Teacher who became a watchman

susheel pundit suddenly felt an urge to migrate and change his profession. similar to the spiderman story, susheel pundit was smitten by luvbug while on his daily morning ablutionary visit to the field on the outskirts of his village in the cowdung land. since he was carrying just one lota of water, he could not 'purify' the spot where the bug had bitten him.

the poison of the bug spread slowly upward in his body - from sri lanka to the foothill of himalaya. he felt a tingling effect in his head.

in keeping with the tradition ordained in the manu smriti, susheel had taken up teaching in his village school set up specially for the children of cowherds and shepherds.

the children all liked him so much that they made it their sport to tie up his pony tail to the rickety chair on which he sat cross-legged, making them learn by rote the basic principles of earth-shastra.

learning by rote was the only pedagogy he knew. making the students repeat one-liners like 'king is dead, long live the king', 'boss is always right', 'never question your teacher', 'report to the teacher of any suspicious activities', was his singular method of teaching. however ever since that bug bit him where it hurt the most, susheel pundit was not able to enjoy children's harmless pranks and had become extremely irritable.

even an innocuous 'good morning, punditji' on the blackboard scribbled by the back-bencher natthu dubey, was enough to make susheel pundit jump at the very first student who happened to be near him at that particular inauspicious moment.

the change in susheel pundit's behaviour had not gone unnoticed by the head masterni. susheel pundit had not given up his habitual ritualistic practice of paying obeisance to the masterni. and, yet, she noticed the change in him. the change was very subtle, which only she could notice as it was she who had given him his first and only job in the school, favouring him over the rest of the candidates.

susheel pundit was very fond of playing gulli dunda earlier. he would play this game, considered the most happening thing to do by the village damsels, on the sprawling mango orchard, every day after the school. he had stopped doing so last two weeks and switched over to playing ikkad dukkad with the highschool girls. since, no boy was around at this particular time the change in susheel pundit's habit did not become talk of the village.

however, the news was promptly conveyed to the masterni by kankuben punjabhai who, like the hariram nai of the film sholay fame, had become the official informer ever since she had failed in the eighth standard for the first time four years ago. the reason why the matter was promptly reported to masterni was that kanku punju had a glad eye on susheel pundit and didnt like the idea of his playing ikkad dukkad with the bright and smart school girls.

the masterni, though aware of kanku punju's motive, took serious note of susheel pundit's behaviorial change and called him in her chamber for a one-to-one discussion.

"SP are you aware what you have been doing of late?"

"what, your excellency?"

"you have stopped playing gulli danda and have switched over to ikkad dukkad. don't you pretend that i am cooking up a story," the masterni said fixing her gaze on susheel pundit. the masterni had mastered the art and craft of interrogation. her moon-shaped 'third eye' achieved what a spiral did for a hypnotist.

susheel pundit soon started singing like a canary.

"madam, please pardon me. i cant reveal where, how, and who bit me while i was offering my morning prayers. but ever since, i find it painful to teach the children. can you not make me the school watchman, please madam."

"alright. but, make sure you give me an intelligence report every morning and evening on the law and order situation in the campus," the masterni thundered.

"goes without saying, madam. you will get a report from me even on a holiday," said susheel pundit, his smile spread from ear to ear.

susheel gladly accepted the demotion and the accompanying salary cut to merrily blow the whistle on anyone he suspected of flouting the school rules.

epilogue: the children are missing their punditji whose pony tail they used to tie up with the rickety chair.

Jigetty Jig

All the boys and girls were tired of moving their legs and shaking their hind part in this mundane world.

"Why do we work so hard and to what end?" asked lady Videbottom.

"To earn our living, madam," squeaked Timothy Tomatowala.

"Shut up you imbecile" snubbed the lady, "Is that why your dumb parents have paid a fortune to send you to this unrecognized Ivy League B-school?"

"No madam. Then, I guess they sent us here to ensure that we learn how to jig. Shake, shake, move, move. Rock, rock, jump, jump," butted in Bigbelly Bajpaii.

"Smart boii," said the lady with a smile of a tom cat, smacking her lips only to hurriedly paint her lips with a crimson red lipstick.

"Come on boys and girls, let's all do something exciting. Let's form a community, a community of jiggers and jumpers," the lady proclaimed, pulling her turtle shell spectacles over her head, a practice she had copied from her school headmistress she looked upon during her fifth standard while sitting on the back bench.

"Brilliant madam, really super idea. No wonder, the director is so fond of you," chimed Spoony Sharma.

The lady's eyes lit up like the headlights of a 10-ton truck on the Agra-Jullundar highway.

She ordered the boys and girls to form a circle on the campus lawn and made them count their number. "Now all the odd numbers step forward and the even numbers stay with me," commanded the lady.

The odd numbered boys and girls were told to run to the canteen and fetch a cup of coffee each, while the even numbered ones were asked to fetch tea.

Drill and discipline were her mantra to sensitize and sanitize the students and prepare them for the rat race they were supposed to join after the graduation.

the drill done, the madam asked the august gathering to wait for her while she went to her workstation to catch up with the latest gossip doing the rounds in the cyberspace.

The madam having left, the boy's surreptiously took out the pint of beer they had hidden in the hip pockets, while the girls busied themselves applying mascara and lipstick.

"Wish the madam takes such breaks every 15 minutes to allow us to replenish our stock of beer from the canteen boy," muttered Moni Motwani. The canteen boy ran a spiritual business under the banner of 'Baba Bholenath' to earn some extra bucks.

"There comes the madam," warned Champak Chowky and the boys hurriedly disposed off the empty cans behind the hedge that lined the campus. The girls assumed their position looking all glum faced, seriousness writ large on their face.

"Good boiis and gals. here we go. Remember what I had told you in the class today? Practice your jigs and jumps to perfection. Only a good jig and a good jump will make you beat the world in the rat race," said the lady in a sombre voice, marking her speech with a baritone cough she had acquired with much practice.

These were parting words before she got into her Toyota Corolla car. She was in a hurry to to reach on time for her jiggy party at the Gymkhana Club.

Back to Music

Homage and Heritage -3

Overwhelmed and humiliated, the anguished Father, bent under the infirmities of age, runs once more to their succour, even like the hen covering her brood under her wings against death. He takes his abode among the sorrowing. He faces the Fiery Ordeal again and again and works miracles. He repeats to them his lasting message: "Not through hatred and ill-will ye shall seek to avenge yourselves. 'Vengeance is mine' sayeth the Lord. Grieve not; forsake your fear; work and strive for goodwill and unity. For know ye who are afflicted, that Love exalteth, Love alone triumphs."

And he gathered them around him evening after evening as was his wont, and prayed with them for the purification of their hearts, beseeching them and admonishing them and instructing them with his words of wisdom and cheer. They gathered in the ancient city under whose precincts mighty empires lay in dust and in whose neighbourhood his Great Predecessor taught Eternal Wisdom to Man from His Chariot on the battlefield.

But so that the Scriptures may be fulfilled, and that the world's Martyrdom may attain its perfection, behold! there comes on the scene, once more, the infamous Ashvathama - the perverse Assassin of Ages, the vile Brahmarakshasa with the eternal wound on his mangled head and condemned to everlasting life of a roving ghost, - the embodiment of the accumulated evil of his race. He comes unrepentant and unrelenting, aye, even with a gusto within, for his unholy design, and accomplishes his foul deed of calculated cold murder before the eyes of a staggered multitude, to the everlasting shame and humiliation of his nation.

