, her openness, her delicious and life-affirming ambiguity. The very things I hold near and dear, the lessons this country has taught me.
Three weeks ago, I had the opportunity to meet a delegation of 20-somethings from MTV Pakistan. Over beers in Andheri, every last one of them expressed an almost child-like fascination with Mumbai, their conversation peppered with phrases like, "I love this city!" and "It's absolutely unbelievable!"
Turns out, since youth they had harboured an immense passion for Mumbai, for Bollywood, for the idea and the image of the Gateway of India, of the Taj Hotel's [Images] brilliant architecture and storied past, of Nariman Point's business-saturated towers, of Malabar Hill's swanky luxury apartments, of Juhu's celebrity hideaways, of suburban megamalls and South Mumbai cinema halls, of ancient mosques, temples and churches co-existing side-by-side.
"People in Pakistan dream about Mumbai," one of the guys told me. "To be honest, we're envious."
That night, I kept thinking inside my head, over and over, not vocalising it for fear of offending someone, "Look at these kids, the Indians and the Pakistanis -- ;same likes and dislikes, same fears and aspirations, same taste in clothes, in music."
When I see photos from CST of the lone surviving terrorist, 21-year-old Azam Amir Qasab, I shudder: he looks just like my Mumbai friends, just like the kids from MTV Pakistan.
The only discernable difference is in the eyes. When those young MTV Pakistanis spoke of Mumbai, their eyes grew wide with wonderment and enthusiasm. Azam Amir Qasab's eyes, on the other hand, glinting with determination and seething with hatred, tell an entirely different story.
So I ask now, because I have no answer: How does a 21-year-old grow to despise a City of Dreams?
Courtesy: Rediff
Lying there humiliated, limbs flailing in every direction, I felt like an outsider, a voyeur, one who didn't quite belong. Someone who'd never unlock the secret to South Asia's City of Dreams. But suddenly, before I could finish the thought 'I want to go home,' five helpful hands lifted me to my feet, dusted me off and assuaged me of my embarrassment. "All ok, baba?" a man asked tenderly, with genuine concern.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to register the faces attached to those hands, because my unknown saviours were gone in seconds, disappeared into the immense throng of people coming and going, melted back into the crowd. I marvelled then at the strange amalgamation of anonymity and intimacy that defines this city.
Though I had originally come to India for the love of an Indian lady, that day -- when I toppled from the train and Mumbai didn't hesitate to pick me up -- I really and truly fell in love with India herself.
Now I wonder if any of those kind-hearted CST passengers were again passing through the station last Wednesday. I think of all those optimistic, hard-working folks just going about their daily lives. It pisses me off to no end that they were murdered in cold-blood. It could have been, should have been, prevented.
So, no, I'm not prepared to wax eloquent about any real or imagined 'indomitable Mumbaikar' spirit. In the wake of this enormous tragedy, that cliche should be damned to obscurity. Rather, I just want to mention the incredible individual and collective brilliance I've encountered during my 22 months here, to point out what makes this city such an extraordinary place to live, work, learn and love.
I reminisce on the wonderful friendships made, the unforgettable moments shared and the beautiful people met, from rickshaw wallahs to fashion designers and everyone in between: Gujarati housewives and their tasty pickles, Maharashtrians who warmly invited me to their partake in their Ganpati festivals, the Muslim cabbie from Bihar who returned a friend's Rs 30,000 mobile phone only by the compulsion of his own conscience.
I remember late night joyrides along Marine Drive, with the windows down, salty sea breeze heavy in my nostrils and the glinting lights of Malabar Hill off in the distance, bizarre but irresistible Indian pop music blaring from the speakers. Sunday afternoons in Bandra, shopping for books and eating heavenly Alphonso mangoes. Galoti kebabs on Mohammed Ali Road for a pittance and 5-star meals at the Taj. Cold Kingfisher beer at innumerable trendy nightclubs, seedy haunts and cosy cafes. Plays at NCPA, films in Andheri, live concerts in Parel.
But, most of all, I think of the people: Intelligent, motivated, warm-hearted, cosmopolitan, diverse, dynamic, from all major faiths, comprising all possible backgrounds and histories.
This to me is Mumbai. The Mumbai I witnessed in incredible acts of individual heroism and bravery last week: Distraught but duty-bound medical professionals at JJ Hospital and St George's Hospital working calmly and efficiently throughout the night without rest, self-sacrificing staff at the Taj who put the safety of guests before their own, blood donors flooding banks to ensure a healthy supply so that doctors could perform life-saving operations, angry but focused young Mumbaikars assembling to demand answers and accountability.
But, now that the crisis has passed, the jackals are out and they smell blood. They represent that other side of Mumbai, the side I've been warned about: Self-styled demagogues turning countrymen against one another in order to achieve their own selfish political motives, an unresponsive and corrupt bureaucracy, a citizenry either unwilling or incapable to provide proper public vigilance.
From here, there are just three ways to go about the recovery and grieving process: desperate pessimism, pathetic inactivity, or concentrated optimism.
A negative response would see a reprise of communal tensions from years past. Or a game of nuclear chicken with Pakistan. Or another military state-esque Emergency.
An inactive response would be to make cheesy Youtube videos about the 'indomitable spirit of Mumbai' without managing any substantive change. To thrash about like spoiled children for a couple of weeks before retreating into that comfortable cocoon of familiarity. I've read reports that multiple, specific intelligence warnings precipitated this attack, but were not acted upon. I've been told that Mumbai has no elite counter-terrorism encounter force to speak of, and that the city police were hopelessly outgunned by the attackers' modern, automatic weapons. If these concerns aren't addressed, such inactivity would indeed be pathetic, almost resigning ourselves to it happening again in the future.
