So,Where did the buck stop?

The operations against them, they start again.
The Para Military Forces camp the jungles, making their presence felt again,
The Naxals have their strategy in place again, and the brave jawans fall into a great ambush all over again,
The nation at the breakfast table mourns the barbaric murders of the great men again ,
Fathers. husbands ,brothers and sons travel back home in majestic State Coffins again,
Hail! The Minister! owns up to the “Moral ” Responsibility.. yet again!,
The news channels air the massacre again and again and again...
until Everything is normal again,.. until life moves on again
And The operations against them,...they start again.

A friend recently aired his views on a certain social network about the strategy that 'should be' against the Strategy that 'is' ,in dealing with the Maoists' war against the Indian State. In a matter of minutes he had managed a number of responses criticizing his position on the Indian State resorting to Machiavellian tactics to deal with the insurgents. The responses were all from friends and acquaintances who ,like the civil society of modern times ,wanted India to be patient with these under privileged and misguided youth and gradually align them to the mainstream. A noble thought indeed, and I would admit that is the most just thing to do under the watchful eyes of a vigilant International community, The Rights groups and such activists . I am also perfectly aligned to the massive underdevelopment debate that does its rounds in the Civil society meetings and concerns the Educated and the Elite. Dialogues indeed, could save the situation for both the State as well as those who want to usurp it. However, no one's talking beyond this.

In the aftermath of such a barbaric massacre of men brings onto the front some pressing concerns and questions:
What happened to the Government's call for a dialogue with the anarchists? Why aren't the Naxal leaders ready to give it a try? Why aren't the civic rights activists and groups coming forward to broker a truce between the warring parties? What explanation do the Naxal sympathizers like Arundhati Roy and Mahasweta devi have to this bloodbath? What are the 'questions' they have for the government now? And just when, are they going to be part of the solution?

While we can have all the civilized debates of this world about a strategy to deal with this threat to India's internal security, any such exercise would be futile unless the interests of the stakeholders around this issues are upheld. The speed-bumps encountered in such an effort to arrive at a consensus would be manifold. The biggest among them is the policy line to be towed, the question of whether to continue being the 'Soft' State, or confront the insurgents with brute force? The more real problem of identification.. just who is an insurgent and who is the innocent villager? A major hurdle in zeroing down to an action plan is the bipolar alignment of Center-State relationships in India, and the consequent reluctance of the states to implement non populist policies formulated by the center. Then, there are other issues of human right violations, matters of crimes against humanity et al.

It is indeed a complex web let us admit, and let us also assert that no single strategy would work like it did elsewhere and neither would it satisfy every stakeholder circumscribed by the menace. Any strategy that emerges out has to be multi-pronged, from confronting the extreme insurgency with force if need be so that the insurgents do not go into a killing spree like they did in Dantewada and several other places recently, to dealing with the moderate factions of the such groups with Soft power and ensuring their long term rehabilitation.
Any such rehabilitation has to be a long time exercise , from the immediate concerns of food, shelter, education and a respectable living to the long term exercise of inclusive growth and nation-building.
Such an assertion is more likely to cover lost ground than the ones that are prevalent ,where actual groundwork has given way to political chaos and strategic confusion.

The men at the helm of the Indian home affairs and the ones handling the states need to think out of the box to arrive at something that works real time and something that is not just food to destructive populism. The negative development and steep inequality meted out to all such remote areas(which now form the infamous Red Corridor ) of the Indian federation are amongst the concrete reasons that fuel such hatred against the political sovereign. As responsible pressure groups, the civil society which cries foul at every step the government takes, needs to be the bridge that joins rather than the one which divides. It has an important role to play in any truce that has to be brokered between the state and the anti-State forces so that all stakeholders can participate in working out an intelligent and workable solution to put an end to these unspeakable acts of violence, mutilations, and innocent deaths.