To Thee, Father of our Nation! we pay our grateful reverent homage. We salute Thee. We rejoice in the midst of our tears and our shame. We rejoice rather than sorrow and are grateful that the mericful Providence spared Thee to us to accomplish our deliverance, however shameful and agonizing the aftermath. We glory in Thy having walked our earth. For Thou hast given to mankind new values and compelled obeisance from a recalcitrant world by challenging it once again to measure its own stature against them. Thou art indeed in the line of Thy recurring Predecessors - the Great Saviours of mankind. Thou didst come to fulfil the Scriptures and to fulfil the pledge made in the Song Celestial:

"For the protection of the Good, for the descruction of the Wicked, and for the firm establishment of righteousness on Earth, I am born again and again."

Even so through ages hast Thou lived and laboured again and again. All Thy life didst Thou wear Thy Crown of Thorns and dist bear Thy Cross, finding life's final fulfilment in surrendering it as a ransom for our own sins and shortcomings. Greater love, indeed, hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for goodwill among his fellowmen.

We salute Thee, Father of our Nation! None that hath received Thy Light shall walk in darkness.

(End)

Swami Anand

Homage and Heritage - 2

They came from distant lands and from across the seven seas. They came from all parts of the earth. And he taught them all and made them good men and women. Even like one of his great predecessors, - The Guru Gobind - he would make the sparrow hunt down the hawk, but with a different weapon. With patient labours of a lifetime extending over half a century and spread over the entire land, he worked on his people to forge his weapon and to temper it.

Out of dross he made precious metal; out of earth-clods he made material to challenge and defy the might of an insolent empire; to whose people he bore the greatest friendship, and yet whose end he ordained, even as Krishna had ordained the end of the arrogant Jadavas. He called upon the foreigner to quit the land which he had bled white and in which he had worked much inequity.

And behold! For the first time in human history the world witnessed an epic struggle of a whole nation locked for three decades in non-violent combat with the alien rulers so that her chains should break. A saga of peaceful peasantries challenging the might of established authority, armed to the teeth, by refusing to submit to its unjust levies, inviting upon themselves untold sufferings and living under conditions of a siege till the privations turn them and their cattle white; of millions throughout the length and breadth of the country defying salt laws in the face of lathis, tear-gas, horse-hoofs; women refusing to part with their pinch of salt till their bones dislodge; men tying their own hands with iron wires to prevent slackening of their grip on raided salt; of gallant men who would be counted among the very peak of any army, offering to be beaten or pounded to death, by official myrmidons, without so much as raising their eyelids in protest; of statesmen, savants, tribunes of their own people - objects of world adoration, leaders of men and of an age, who would adorn the halls of any international assembly -- accepting cheerfully to surrender long indefinite years of their great lives to be wasted in cold, dark, solitary dungeons on a par with felons; of the nation's Bards pouring forth the agony of an age before sobbing magistrates in crowded court-rooms; of apostles who walked the land bare-foot, broadcasting the New Gospel carrying neither purse nor shoes nor yet staves, pleading guilty against their accusers and urging the courts to inflict on them maximum penalties; of wandering monks offering to starve themselves to death in protest against outraged whomanhood through long agonizing fasts without a trace of ill-will towards the guilty; of frail little men offering to lay down their lives denying themselves in their prison cells all food and water till death do deliver them, and in the meanwhile coasxing their captors to administer 'without blame' 'some suitable poison' when their sufferings did annoy them; of street urchins proudly mounting the gallows after being court-martialled for bold pranks; of village peasants naively facing military reprisals, with no better armour than plywood planks hung in front of their chests; of whole masses of unarmed, undrilled men and women flinging themselves in blind abandon against bayonets, bullets, guns and bombs.

Righteousness the world over wailed in oblivion. Untruth was in excelsis. Naked Fascism masquerading in the garb of aggrieved innocence stalked the land. It maligned virtue with impunity. Truth was lynched. The stars in high heavens wept over the inequities and the vileness of man.

And against it all, in his indiganation, the Father of the Nation lay crouched and twisted on his Bed of Fire for the tenth time, challenging his accusers from behind the prison. And his protest rang through the world pentrating the Iron Curtain. His Great Disciple, who was to him more than his own son, and 'with whom my Father is well pleased', lay in a handful of ashes at the prison corner. And the gentle Mother of the Nation was to meet her millions no more. Outside the prison raged Revolution. The Empire shook, and his mighty accusers trembled. They fell flat. Their chagrin knew no bounds.

And behold! The Titan collapsed under the weight of his own inequities.

And he quitted; but not without upholding the disruptionist who clamoured for rending his own Mother's garments. Freedom came, but Her face was ghastly. Brother flew at the throat of brother, and women wept. Millions were uprooted and flung on the roadside. Men lost all their sense and shame, and they burned and killed and perpetrated unmentionable abominations. Cities swelled with fleeing men and wailing women. They cursed and called aloud for retribution.


(More to follow)

Homage and Heritage: Swami Anand

Two thousand years ago the Prince of Peace atoned for the sins of his fellow-men on earth by mounting the Cross with words of forgiveness and love for his persecutors. And though man felt ashamed and humiliated he did not mend his ways.

The primitive man hunted for food; in the middle ages he killed for glory. The supermen of our age stalked the globe with a technique of slaughter and enslavement in the wake of greed and exploitation. The earth was rent with weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Humanity lay prostrate under the agony of unnamable outrages.

In the midst of all this clash and conflict came, once more, a Wise Man from the East. Like the Good Shepherd he shouldered the ailing sheep, the insulted indentured Indian, toiling far away from home, and comforted him and his tribe. With words soothing and life-giving, he sayeth unto them: "Come ye that grieve and are heavily laden. I bring to you good tidings, --the Gospel of Resistence."

And he shepherded his flock and ministered unto them in their afflictions with tenderness and affection. He taught the worm to turn. He taught little mothers to stand upright and resist racial arrogance and insult, marching with babes in their arms and courting prisons.

He sat among overbearing foreigners and pleaded his people's cause, disarming them with his courtesy and his integrity. He evoked their sympathy with his gentle sufferings and earned a great renown.

And behold, he returns homeward to his own people and concludes with them, once more, a new Covenant: "It has been said by those of old: 'Ye resist not evil', or 'resist evil with evil'. But I say unto you, resist evil within and without you, with the whole might of your soul; resist it with Non-violence, resist it with Truth, resist it without malice. Repent ye, and do penance for your sins, collective as well as individual. Eschew all violence, eschew all hatred, shed all fear and forge yourselves into finest weapnos of resistence. You are the salt of the earth. Ye are to establish once more, by testifying to it in and with your lives in this holy land of synthesis, the supremacy of soul over matter; of God over Mammon; of service over self-interest. And ye are to carry the Gospel of this non-violent resistance to the farthest ends of the earth. In this redeeming task, he who shall lose his life shall find it, and he who shall seek to save his life shall lose it."

And he sayeth unto them again:

"Despise no man; but believe in his innate goodness. Harbour no ill-will against him; only resist the evil that has seized him. Resist and suffer cheerfully with no thought of returning evil for evil. Shun all fear. Be brave and wield the weapon of Truth and non-violence, which is Love abounding. They are but the obverse and reverse of the same coin. To me there is no God other than this. It is my sole weapon and my refuge. And know ye, that it is not the weapon of the weak. It is for the bravest. Learn ye, therefore, to wield it against all your ills. It shall sustain you against the mightiest. For it is forged on the anvil of Love that exalteth and that abideth in God."

And behold! Great multitudes followed him.

And he covered the entire land with his journeys, plying his wheel, and with its thread linked men with men, - whole masses of them.

