20100221: Echoes of injustice

http://www.deccanherald.com/content/53799/echoes-injustice.html

 

Sunday 21 February 2010

 

Echoes of injustice

Prasenjit Chowdhury

Jarnail and his family barely managed to survive the horror. But his account is replete with accounts of how police, save some gutsy officers like Maxwell Pereira, became complicit in acts of butchery.

I ACCUSE...THE ANTI-SIKH VIOLENCE OF 1984 Jarnail Singh Penguin, 2009, pp 165, Rs 350 It was Milan Kundera who in his book The Book of Laughter and Forgetting said that a totalitarian state wants its people to be forgetful. But forgetting as horrendous a crime as the anti-Sikh carnage is a crime and a greater crime if one urges to forget it. Jarnail Singh, who shot to fame for having flung his Reebok runner at the Union Home Minister P Chidambaram — he waxed eloquent on the CBI's clean chit to Congress leader Jagdish Tytler accused as a prime instigator — at a press conference in New Delhi and came to be riled and adored in differing circles though he missed his target, manages to hit his target on the dot this time. He pores deep into the skulduggery of covering up the truth, in apparent quest of which one government after another set up various committees and commissions — the Marwah Commission, the Mishra Commission, the Kapur Mittal Committee, the Jain Banerjee Committee, the Potti Rosha Committee, the Jain Aggarwal Committee, the Ahuja Committee, the Dhillon Committee, the Narula Committee and the Nanavati Commission — one after the other. It was an instance of a state-sponsored, state-directed and state-supported violence. There was something crudely comical about the whole exercise because the massacre of Sikhs in 1984 on the streets, roads and bylanes of Delhi still awaits redressal and justice, and rankles the collective memory(26 years down the line). In the intervening years, the ardour for justice has been blunted by the State. Surely the memory has dimmed for those who needed to move on and the call for justice has been made far less strident. Some intractable souls like Nirpreet Kaur whose father Nirmal Singh was burnt alive still grope for justice.  Recalling the charged times of the 1980s, Khuswant Singh in his book, The End of India, rightly notes that "the Bhindranwale chapter in Indian history is a perfect illustration of the disastrous results of not keeping politics separate from religion." The Congress under Indira Gandhi, the then President Zail Singh and the Akali Trinity, consisting of Harchand Singh Longwal, the party leader and 'dictator' of the agitation, Gurugharan Singh Tohra, who controlled the Sikh shrines including the Golden Temple, and Prakash Singh Badal, a former chief minister of Punjab were all responsible for the situation of volatile Punjab to worsen further and Bhindranwale to hold sway for their narrow political ends. To my mind, the cult of hatred must be traced long before Indira Gandhi authorised Operation Blue Star, by doing which, as Inder Malhotra says, "she knew she had also signed her death warrant." Jarnail and his family barely managed to survive the horror. But his account is replete with accounts of how police, save some gutsy officers like Maxwell Pereira, became complicit in acts of butchery. The army was not deployed, the then President Zail Singh turned out to be a milksop, the then Union Home Minister Narsimha Rao played dud, a role he repeated during his prime ministership during the Gujarat riots, the Doordarshan tried to inflame base passions by pointing out ad nauseam that Indira Gandhi was killed by his two Sikh bodyguards, the print media chose largely to give a sparse coverage to the killings, and the main accused — H K L Bhagat rose to become a cabinet minister in the Rajiv Gandhi government — the list of omissions and commissions is endless.   Unfortunately, there is no writer of Orhan Pamuk's standing in India — recall his gall to remind Turkey of its past riddled with Armenian genocide — to remind us of the sin of our own genocides. And Jarnail Singh is no Raj Kamal Jha either to weave a gut-churning masterpiece like his Fireproof. But he speaks straight from the heart and brings alive the horror so graphically that for three days in November 1984, some parts of Delhi became virtual Mano Majras — a small Indian frontier village in Khuswant Singh's novel Train to Pakistan — with all the killings, flames, raping and pillaging. In effect, Jarnail's tale is one of not only the murder of over 3,000 Sikhs, but also of justice for those who "exist in a twilight of bitterness and despair."

Airport Security

--
Maxwell Pereira IPS (Retd.)
3725 Sector-23, Gurgaon-122017


Are these days coming? .....No laughing matter though!