I wouldn't take too long, because any amount of black and white would only be on papyrus until implemented. There are just two sets of innocent people who lose their lives, the insurgents who are baptized by the fire of false propaganda and the innocent men in uniform who are just 'doing as directed'. Let us not get carried away with the ideology and what nots of the Naxalism or any such Marxian deviation. There is no ideology to such acts of madness. Had there been any, probably the biggest naxal leaders would perish fighting for it instead of the small timers.
There are probably a zillion ways to interpret this conflict of interests, and one could use any nomenclature to describe the 'battle' between the State and the Stateless, the bourgeois and the proletariat, the lords and the serfs , the state and non-state actors or between status quo and total revolution, but there might just be one solution to end the barbarisms such classifications unfold . And that one solution, has to be engineered sooner than ever, before another Dantewada happens.

The Indian Kaleidoscope

Looks like everyone is getting talkative by the day! suddenly almost everyone in this world has something to say to the other. India is suddenly willing to have a dialogue with Pakistan. To me that just sounds cool, and it ends there.No matter how much I try, I am never too sure if anyone in Pakistan is ready to listen to what our cabinet ministers have to say. And I can only take refuge in the assumption(which again,is purely mine),that our diplomats are not dead, they are just no diplomats anymore. The problem here is everyone in the UPA regime is utterly confused.

Winning a general election by the clearest of mandates that Federal India can now deliver,The United Progressive Alliance is just out its wits today.With inflation in food items rising exponentially since their election and reaching nearly 20% to end 2009,Mr. Sharad Pawar today is a lonely man. He has been blaming anything and everything under the sun for the Rs.116/kg pulse ,excessive cricket matches,the IPL's schedule,lazy farmers and a sleepy Prime Minister during the food fiasco damage control meetings. Having read a newspaper daily after these guys got elected to Parliament, I remember this gentleman talking of some 100000000 billion tons of wheat, rice, and every variety of pulse that can be, 'stored' somewhere in Utopia , the 29th state of the Indian Union. And as luck would have it a kg of ganga's hilsa is cheaper today than that elusive dal. A super market I recently visited in kolkata put an apt label to section on foodgrains.
It read:
'It'll set your PULSE racing!!'.

The Bombs, the fast-unto-deaths and the landmines

The Ministry of Home Affairs, headed by the Harvard Educated ex-Finmin works in a rather unusual way I would say.I perfectly understand , and with all humility,that managing Home Affairs is not a joke. However, Mr. Chidambaram's department is turning the whole thing into a really poor one.With all the hype and hoopla that they created over the National Investigation Agency post 26/11 what we have today is another agency that's a high profile “fire extinguisher”. So, where's the problem? The problem lies in the fact that the Fire Broke in the first place. The NIA essentially is a noveau post mortem therapy and not the preventive medicine India expected.
These days, a typical terrorist strikes at will, and the irony of the matter lies in the fact that the Home Department is in a state of an Intelligence Overload. And that makes one think, probably, for once he was right when he spoke of splitting the Home Ministry . Probably, Mr.Chidambaram is now aware that this is getting too much a pain for him to handle alone.
People in general donot laugh at bad jokes, but one couldnt help but laugh at the Telangana Fiasco over the last couple of months. On a personal note, I would definitly feel cheated if you promise me a thing and then tell me that it was a Joke. Atleast KCR didnot quite enjoy it. I mean, think what KCR went through, after so much stomach spasms that he resisted (atleast seemingly so) what he achieved was a Joint Action Committee . And if that wasnt enough, today he has lost all support from the Congress MLA's from Telangana, and the Committee, the only “take away” from the massive violence perpetrated by the TRS and Telengana supporters, is only studying the feasibility of a Telangana and a United Andhra(United Andhra??,well ,until the Committee appeared, i thought it was already there!).I am not too sure what the Pro-Telangana people want to do from here really, since, to do the least, they're waiting until December 2010, the deadline for the committee headed by Mr B.N Srikrishna to deliver something fruitful.
Andhra Pradesh is making news everyday, but for a very different set of reasons than what used to be its favourite subject once, the Maoist Problem. Again, probably the Maoists there have found real competition in KCR and company and ever since have ramped up their struggle for uprooting the Indian Union in states like West Bengal. Its a complex situation here in WB, since these maoists in the borders of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa have discovered local support and it has become increasingly difficult to say who's a maoist and who's not. The Centre probably saw a solution in the much talked about operation GreenHunt. But the states like Jharkhand and West Bengal, are not too keen on resorting to force since the contemporary leadership of such states finds a considerable share of votes from the maoist affected areas. So the age old problem of the center-state relations in a democracy, and however hard Mr. Chidambaram might have tried, a effective solution is still not in sight. Both sides , the center and the maoists want to talk and have gone on the record emphasizing it too, but the real thing is just not working.
For me, I am not surprised, since the UPA has not been able to stop anti-political parties like the Shiv-Sena, the Maharashtra Nav-Nirman Sena and other such fundamentalist groups tendering violence and hate speeches just to make it to the primetime , One cant really expect them to cover any ground in the real time issues of the Maoists in states that are to top it, are under a different party rule.