The toilers came from their fields and spinners from their hovels; fishermen left their nets, tradesmen their counters. Rich men, encumbered with large possessions, came too, in search of solace, and he lightened their burdens. Women came resurrected and awakened to the true dignity of their state. The untouchables came with their limbs withered and their souls crushed under the weight of age-old inequities. And he ministered unto them with all the passion of his soul and made them whole. He made them God's Chosen. Came also the publicans, the hated ones -- servants of Government -- who served the alien rulers and worked against their own country for a mess of pottage. And he called upon them to repent and turned many into humble servants of the dumb millions. Lepers came and he built them shelters and himself washed their wounds. Came also the pharisees, the learned ones, negotiators and peace-mongers. And he suffered them all and treated them with unfailing patience and tenderness.

(This is the first part of an unpublished manuscript of the writings of Swami Anand, a close associate of Mahatma Gandhi)

Ram and Rahim

When in 1906, young barrister Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi launched his satyagraha in South Africa against the discriminatory treatment being meted out to people of Indian origin, his chief lieutenants included Hindus, Muslims, Parsis, Dalits and Christians. Among his colleagues were also Chines, British and Germans. Indeed Gandhi was a Vishwamanav (global citizen) whose quest for truth could not be constricted by the consideration of caste, creed or colour.

When he set up the Satyagraha Ashram on the bank of the Sarbarmati river in Ahmedabad a decade later, Gandhiji nominated Imam Abdul Kadir Bawazeer, a Muslim priest who had courted jail in 1910 as a Satyagrahi in South Africa, as the vice-chairman of the ashram's managing committee. Bawazeer succeeded Gandhiji's secretary Mahadev Desai as the chairman of the ashram after the latter was arrested during the Salt Satyagraha in 1930. And, when Gandhiji was arrested, he nominated 76-year-old Justice Abbas Tayyabji to lead the Salt Satyagraha.

Gandhiji's Satyagraha ashram was a global village. Its inmates included Hindus, Jains, Muslims, Parsis and Christians. Even Miraben, the youngest daughter of an admiral of the British Royal Navy, was an ashram inmate, such broad was Gandhiji's concept of universal brotherhood.

When in 2002, a group of concerned citizens gathered at the satyagraha ashram to discuss ways to promote communal harmony, it was attacked by a mob crying 'Jai Shri Ram'. A few days back, the mob that had destroyed the mausoleum of Vali Deccani, a.k.a Vali Gujarati, the great poet credited with founding the composition of shaayari, was also shouting the same very war cry of 'Jai Shri Ram'.

Gandhiji had popularized the singing of the hymn:
"Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram, Pateet Paavan Sita Ram
Eeshwar, Allah Tere Naam, Sabko Sanmati De Bhagwan"

The Muslim, Christian and Parsi inmates of the satyagraha ashram sang the hymn with equal devotion as it was a prayer to one God who was known by different names and whose blessings the hymn sought so that good sense prevailed among all human beings.

But since December 6, 1992, when fanatic Hindu mobs demolished the Babri mosque at Ayodhya as an act of revenge against the 15th Century Moghul emperor, Babar, the chant of 'Jai Shri Ram' has assumed violent connotation, striking terror among the non-Hindus, specially Muslims whom the Hindu fanatics chided as 'Babar ki Aulad' (Descendants of the Moghul emperor).

Communal Trap

A cornered cat pounces at the throat of the one who has cornered it. Should the Muslims act likewise? Some of them did. The serial bomb blast in Mumbai was in retaliation to the demolition of the Babri mosque. So were several other acts of terrorism. But an act6 of terrorism triggers off state terrorism of greater maginitude. Besides, terrorism alienates the common people from a terrorist outfit.

An act of terrorism by members of the minority community helps reinforce the propaganda by Fascist forces that Muslims are anti-social elements who need to be dealt with an iron hand. It was because of the attack on the Akshardham temple complex in Gandhinagar and the assassinatioin of former home and revenue minister Haren Pandya that the police could terrorize the Muslims by subjecting a large number of youths to torture and then putting them behind bars under the provisions of the draconian POTA.

Violence breeds greater violence. Similarly, communalism of the majority community thrives on communalism of the minority community. Some religious and political leaders seek to encourage and strengthen orthodoxy among the Muslims on the plea that preserving a distinct identity is the only way to survive the onslaught by forces that seek to wipe out Islam. But by doing so, they add fuel to the fire of communalism on which Fascist forces thrive.

Another tendency seen among a few Muslim leaders is to accept the supremacy of the majority community and be rewarded with a share in power. Such Muslim leaders, who accept positions in the government or in the ruling party, play a second fiddle to the top leadership and come in handy for the Fascist regimes to tom-tom their 'secular' credentials. As happens with any fifth columnist, they become a subject of abject contempt among their own community even as their loyalty remains suspect in the eyes of the majority community.

A vast majority of Muslims are poor and illiterate, making them vulnerable to the machinations of politicians and the clergy. Politicians, irrespective of their party affiliations, view Muslims as a conglomerate of various monolithic, closely-knit clans each controlled by clerics and/or community leaders. In times of elections, politicians seek the support of these clerics and community leaders, who act as power-brokers.

Politicians, clerics and community leaders have shown little interest in the welfare and uplift of the common Muslims. On the contrary, they seem to have a vested-interest in keeping the masses illiterate and their attention diverted from such burning issues as education, poverty, unemployment, social and economic justice. The same holds true for the Hindutva forces too.

Karl Marx had described religion as the opiate of masses. The followers of Savarkar, Godse and Modi are proving Marx right in Gandhi's Gujarat.

Hate Campaign

Though there appears to be a surface calm in Gujarat, the Modi government and the Sangh Parivar continue to target the Muslims. The state government is out to subverting the process of justice to ensure that no one involved in the 2002 carnage is punished. The Best Bakery case in a glaring example of this. In the Best Bakery case, the session's court has acquitted all the 21 accused of killing 14 hapless people, including women and children, after the key witnesses were coerced by the local BJP MLA and his municipal councilor brother into retracting their statement. Similar has been the fate of most of the cases of heinous crimes in which BJP, VHP and RSS activists are the accused.

While those who had committed murder, rape, loot and arson are roaming fearlessly, the police is hunting down Muslim youths, foisting trumped up charges against them and arresting them under the draconian Prevention of Terrorist Activities Act (POTA). In most of the POTA cases, the charge leveled against the detained person is the same that he had been recruited by Pakistan's intelligence agency, ISI, after the Godhra carnage, taken to Pakistan, trained there in terror tactics and brought back to Gujarat to attack Hindu places of worship and kill leaders of the BJP and VHP.

In times of communial violence in Gujarat, the language press sheds its yellow and dons deep saffron. The Gujarati press has proved time and again that pen is mightier than a trishul (trident). With scant regard for journalistic ethics, the Gujarati press has been adding fuel to the fire by whipping up communal passions.

The Muslims in Gujarat are a hounded lot, condemned by the ruling party politicians (BJP and its VHP-RSS allies), a partisan police force and civil administration and a belligerent press. If this is not Fascism, what is it?

Saffron Surge

But it was chiefly because of some retrogressive action of the Congress government like the decision to nullify the Supreme Court's judgment on the Shah Bano case through an ordinance and Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi's move to throw open the Babri mosque for the devotees of Lord Ram, that gave a shot in the arm to communal elements among both the Hindus and Muslims.

It was Prime Minister V P Singh's decision to implement the recommendation of the Mandal commission on socially and economically backward classes that hastened the BJP to take up the issue of Ramjanmabhoomi temple in Ayodhya, lest the coming together of all the depressed classes - harijans, advisasis, other backward classes (OBCs) becomes a formidable obstacle to the Sangh Parivar's dream of turning India into a Hindurashtra.