Airport Security

Are those days coming? J No laughing matter though!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

................I received this one from no less a person than NJ Kamath IASretd., former Secy, to the Govt of India on 6 February 2010.... 22:25

A" VALENTINES DAY" PRAYER

A" VALENTINES DAY" PRAYER "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." – I CORINTHIANS 13:4-7 NIV Lord, Because love is patient… Help me to be slow to judge, but quick to listen. Hesitant to criticize, but eager to encourage, remembering your endless patience with me. Because love is kind… Help my words to be gentle and my actions to be thoughtful. Remind me to smile and to say "Please" and "Thank You" because those little things still mean so much. Because love does not envy or boast, and it is not proud… Help me have a heart that is humble and sees the good in others. May I celebrate and appreciate all that I have and all that I am, as well as doing the same for those around me. Because love is not rude or self-seeking… Help me to speak words that are easy on the ear and on the heart. When I'm tempted to get wrapped up in my own little world, remind me there's a great big world out there full of needs and hurts. Because love is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs… Help me to forgive others as you have forgiven me. When I want to hold onto a grudge, gently help me release it so I can reach out with a hand of love instead. Because love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth… Help me stand up for what is right and good. May I defend the defenseless, and help the helpless. Show me how I can make a difference. Because love always protects and always trusts… Help me to be a refuge for those around me. When the world outside is harsh and cold, may my heart be a place of acceptance and warmth. Finally, because love always perseveres… Help my heart continually beat with love for You and others. Thank you for this day when we celebrate love, and for showing us what that word really means. Amen. Happy VALENTINES DAY Love And GOD Bless! .....this one's from Mallika Sigamani, No,102 E, Ranka Plaza, 157 Wheeler Road, Frazer Town, Bangalore 560 005

Learning Alfabet The Punjaabi Way!

...............this arrived from my modern punjaabi friend Aneel Verman from his self-owned delightful seaside resort: Sur La Mer.<www.surlamergoa.com>
on Morjim Ashwen Rd, Morjim,Pernem,Goa
(Sur La Mer:+ 91-832-6453102; + 91-832-6453103; + 91-832-6453104
Fax: +91-832-2244999
Delhi Cell-+91-98-112-53521; Goa Cell-+91-98-500-56742

 

 

Learning Alfabet The Punjaabi Way!

 A is for Aiscreame

 B is for Backside, and it has nothing to do with your butt. It is an instruction to go to the rear of a building, or block, or shop or whatever.

 C is for Caluoney and its not a process for replicating sheep, nor is its first name George. It is merely an area where people live e.g. 'Defence Caluoney'.

 D is for the proverbial 'Dangar da Puttar'

 E is for Expanditure, the spending of money

 F is for Fackade, and even though it sounds like a bad word it is actually just the front of a building

 G is for Gaddi, and the way a Punjabi can pilot his gaddi puts any F1 driver to shame.

 H is for 'Ho Jayega Ji', and the moment you hear that you have to be careful because you can be reasonably sure it's not going to happen.

 I is for Intzaar, and to know more about it see P.

 J is for Jutt, which every Punjabi seems to be..

 K is for Khanna, Khurana, etc, the Punjabi equivalent of the Joneses (e.g.'Keeping up with the Khuranas ji')

 L is for Loin, the king of the jungle

 M is for 'Mrooti', the car that an entire generation of Punjabis were in love with.

 N is for 'No Problem Ji.' To find out how that works see H.

 O is for Oye, which can be surprise (Oyye!), a greeting (Oyy!), anger (OYY!) or pain (Oy oy oy...).

 P is for Punj Mint, and no matter how near (1 km) or far(100 km) a Punjabi is from you he always says he'll reach you in punj mint (5 minutes...).

 Q is for Queue, a word completely untranslatable into Punjabi – does not exist in the culture.

 R is for Riks, and a Punjabi is always prepared to take one (risk), even if the odds are against him.

 S is for Sweetie, Sunny, Simmi and Sonu, who seem to own half the cars in Delhi .

 T is for the official bird of Punjab : Tandoori Chickun.

 U is for when you lose your sex appeal and become 'Uncul-ji'

 V is for VIP phone numbers @ Rs 15 lakh and counting.

 W is for Whan, as in 'Whan are you coming, ji?'

 X is for the many X-rated words that flow freely in Punjabi conversations.

 Y is for 'You nonsanse', when anger replaces vocabulary in a shouting match.

 Z is for Zindgi which every Punjabi knows how to live to the fullest.

Half a Second before the Tsunami

½ a Second before the Tsunami
This picture was taken on the banks of Sumatra Island .
The height of waves was of approx. 32 m = 105 ft.
It was found saved in a digital camera, 1 ½ years after the disaster.
We cannot know for sure, but very likely the one who took the picture is not alive any more.
It was just a matter of seconds.
Today we can see the last image he/ she saw before ending life on this part of planet Earth!
It makes us understand that we are small when nature strikes!

-----sent to me by Neeraj Devraj, New Delhi