Probably, we have a full view of a democracy in function these days, Coalition Politics at its best, and a grilling opposition ready to pounce over every question that's asked in the Parliament and an underconfident government, which is faultering at almost every decision that matters.

CODE R E D

The barbaric beheading of a Jharkhand Special Police Officer by the CPI(Maoists) in the naxal infested state of Jharkhand , and the execrable massacre of 17 police personnel in Gadchiroli,Maharashtra only underscores the internal security threat that India faces in the wake of an unprecedented naxal menace. What is also unexampled until the recent times is the deployment of the elite forces to counter the rising “class struggle” , if one can call it so. The question to be asked, however, is what lies beneath such an armed rebellion and the ideology (or the lack of it ) that fuels it.

The Communist Party of India (Maoist) is an underground, non-parliamentary Maoist political party in India. It was founded on September 21, 2004, through the merger of the Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) People's War and the Maoist Communist Centre of India. The merger was announced to the public on October 14 the same year. The CPI (Maoist) are often referred to as Naxalites in reference to the Naxalbari insurrection by radical Maoists in West Bengal in 1967.It has since had several general secretaries at its line of command, operating under clandestine nom-de-guerres. Naxalites are violent left wing extremists , who defy parliamentary democracy, and who’ve vowed to rule the people (apparently for their greater good) through rampant dictatorship. Naxals claim to hold sway in about 180 districts across ten states of India, accounting for about 40 percent of India's geographical area and they are especially concentrated in an area known as " The Red Corridor", spanning Chhattisgarh, Orissa, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, Jharkhand, Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, and West Bengal, where they control upto 92,000 square kilometers.

According to India's intelligence agency, the Research and Analysis Wing(RAW), Naxalism and it’s growing influence is the most serious threat to India's national security, throwing towards, a larger issue to India’s political integrity than some of our ‘closest’ neighbours.

As it turns out then, our homework is right in place. Which brings India to the bigger question, Where and when did we go wrong? Why is a banned outfit, which is on the RAW’s radar ever since its inception striking terror at will? And what has led our politicians to fail to take stock of the horrific, most brutal and incessant killings of innocent men, women and children? Questions such as these and more, have been gaping at the people at the helm of our internal affairs but sadly, a satisfactory answer is still not in place. As anyone, who has lived in India long enough would agree , the problem lays elsewhere. The issue here is not wether our electorate and the elected lot know where the problem lies. Of course we know that there is a problem that is real and if left unattended could end up into a civil war and even secession, but the lassitude that our elected representatives contract once elected and while in office has let such anti-democratic forces to flourish in India.

It all dates back to 1967 in NaxalBari in West Bengal where a solo peasant was attacked by hired hands over a land dispute. And what resulted was a massive agitation against local landlords , led by one Charu Majumdar. The local population had already found their saviours in these self styled revolutionaries who were staunch supporters of Mao Zedong of China. Thus formed a new ideology in an India already fighting poverty and rampant corruption in every stratum of public life. An ideology that laid down the idea that the Indian State was a bourgeois institution and that the main Indian communist parties had embraced revisionism by agreeing to operate within the framework of the Constitution of India.