The Sangh Parivar systematically went about recruiting and mobilizing harijans, adivasis and members of other backward classes for the Ramajanmabhoomi campaign. Through the campaign, the Sangh Parivar managed to 'sanskritize' and bring under the fold of Hindutva members of those communities who had been suffering the humiliation of untouchability for centuries. When the bricks meant for the construction of the Ram temple in Ayodhya were consecrated in a Dalit colony or a slum, those who participated in the ceremony felt equal to the caste Hindus.

Simultaneously, the Ramjanmabhoomi campaign portrayed the Muslims as 'enemies' of the country who had no place in the Hindurashtra. The Indian Constitution had rejected the two-nation theory by adopting secularism. Hence, what could not be achieved through constitutional means, the Sangh Parivar sought to achieve through unconstitutional and extra-parliamentary means by driving a communal wedge in the Indian society.

Polarization of society on communal lines has vastly benefited the BJP as is evident from the increasing strength of its members in both the Parliament and the various state assemblies. The communal carnage, which triggered off the ghastly memories of Nazi concentration camps, that shattered Gujarat between February and April 2002, was translated into a mandate for chief minister Narendra Modi to rule the state for yet another five years.

The Gujarat assembly election results porten a serious threat to the secular India because the BJP and its extra-parliamentary allies, the VHP, the Bajrang Dal and the RSS, have made it amply clear that they will be trying out the 'Gujarat Experiment' in the elections to the assemblies of six states later this year as also in the parliamentary general elections the next year.

Hey Ram

Savarkar had seeded the idea of partition by propounding the theory of 'Hindurashtra' in the 1920s, much before Mohammed Ali Jinnha came up with his two-nation theory. When the country was partitioned in 1947 and India decided to remain a secular state, the followers of Savarkar were angered that India had not become a 'Hindurashtra'. So, one of them, Nathuram Godse, killed Mahatma Gandhi who was a living symbol of universal brotherhood and secular India.

The Muslims who had opted for Pakistan were far less in number than those who had chosen to stay back in India. It was their conscious decision to opt for the citizenship of a secular and democratic nation. But for the followers of Savarkar's ideology, a secular and democratic India was neither palatable nor acceptable. They had no reasons to celebrate either the Independence Day or the Republic Day.

When the Union government banned the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) and the Hindu Mahasabha after the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi, there was no sympathy for the Hindutva forces. The dogmatic Hindutva was stoutly rejected by the country's diverse religious, linguistic and ethnic people, who have had coexisted peacefully for centuries, enriching their respective cultural heritage through inter-mingling and sharing.

The Hindutva forces, represented in the political arenda by the erstwhile Jan Sangh (renamed later as the Bharatiya Janata Party), were rebuffed by the Indian electorate in all the successive elections to the Parliament and various state legislative assemblies but for the elections held in 1977.

The 1977 general elections proved a turning point in the post-independence political history of India. The elections were held under the shadow of a dictatorial rule. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, indicted by a court for indulging in corruption during her election and facing a country-wide protest movement led by youths, had declared a state of emergency and suspended all the fundamental rights of the citizens, gagging the press, arresting her opponents and unleashing a reign of terror.

The Indian voters expressed their anger against the dictatorial rule through the ballot papers, routing the Congress party and electing to power the Janata Party, a newly formed coalition of opposition parties. Mainly because they had joined the Janata coalition that most of the Jan Sangh leaders got elected to the Parliament.

It was a negative vote against the dictatorial rule of Mrs. Indira Gandhi and not a positive vote for the Hindutva ideology that helped the Jan Sangh gain political legitimacy in the country. When the Janata government fell due to bickering among the constituentsand fresh elections were held, people voted Mrs. Gandhi and her Congress party back to power. The biggest loser was the Jan Sangh that had renamed itself as Bharatiya Janata Party. Only two BJP candidates managed to win their seats in the Lok Sabha.

From the subsequent events and developments, it would become clear that the BJP gained more political mileage from the follies of the Congress than from the popularity of the Hindutva ideology. It was because of fragmentation of opposition votes due to the presence of a large number of political parties in the election fray that the Congress was managing to win a majority in the Parliament and in state assemblies. Else, the popularity of the Congress party was fast depleting on account of corruption in high places, rising inflation, the culture of sycophancy and perpetuation of one family rule - that of Mrs. Indira Gandhi.

Partitioning Hearts - Part II

How could the armed mobs, out on the roads to retaliate the killings of VHP activists, track down Muslim business establishments throughout the state in a matter of hours?

The VHP leader Pravin Togadia's disclosure in an interview he had given me for the Calcutta daily, The Telegraph, on January 10, 1992, flashed through my mind. Togadia had boasted that the VHP had undertaken a census and land record survey to take stock of the real estate ownership pattern among Hindus and Muslims in over 18,000 villages, towns and cities of the state.

The survey, he said, would provide the VHP leadership with the necessary data that would help formulate short-term and long-term strategies for 'protecting' the interests of the Hindu community in 'sensitive' areas.

The survey, he said, would help the VHP draw up a 'boundary' line in all the major towns and cities beyond which the Muslims would not be allowed to expand. "We will establish border check posts manned by Bajrang Dal volunteers to instill a sense of security among the Hindus," he had disclosed in the interview.

The large-scale rioting that occurred in the run up to the demolition of the Babri mosque in Ayodhya on December 6, 1992 and thereafter witnessed how property owned by the Muslims were mde target by arsonists and plundering mobs.

By drawing up a boundary line, the VHP is trying to create a 'Hindustan' and a 'Pakistan' in almost all the villages and towns of Gujarat, the birthplace of Mahatma Gandhi who lived and died for love, peace and non-violence.

The VHP has put up signboards at the entry points of all major towns in the state welcoming visitors to 'Hindurashtra's such and such town.' The unstated message in these signboards is louder: The country belongs only to the Hindus; all others have place in it.

(Part I)

A Leaf from Mein Kampf - Part I

One had only read about Fascism and Nazism in books of history and fiction. But had never experienced living under a Fascist state. One had lived under the constant fear of arrest and police torture during the 19 months of the Emergency. But what the Muslims in Gujarat experienced in 2002 must have been much more dreadful than that.

There were massacres of Muslims, gang rapes of Muslim women and looting and arson of shops and establishments belonging to them.

Armed mobs, led by known Bharatiya Janata Party and Vishwa Hindu Parishad workers, were on a killing spree, targeting Muslims to avenge the burning alive of over 50 VHP volunteers returning from Ayodhya by train on February 27 near the Godhra railway station.

Instead of providing protection to the Muslims, the police aided and abetted the killer mobs. Worse, the police refused to file First Information Reports in several cases and where it became unavoidable to register a case, the FIRs were so doctored as to help the killers, rapists, arsonists and looters escape unpunished.

Gujarat had become unsafe for Muslims. Hundreds of Muslims fled their homeland, Gujarat, after the mayhem. Many enterprising, forward-looking, well-to-do Muslims, like the members of the Chelia clan from north Gujarat, who owned over 400 restaurants, most of them serving only vegetarian food and bearing pronouncedly Hindu names, sold their establishments to move to Hyderabad and Bangalore.

These popular restaurants, other shops and business establishments doing flourishing business in Ahmedabad and elsewhere in central and north Gujarat were singled out, plundered and then set on fire by the Hindu mobs in the aftermath of the Godhra carnage.

(Introduction)

When It Rained Blood - Introduction

When I returned to Gujarat after eight years, in June 2002, the muddy water of the Sabarmati River had already turned bloody. The sword of the Saffron Brigade had drawn enough blood from Muslim men, women and children to redden the azure blue water of the Narmada that had been fed into the Sabarmati.

The Sangh Parivar, comprising the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), the Bajrang Dal and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), had exploded the saffron bomb successfully in Gujarat to prove before the world that Mahatma Gandhi, the apostle of peace and non-violence, can be defeated in his own home land.