Concentrated optimism alone will bring together all that individual talent, motivation and brilliance and channel it in the right direction, to ensure that Mumbai is no longer vulnerable. This city will prove its true greatness not by 'getting on with it'; but, rather, by holding accountable those who perpetrated this act and those who allowed it to happen.
So, yes, I'll stop for a beer next time I pass Leopold's, I'll catch a film at Metro Cinema, I'll window shop at the Oberoi (even if I don't have the money to buy a single item at many of the stores). Sure, I'll do all those things, like Suketu Mehta suggested, as a sign of solidarity.
But I will also organise with my fellow young Mumbaikars. I will write politicians. I will petition citizens. I will give something back, in addition to spending money, to this City of Opportunity, the heart of this brilliant, boisterous Democracy I now call home.
For, make no mistake, those who perpetrate these attacks do so because they hate India's freedoms, her successes, her strides forward. They hate her pluralism, her openness, her delicious and life-affirming ambiguity. The very things I hold near and dear, the lessons this country has taught me.
Three weeks ago, I had the opportunity to meet a delegation of 20-somethings from MTV Pakistan. Over beers in Andheri, every last one of them expressed an almost child-like fascination with Mumbai, their conversation peppered with phrases like, "I love this city!" and "It's absolutely unbelievable!"
Turns out, since youth they had harboured an immense passion for Mumbai, for Bollywood, for the idea and the image of the Gateway of India, of the Taj Hotel's [Images] brilliant architecture and storied past, of Nariman Point's business-saturated towers, of Malabar Hill's swanky luxury apartments, of Juhu's celebrity hideaways, of suburban megamalls and South Mumbai cinema halls, of ancient mosques, temples and churches co-existing side-by-side.
"People in Pakistan dream about Mumbai," one of the guys told me. "To be honest, we're envious."
That night, I kept thinking inside my head, over and over, not vocalising it for fear of offending someone, "Look at these kids, the Indians and the Pakistanis -- ;same likes and dislikes, same fears and aspirations, same taste in clothes, in music."
When I see photos from CST of the lone surviving terrorist, 21-year-old Azam Amir Qasab, I shudder: he looks just like my Mumbai friends, just like the kids from MTV Pakistan.
The only discernable difference is in the eyes. When those young MTV Pakistanis spoke of Mumbai, their eyes grew wide with wonderment and enthusiasm. Azam Amir Qasab's eyes, on the other hand, glinting with determination and seething with hatred, tell an entirely different story.
So I ask now, because I have no answer: How does a 21-year-old grow to despise a City of Dreams?
Courtesy: Rediff
Monday, December 1, 2008
Politicians or Termites ?
The termites are a group of social insects feeding mostly on dead plant material, wood, leaf litter, soil, or animal dung BUT as pests that can cause serious structural damage to buildings, crops or plantation forests.
A politician is an individual who is involved in influencing public decision making through the influence of politics or a person who influences the way a society is governed through an understanding of political power and group dynamics. This includes people who hold decision-making positions in government, and people who seek those positions, whether by means of election, coupe, appointment, electoral fraud, conquest, right of inheritance or other means. Politics are not limited to governance through public office.
After 61 years of freedom, we are still dreaming of clean drinking water, uninterrupted power supply, Security, protection from terrorsists and justice from the courts. We keep looking for leadership and good governanace from our elected representatives. We keep dreaming of a good life, which need not be wrapped in luxury, but one where one gets reasonably priced vegetables, pulses and others things that would go into a simple square meal. We dream of living in peace. We still dream of gender equality.
So many parliament and assembly elections have passed us by and we still are looking for clean politicians who want to take the country forward. That elected representatives even take money to ask questions in parliament leaves very little to be said. And we think we are a booming democracy.
But how can democracy succeed when half of India is illiterate and cannot figure out that it is not caste in an election that is most important but governance. But if you look at todays scenario - the politicians are doing what the Britishers did a century back - DIVIDE and RULE. As you can see, History repears itself - in one form or the other.
We try to romanticize everything to escape the hurt and the reality. We talk of how we are a great culture and how we are so diverse and still together. We take pride in telling everyone how Bombay is the city where the spirit of Bombay never dies. What spirit are we talking about here? Let us use our commonsense here, the people have a never say die attitude because they need to earn the daily bread and butter. They have no choice but to resume work no matter what - else they will be thrown out and someone else will take their place. In todays competetive and cut-throat competetion its difficult to survive if you do not add value to what you are doing.
Freedom has no meaning if it cannot improve our lives. It must add value to our lives and not let us slip into a degenerative state. Look at our power situation. Every city has a power cut. And, villages go without power for most part of the day. We waste power everyday. Most towns in India shamelessly have fixed hours where darkness descends daily. No one protests. We are slowly becoming a nation of impotent people led by wimps (politicians).
We want the Defence Minister to know the value of a jawaan. We want the Education Minister to know the power of literacy. We DO NOT want him to change the history books to suit his party’s line. We want our Home Minister to be strong enough to allow the law to proceed against a politician who has been found with millions of rupees stashed away in his bedroom. We want a
Law Minister who will not allow his judges be trampled by political pressure.
We misinterpreted freedom. We thought it was okay when a politician spent millions of rupees shopping for sarees, jewellery and slippers. We voted politicians into power who have criminal cases against them. We used our freedom to permit them to destroy our present and future.
We did not use freedom to improve our lives and to make India one of the greatest countries of the world. Inorder, to make India a secure and better place to live in we need to terminate the termites. We have given our valubale freedom in the hands of a few selfish, sel-centred, egoistic and political bitches - we need to take it back and we need to act on it now. Its now or never !!
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