The Sangh Parivar had been preparing to wage a war against the humanity since 1920 when its ideologue Savarkar propounded the theory of 'Hindurashtra' (Hindu nation). When in 1947, their dream to convert India into a Hindurashtra failed, the Sangh Parivar contracted Nathuram Godse to kill Gandhi, who symbolized universal brotherhood.

The next assault on secular India was made on December 6,1992 when a fifteenth century mosque was razed to the ground by a fanatic mob, a section of which had been trained in demolition techniques in a camp in Gujarat.

Having covered Gujarat as a journalist for over two decades, I was a witness to the Sangh Parivar's Fascist methods and its devastating effects on the life and psyche of the people. I will try here to trace the roots of fascism that culminated in the genocide of 2002.

ऐसे बिकते हैं केसरिया पेडे

(यह लेख १९९९ में उस समय लिखा गया था जब पोप की भारत यात्रा पर संघ परिवार ने देश भर में भारी उहापोह मचाई थी)

नागपुर स्थित संघ मुख्यालय के फोन की घंटी सुबह तीन बजे बज उठी. गुरूजी ने झुंझलाकर फोन उठाया और भर्राई आवाज में गुर्राए, "कौन बदतमीज है?"

"क्षमा प्रार्थी हूं गुरुजी. मैं दिल्ली से गोविंद बोल रहा हूं. मामला इतना संगीन है कि इतनी देर रात को आपको कष्ट दे रहा हूं," सामने से घिघियाता हुआ जवाब मिला.

"जल्दी बको, इतना सुंदर सपना देख रहा था, सारा गुड गोबर कर दिया. कहे देता हूं कि यदि फालतू बात के लिए तुमने फोन किया है तो तुम्हें वापस नागालैंड भेज दूंगा. दिल्ली की बहुत हवा खा ली तुमने," गुरुजी गुर्राए.

"गुरुजी, आप तो मुझे तब से जानते हैं जब मुझे ठीक से निक्कर पहनना भी नहीं आता था. मुझे पागल कुत्ते ने नहीं काटा जो बेवजह आपकी नींद खराब करने की हिमाकत करूं. बात यह है कि हमारे जासूसों ने खबर दी है कि वेटिकन के धर्मगुरू ने भारत आने की टिकट कटा ली है. हमारी गीदड भभकियों का उन पर कोई असर नहीं हुआ. अब यदि यह फिरंगी गुरु यहां आता है तो अपनी दुकानदारी का क्या होगा?" गोविंद गिडगिडाते हुए बोला.

"अरे मूरख, तुम्हें भाजपा में क्या भेज दिया, तुम्हारी अकल घास चरने चली गई. शाखा में दी गई शिक्षा भूल गए? हमारी दुकानदारी की सबसे बडी खूबी यही है कि वह प्रतियोगी के बिना नहीं चलती. हमारा केसरिया पेडा तभी बिकेगा जब भोले-भाले ग्राहकों को हम यह बताएंगे कि पडोस के हलवाई की हरी बर्फ़ी में गाय की चर्बी मिली है और इटालियन पिज्जा में सूअर का गोश्त," गुरुजी ने जम्हाई लेते हुए कहा.

"लेकिन गुरुजी, अपने यहां करोडों ऐसे लोग हैं जो सब्जियां महंगी होने के कारण हमारी तरह शुद्ध शाकाहारी नहीं बन पाए हैं. वे तो इन बातों से भुलावे में नहीं आने वाले," गोविंद झिझकते हुए बोला.
'रहोगे तुम निपट मूरख ही. सयाने होते तो अब तक नागपुर मुख्यालय में प्रबंध संघ चालक बन गए होते और मेरी तरह आराम से शुद्ध गाय के शुद्ध दूध से बने पेडे खाते. देश भर के करोडों निक्कर धारियों से गुरु-दक्षिणा वसूल करते, सो अलग," गुरुजी ने गोविंद को फटकार लगाई.

"क्षमा करें प्रभो. दिल्ली में प्रतिदिन प्रेस कोन्फ़्रेन्स संबोधित करने के कारण मेरी मति मारी गई है. मेरी जड हो चुकी बुद्धि में आपकी बात ठीक से नहीं घुस पा रही है. केसरिया पेडे की बिक्री से हरी बर्फ़ी और इटालियन पिज्ज का क्या लेना-देना? महेरबानी कर मुझ गंवार को थोडा ग्यान दें," गोविंद लज्जित होने की मुद्रा में बोला.

"तो सुनो और मैं जो कहता हूं उसे अपनी सिंगापुर से स्मगल की हुई डिजिटल डायरी में नोट कर लो. लगता है तुम्हें अब स्वर्गीय श्री गुरु गोलमालकरजी महाराज के १००१ ब्रह्मवाक्यों की कम्पैक्ट डिस्क देनी ही पडेगी ताकि आगे अपने धंधे के मूलभूत सिद्धांतो को तो न ही भूलो," गुरुजी ने गोविंद को फिर एक बार फटकार लगाई.

"गुरुजी, एक मिनट, मैं फोन से लगा टेप रेकार्डर ओन कर लूं. हां, अब ठीक है, आप के हर सूत्र वाक्यों को मैं रेकार्ड कर रहा हूं ताकि इसे हर रोज सुबह, ध्वज वंदन के समय सुन सकूं," गोविंद ने विनीत स्वर में कहा.

गुरुजी ने खंखार कर गला साफ़ किया, पास पडे तांबे के लोटे में रखा केसर-मिश्रित दूध का एक घूंट भरा, और बोलने लगे:

"हम जिस केसरिया पेडे की लोगों में आदत लगाना चाहते हैं उसकी खासियत यह है कि उसे लोग तभी मजबूरी में खाते हैं जब उनमें दूसरे व्यंजनों के प्रति भय पैदा किया जाए. हरी बर्फ़ी और इटालियन पिज्जा बेचने वाले भी यही करते हैं. सबकी दुकानदारी एक-दूसरे के माल के प्रति लोगों में आशंका उत्पन्न करने से ही चलती है. यदि बाजार में हरी बर्फ़ी और इटालियन पिज्जा न हों, तो केसरिया पेडा कोई नहीं खरीदेगा."

"केसरिया पेडे ही क्या, सभी रंगों की मिठाइयों की मार्केटिंग की रणनीति का यह एक मात्र शास्वत मंत्र है. अब तुम वह टेप रिकार्डर बंद कर दो तो तुम्हें अति गोपनीय बात बताता हूं जिसे सिर्फ़ देश के सर्वोच्च पद पर विराजमान पंडितजी एवं खूफ़िया विभाग का संचालन करने वाले मालपानीजी ही जानते हैं," गुरुजी ने फोन के माउथपीस को धोती में लपेट कर फुसफुसाते हुए कहा.

जब वे इस बात से आश्वस्त हो गए कि गोविंद ने टेप रेकार्डर बंद कर दिया है तो गुरुजी बोले, "वेटिकन के धर्मगुरु को यहां आने का निमंत्रण मैंने ही दिया था. ताकि वे आएं और इटालियन पिज्जा की खूब जोर-शोर से मार्केटिंग करें. हमारी वानर सेना तो तैयार ही बैठी है कि कब पिज्जा का कैम्पेन शुरु हो कि उसके खिलाफ़ प्रचार अभियान प्रारंभ करें. वैसे भी त्योहारों का मौसम चल रहा है. अपने केसरिया पेडे होट केक की तरह बिक जाएंगे."

जब आम ने सेब का काम किया

मैंने कभी सेब नहीं खाया था, फिर भी मुझे लडके-लडकी वाला प्यार हो गया.
हमारे गांव में सेब मिलता ही नहीं था. हां, केला, पपीता, कटहल, अमरूद, बेर, चीकू, इमली प्रचूर मात्रा में फलते-मिलते थे.
मुझे जहां तक याद है, जिस दिन मुझे लडके-लडकी वाला प्यार पहली-पहली बार हुआ, उस दिन मैंने पडोसी के बगीचे से आम चुरा कर खाए थे और इस कारण शाम को मां से चार-पांच थप्पड भी खाए थे.
मैंने उस लडकी को भी चुराए हुए आमों में से एक यह कह कर दिया था कि यदि वह मेरे पास वाली सीट पर बैठे तो मैं उसे रोज आम दिया करुंगा.
वह खिल-खिल कर हंस दी और अपने दांतों बीच आम फंसा कर भाग खडी हुई. बस, उसी दिन मुझे मेरा पहला-पहला प्यार मिला. कच्चे आम की तरह कुछ खट्टा, कुछ मीठा.
बरसों बाद जब मैंने आदम और हौआ की कहानी पढी तब जा कर पता चला कि सेब एक वर्जित फल है, जिसे खाना पाप है, क्योंकि इसे खाने से लडका-लडकी अपनी मासूमियत खो देते हैं और उन्हें प्यार हो जाता है.
आदम और हौआ के जमाने में पडोसियों के बगीचे में शायद सेब ही फलते हों, आम नहीं. तर्कशास्त्र का विद्यार्थी होने के कारण मैंने मान लिया कि लडका-लडकी का प्यार होने के लिए वर्जित फल खाना जरूरी है.
जैसे परीक्षा में चोरी करना वर्जित है, वैसे चोरी किया हुआ फल भी वर्जित है. इसीलिए मेरे लिए चुराए हुए आम ने वही काम किया जो एक सेब ने आदम और हौआ के लिए किया था. मन में पाप के बीज बोने का.
चोरी करना पाप है, यह तो समझ में आता है. लेकिन प्यार करना क्यों पाप है यह बात मैं आज तक नहीं समझ पाया.
जिस धर्म ग्रंथ में मैंने सेब की खूबियों के बारे में पढा था उसी पुस्तक में यह भी लिखा था कि मनुष्य का पहला धर्म है अपने पडोसी को प्यार करना. मैंने पडोसी होने के धर्म को बखूबी निभाने में कोई कसर नहीं छोडी.
धर्म ग्रंथ में यह भी जोर देकर कहा गया है कि अपने से कमजोर व्यक्ति को आपके प्यार का पहला हकदार मानना चाहिए. सो मैंने पडोस के हट्टे-कट्ठे हम उम्र लडकों के बजाए, पडोस की कमजोर, कमसिन कन्याओं से मेल जोल बढाने के प्रयास शुरू कर दिए.
मैंने पाया कि मेरे क्लास की सबसे सुन्दर कन्या पढने में सबसे कमजोर थी. भूगोल में गोल और गणित में शून्य थी. मैंने दोनों विषयों में उसे नि:शुल्क ट्यूशन देना शुरू कर दिया.
भूगोल समझने तथा समझाने के लिए हमारे पास रमणीय स्थलों की कोई कमी न थी. पास ही एक नदी थी, एक छोटी पहाडी थी, खेत-खलिहान थे और ऐसे निर्जन स्थल थे जहां का पता सिर्फ़ मुझे ही मालूम था.
जहां तक गणित का सवाल था, हम 7-7 सबसे नजर चुराकर 9-2-11 होना बखूबी सीख गए थे. लेकिन प्रेम के ढाई अक्षर को हम पूरी तरह से सीख पाते इससे पहले उस कोमल कन्या के निष्ठुर पिता का तबादला हो गया और वह अपने बाबुल के साथ दूसरे शहर चली गई. बुलबुल के इस प्रकार अचानक उड जाने से मेरे मन का पंछी उदास और अकेला हो गया.
आजकल भी मैं आम खाता हूं, मगर खरीद कर. इसीलिए शायद चुराए हुए आम का असर नहीं मिल पाता.

इक्कीसवीं सदी के महामानव

[यह लेख प्रियंका गांधी तथा चंद्रबाबु नायडु को एक अंग्रेजी अखबार द्वारा इक्कीसवीं सदी के व्यक्ति घोषित करने पर लिखा गया]

"इक्कीसवीं शताब्दी का व्यक्ति कहलाने के लिए कौन सी खूबियाँ होनी जरूरी है? अगले साल मैं भी तो २५ वर्ष का हो जाउँगा. फिर यह खिताब मुझे क्यों नहीं मिलना चाहिए?"मोन्टू ने सुबह-सुबह जब यह सवाल दागा तो मैं सोचने को मजबूर हो गया. "आखिर मेरे बेटे में क्या कमी है कि उसे यह खिताब न दिया जाए? वह भी जवान है, वह भी कम्प्यूटर से दिन-रात चिपका रहता है, वह भी दिन में सुनहरे सपने देखता है. उसमें वे सभी खूबियाँ हैं जो एक इक्कीसवीं सदी के युवक में होनी चाहिए."सवेरे अखबार में प्रथम पृष्ट पर दो फोटो चिपकी हुई थीं, जिन्हें देख कर मेरी १४ वर्षीय बेटी के मुँह से बरबस निकल गया था - पापा देखो 'ब्यूटी एन्ड द बीस्ट'. तब तो मैंने उसे यह कह कर डाँट दिया था कि बडे लोगों के बारे में ऐसी बात नहीं करते.मगर जब मैंने नित्यकर्म निपटाते हुए इस बात पर गहन चिंतन किया तो लगा कि बिटिया ने बात तो ठीक ही कही थी. जिन दो हस्तियों की फोटो अखबार के पहले पन्ने पर लगी थीं उसका शीर्षक 'ब्यूटी एन्ड द बीस्ट' होता तो ज्यादा उपयुक्त होता. अखबार अंग्रेजी का था, सो अनुवाद करने की खटपट भी नहीं. इसे पढकर पाठक का मन पुलकित भी हो जाता.
लेकिन फोटो का विवरण बता रहा था कि ये तस्वीरें अगली सदी के महानुभावों की हैं. जिसे मेरी बेटी ब्यूटी बता रही थी वह वाकई मोनालिसा और सोफिया लॉरेन के सौंदर्य का संतुलित सम्मिश्रण लग रही थी. इटली के सुप्रसिद्ध चित्रकार की जगविख्यात कलाकृति एवं इटली की चिरयौवना फिल्म अभिनेत्री से जिसकी तुलना करने का मन हो जाए उसका संबंध भी कहीं न कहीं इटली से जरूर जुडा होना चाहिए.
तस्वीर के इटालियन कनेक्शन को सुलझाने की उधेडबुन में मैंने टूथपेस्ट को शेविंग क्रीम समझकक़्र दाढी पर लगा लिया. नाश्ता करते हुए मैंने आखिर अपने बेटे से उस तस्वीर वाली यौवना का परिचय पूछ ही लिया.
"अरे ! आप इसे नहीं जानते? अपने आपको देश का प्रथम परिवार कहलाने वाले खानदान की यह एक मात्र कुलदीपा है. आप किस दुनिया में रहते हैं,पापा?" मेरे एक मात्र कुलदीपक मोन्टू ने मेरे कमजोर सामान्य ज्ञान पर अपनी गहरी चिंता व्यक्त करते हुए कहा.
"इसके नाम के पीछे भी राष्ट्रपिता के खानदान का नाम जुडा हुआ है. मगर बापू से इसका दूर का भी रिश्ता नहीं है. हाँ, बापू के नाम पर दुकानदारी करने वाले राजनेता 'नरो वा कुंजरो वा' की तरह इस बारे में चुप्पी बनाए रहते हैं, विशेषकर तब जब वे जनता के सामने वोट माँगने निकलते हैं," मोन्टू ने इस विस्मयकारी व्यक्तित्व को और भी अधिक रहस्यमय बनाते हुए कहा.
मुझे मोन्टू के सामान्य ज्ञान पर गर्व और अपनी अनभिज्ञता पर शर्म महसूस हुई. 'नरो वा कुंजरो वा' की उक्ति से तो मैं मोन्टू के संस्कृत ज्ञान से भी प्रभावित हो गया.
मगर दाढी बनाते समय जिस इटालियन कनेक्शन का ख्याल मेरे दिमाग में कौंधा था उसका हल निकाल पाना मोन्टू के भी बस की बात नहीं है. यह सोचकर मैंने अपनी उर्वरक बुद्धि का रौब जमाने के लिए मोन्टू से पूछा,"अच्छा, यह बूझो तो जानें कि तुम कितने अकलमंद हो. मोनालिसा, सोफिया लॉरेन और इस ललना में क्या साम्य है?"
"यह भी कोई सवाल हुआ? ये तीनों महिलाएँ सुबह नाश्ते में पिज्जा खाती हैं, दूध और जलेबी नहीं," मोन्टू तपाक से बोला.
मोन्टू के जवाब ने मुझे लाजवाब कर दिया. मैंने अपनी गंजी खोपडी पर हाथ फेरते हुए गहन चिंतन करने का अभिनय शुरू किया. मुझे इस प्रकार घेर पाने में सफल होने पर मोन्टू मुस्कुराया.
"अच्छा पापा, अब आप बताओ यह खिचडी दाढी वाला कौन है जिसे मुन्नी बीस्ट कह रही थी?" मोन्टू ने पहला सवाल फेंका. मैंने सवाल अनसुना कर दिया. मगर मोन्टू मुझे ऐसे कैसे जाने देता.
"एक संकेत देता हूँ. यह बम्बइया फिल्मों के खलनायक का चमचा-सा दिखने वाला दढियल, तेलुगु सिनेमा के अब तक के सर्वाधिक लोकप्रिय अभिनेता-राजनेता का दामाद है. और आजकल 'किंग मेकर' के रूप में पहचाना जाना पसंद करता है," मोन्टू ने मुझे चुनौती दी.
"देखो मोन्टू, मुझे न अभिनय में रुचि है न ही अभिनेता से नेता बने नायकों में ही कोई रुचि है. हाँ, बचपन में जरूर नौटंकी, सरकस देखे थे," मैंने मोन्टू से आँख चुराते हुए कहा. आज यह लडका मेरे सामान्य ज्ञान की परीक्षा लेकर ही मानेगा.
"ठीक है पापा, मैं कथा पुराणों से उदाहरण दे कर एक और हिंट देता हूँ. महाभारत में जैसे राज के लिए भाई-भाई लडे थे, आंध्र में ससुर-दामाद का द्वंद्व हुआ था. दामाद की जीत हुई तथा सास-ससुर को राजनीतिक वनवास लेना पडा," मोन्टू ने आँखें मटकाते हुए कहा.
"मोन्टू अब बस करो. यह मेरी उम्र नहीं है पहेलियाँ बूझने की. और सुनो, ये ब्यूट एन्ड बीस्ट जो भी हों, एक बात मैं बेशक कह सकता हूँ कि उन्होंने कभी अपने बाप से पहेलियाँ नहीं पूछी होंगी. इसीलिए तो तुम तुम रह गए और ये दोनों इक्कीसवीं सदी के व्यक्ति चुने गए," मैंने बहस पर पूर्णविराम लगाने के अंदाज में कहा और छाता उठाए घर से बाहर निकल गया.

जो जीता वही सिकंदर

मुझे पहली बार लडके-लडकी वाला प्यार छह साल की उम्र में ही हो गया था. हमारे गाँव की दो लडकियों से. जी हाँ, एक साथ दो-दो लडकियों से. दोनों ही मेरी क्लास में पढती थीं.
चूँकि इन तीस साल में हम तीनों शादीशुदा हो चुके है और हमारे बच्चे भी प्यार करने की उम्र के हो चुके हैं मैं अपने पहले प्यार को मधु और सुधा के नाम से पुकारूँगा. ऐसा करने से न उनके पतियों को, न मेरी पत्नी को और न ही हमारे बच्चों को हमारे उस निर्मल्, निश्छल पहले प्यार पर कीचड उछालने का मौका मिलेगा.
मधु, सुधा और मैं साथ-साथ स्कूल जाते थे, क्लास में पास-पास बैठते थे, और स्कूल छूटने के बाद साथ ही घर लौटते थे. मधु और सुधा के साथ खेलने का सिर्फ मुझे ही अधिकार था. मजाल है कि कोई दूसरा लडका उनके साथ खेलने की जुर्रत करे. वैसे ही किसी तीसरी लडकी को मेरे साथ खेलने का अधिकार मधु और सुधा ने नहीं दे रखा था.
मगर मधु और सुधा के बीच मुझे लेकर कोई विवाद नहीं था. विवाद की कोई गुंजाइश भी नहीं थी. मेरी नजर में दोनों का महत्व समान था, भूमिकाएं अलग-अलग थीं. हम रोज घरौंदा खेलते थे. मधु मेरी घरवाली बनती थी, तो सुधा मेरी प्रेमिका. किसी दिन जब सुधा को घरवाली बनने का मन करता था तो मधु प्रेमिका बन जाती थी. यह सिलसिला दो साल तक बिना किसी तकरार के चला. फिर पिताजी गाँव छोडकर शहर आ गए.
शहर की स्कूल में मैं वर्षा का दीवाना बन गया. मैं थोडा सयाना हो गया था, जितना कि किसी दस साल के लडके को होना चाहिए उतना. शहर आने के बाद पहली बार सिनेमा देखा, कौन सी फिल्म थी यह तो याद नहीं. इतना जरूर याद है कि एक पुरुष और स्त्री हर दस-पंद्रह मिनट में बांहों में बांहें डाल कर गाते और नाचते थे. मुझे फिल्म की नायिका की सूरत कुछ-कुछ वर्षा जैसी नजर आई. वर्षा भी उस हिरोइन की तरह दो चोटी रखती थी. बात करते समय उस हिरोइन की तरह आंखें भी मटकाती थी.
मैंने भी फिल्म से प्रेरित हो कर हीरो की स्टाइल में अपने बाल संवारने शुरू कर दिए. सामने की जुल्फों को गुब्बारे की तरह फुलाने के बाद मुझे यकीन होने लगा कि मेरी सूरत भी उस हीरो जैसी नजर आती है. (जब एक दिन वर्षा ने भी मेरी हेयर स्टाइल की तारीफ की तो मुझे पूरा विश्वास हो गया कि मैं सचमुच हीरो जैसा दिखता हूँ.)
वर्षा का घर स्कूल के रास्ते में पडता था. मैं रोज शाम वर्षा के घर होमवर्क पूरा करने के बहाने चला जाता था. उसके पडोस में हमारी ही क्लास का एक लडका दिनेश रहता था. दिनेश मुझसे लंबा-तगडा तो था ही, स्कूल की क्रिकेट टीम का कप्तान भी था.
प्राय: रोज वर्षा के घर जाते समय मुझे दिनेश गली के नुक्कड पर दूसरे लडकों के साथ क्रिकेट या गुल्ली-डंडा खेलते हुए दिख जाता था. वैसे दिनेश ने मुझे कभी कुछ कहा तो नहीं, लेकिन उसकी आंखें हर बार गुर्रा कर मुझे दो-दो हाथ कर लेने के लिए ललकारती थीं. मैं नजरें झुकाकर चुपचाप आगे बढ लेता था.
एक रोज जब मैं वर्षा के घर की ओर जा रहा था कि अचानक मेरी पीठ पर कोडे जैसी मार लगी. मैं दर्द के मारे चीख पडा. पीठ पर मानों जलता हुआ कोयला दागा हो, ऐसी जलन हो रही थी. मैं ने पीछे मुडकर देखा तो मुहल्ले के छोकरे खी-खी कर हँस रहे थे. मेरे कुछ दूर रबर की एक गेंद पडी हुई थी. दिनेश हाथ में क्रिकेट का बल्ला लिए विकेट के पास खडा ठहाके लगा रहा था.
उसके लगाए फटके से ही वह गेंद मेरी पीठ पर गोली की तरह आ लगी थी. मैं तिलमिला गया. लेकिन चुपचाप खून के घूँट पी गया. और कर भी क्या सकता था? थोडा आगे चल कर, इस बात से आश्वस्त हो कर कि कोई नहीं देख रहा, मैंने अपने आँसू कमीज की बाँह से पोछ डाले.
मैं वर्षा के घर आ पहुँचा. होमवर्क पूरा कर मैंने वर्षा को यह कह कर अपने साथ मेरे घर चलने को कहा कि आज माँ ने आईसक्रीम बनाई है. वर्षा खुशी के मारे झूम उठी और झटपट कपडे बदल कर मेरे साथ निकल पडी.
नुक्कड के करीब पहुँचने पर मैंने वर्षा का हाथ अपने हाथ में थाम लिया. उसने मेरी ओर देखा और मुस्कुराने लगी. वह मेरे और पास आ गई. हम दोनों यूँ ही हाथ में हाथ फँसा कर चलने लगे.
नुक्कड पर दिनेश कुछ छोकरों के साथ खडा था. मैंने दिनेश की आंखों में आंखे गडा दीं. इस बार दिनेश ने चुपचाप अपनी नजरें झुका लीं, एक हारे हुए खिलाडी की तरह्.

Messenger of Doom

The timing was uncanny. The day my wife left me for the children, I got my 24 X 7 Net connection. Without realizing the impending danger, I logged on to the wilderness of the Net.

The first visible symptom of the looming calamity was insomnia.“Ting-tong”, a messenger window would pop up at devilish intervals. “Cuckoo”, an unauthorized cyber squatter would squeal, in a desperate effort to find a soul mate in the cyber space.

In no time, I found my sole mate, who checkmated me in just a few moves that even a grandmaster could not have strategised in wildest of his dreams. She masqueraded herself as a sibling but her ulterior agenda of life was to become the darling of nerds – both veterans and greenhorns.Sibling-turned-darling was her favourite screen name. She had multiple screen names to achieve multiple tasks and targets. And, her favourite hunting ground was the voice chat rooms of romantically-inclined netizens, whose cooing and crooning evoked ecstatic oomphs and aahs and an occasional vaah, vaah.

Vulnerable would be the apt description of my state of mind, when an innocuous ‘Hi’ chimed in on the messenger window one lazy Sunday morning. Someone, with filial yet fatal feeling was trying to reach out to me.

Though fed upon Jim Corbett’s jungle lore, I failed to read the message loud and clear that the call of the cat was in fact a hunter’s ruse to lure the prey and not that of a lonely tigress tempting a tiger for a date.

A click on the messenger window did me in. A pair of shimmering brown eyes shrouded behind a veil was how she appeared on the screen, enticing and intriguing. ‘If you ever come across a serpent, don’t look into the eyes, the reptile would hypnotize you,’ a wildlife enthusiast friend had advised me.

Had I heeded the advice, I could have been saved. I was fated to be doomed. There followed a cat-n-mouse game. Some pow-vow, and some ohs and ahs. “Welcome back”, would be her refrain every time I logged on to the Net. A warm welcome indeed, a courtesy my wife had long denied me.

Without realizing the fatal signs of all her gestures, I was drawn deeper and deeper into the dragnet that she had so carefully laid out for me in the wilderness called cyber space. She would entice me now and again, with her ‘available’ status on the chat window. A ‘Hi’ from me would elicit a ‘Welcome back’ reply.

Was she ‘available’ to all, did she welcome all and sundry? My pathetically weak-kneed disposition always prompted me to believe that her ‘available’ status was meant exclusively for me, just for me.

Infatuation often leads to stupor. When this happens in the surreal realm of cyber space, stupor can lead to comatose. She always kept me on my toes, by drawing me into conversation having to do with my peculiar cardiac condition, only to leave me in lurch for hours, changing her online status from ‘Available’ to ‘Be right back’.

Having spent hours gazing at the blank screen of my PC, awaiting her return, my brain too would often go blank. What makes my optimistic heart tick is the ‘Available’ status displayed on her messaging window, 24 X 7.

The Compulsive Tutor

He was fatally attracted towards a whiteboard. His response to a white board was quite like that of a dog to a lamppost. While canines, irrespective of their breed, would impulsively lift their hind leg up on seeing a lamppost, our man would lift his right hand to reach for a marker pen.

The similarity between him and man’s best friend ended there. In all other respects, our man drew inspiration from other species. He had an elephantine memory, the walk of a grizzly bear, the vision of an eagle and the appetite of a hog, to list just a few of his zoological characteristics.

Had he not taken up a mundane job with a company dealing in hydrocarbon products, our man would have become professor emeritus of vital statistics at the Fairsex University of Domestic Science.

In the number-crunching game, he lagged behind a Pentium IV computer by just three nano seconds.The dead wood in the company resented his penchant for explaining complex business problems on the whiteboard. But the eager beavers looked forward to attending the learning sessions presided over by him.

Whenever the top management wanted to keep the otherwise under-worked staff occupied fruitfully, the chief executive officer would summon our man post haste to his chamber.

Soon a meeting would be convened in the conference room. Our man, a marker pen in one hand and a rubber swap in another, would take charge of the whiteboard. All the other staff members, most of them grudgingly, would occupy their seats like obedient school students mentally prepared to be at the receiving end of at least an hour-long discourse.

Discourse it would be of course, but with a difference. Even while our professor emeritus rattled out such high-sounding words as “competitive intelligence, SWOT, Gantt chart, PRD, CSD, mission objective, strategy” so on and so forth, he would fill up the whiteboard with charts, graphs, bullet points, arrows, sets and sub-sets in a myriad of colors.

To be sure, most of what our in-house professor uttered got transmuted into Greek, Latin, Spanish, Hebrew and Chinese the moment those words hit the eardrums of the august audience. Equally obvious would be the audience response, which found expressions in unending yawns, grunts, coughs, hiccups or simply a gush of foul smelling wind.

Least perturbed by such overtures from the audience, the professor would continue with his lecture, marking each of his pause with a scholarly gesture –a nod here, a pointed finger there or simply a dot on the whiteboard with a red marker pen.

Whenever such sessions of intellectual intercourse were held, a sense of purpose would charge up everybody in the company. With a smug satisfaction writ large on his lizard-like lips, the CEO would troop in and out of the conference room, leaving behind some unintelligible interjections for the participants to mull over.

The top management made it a point to meticulously maintain the minutes of every session. These minutes, prepared and transcribed by the pool secretary, were printed on the finest bond paper and kept in spiral bound files, the words ‘Strictly Confidential’ and ‘Only for internal circulation’ embossed in red letters on the cover page.

Post Script: While the company retrenched three-fourths of the staff recently as part of its restructuring, the in-house professor has been given a promotion and re-designated as ‘Director Emeritus’.