The Naxalites hence shunned all parliamentary processes in West Bengal and used violence to be heard, its victims often the innocent lot, already stressed under the problems of a developing nation , and who had no business following such an ideology. The naxal uprising in West Bengal could also have been an effect to another cause, the political occupation of the ruling CPI(M). The ruling left party in West Bengal had imitated the left wing politics of the erstwhile Soviet Union, which the naxals alleged had deviated from the basic Communist ideology. Hence began a so called “class struggle” in West Bengal which haunts it and other such naxal infested states even to this day.

So what is the Class Struggle in question? Who did the naxal movement benefit? Who was it for?

No one has an answer, and Mr. Majumdar, if he were alive today, would have been short of words too. Violence is no answer to the people’s suffering, and it can never be. Had Naxalism been about empowering the classes through education and enabling them to power through parliamentary means, It would have come as no surprise, if we had a naxal Prime Minister in the south block today. But Naxalism’s very roots were in the sands, its ideologies profusely against the State of India and its occupation solely directed against all democratic processes, which if succeeded would have left the nation to a dictator’s whims and fancies. The Naxalites who largely were acting to grasp power in West Bengal , turned to armed rebellions in other parts of the country, justifying the brutal killings as aligned to their single most important ideal of ending capitalism, and hence allowing power to trickle down to the under privileged. However, there was much more to such an ideology than what met the eye.

Incessant killings, barbaric murders and forced rebellions witnessed a receding support for the naxals in the hushed corners of intellectual calcutta. The depleting support for the naxals in Bengal led them to find props into rural India, primarily in the adjoining states of undivided Bihar, Orissa and Madhya Pradesh. They devised a strategy of misleading the rural youth who were largely unemployed , through provocative speeches, extremist literature and made up accounts of the nation state’s atrocities against them. The Maoists hence started to develop a strong foothold in the jungles of Bihar, Jharkhand and mastered the difficult terrains of the region which rendered the local police forces futile against them. Also, worth mentioning is the fact that these were the poorest states of India, and the rural lot as it is, was a victim of massive income disparities, health issues and social stigmas. The people hence found a respite in such extremist leaders who promised them something to cheer about.

At least apparently so.

Having found their base in the rural population in the so called ‘Red Corridor’ of India, the CPI(Maoist) leaders formalised parallel governments, holding fast track courts, corrupting young minds against the government and continued to make a mockery of democracy. The State governments in such naxal infested states perpetually turned a blind eye towards the atrocities engendered by these insurgents and in some cases as in Jharkhand and Bihar were hand in glove with these extremists , where the so called revolutionaries regularly ambushed the local population, the police and other vital public installations for extortion and meeting political ends for vested interests. There have been several cases of abductions, bombings, merciless beheadings and ‘levi’ extortions reported against the naxals, the victims paradoxically the same people they claim to represent. To make matters worse, if they were not already, in states like Jharkhand and Bihar, several anti-socials and petty criminals now operate under the veils of Naxalism. The uneducated and unemployed youth, who are the worst hit of the rural population in such states, end up losing everything, including their lives, in what they call a “class struggle” against the bourgeois. All this , while their so called ‘leaders’, who are nothing more than avaricious demagogues really, stock their backyards with filthy rapacity.

But that truly is just one side of the story. To blame naxalites squarely for doing what they’ve done to such states would be inequitable. There’s no denying the fact that the complete failure of public administration in states such as Jharkhand, Bihar , which are the epicenters of naxal violence , have long been the primary reasons attributing to such armed insurgencies. The lack of proper food, shelter, education to the rural youth are some of the real things that fuelled the naxal fire in these states. The state of Jharkhand which is arguably one of the richest in terms of mineral reserves in the country, often makes it to the morning headlines for all the wrong reasons. The rampant corruption prevalent in the state ever since its nascence, an occasional cabinet crammed up with dodgy politicians, and a large-and- uncared-for tribal population in the state offers the right kind of environment for such extremists to thrive. The lack of connect between the politicians in the state government with the rural folk authors a similar story. Consequently, the ‘under class’ of in these states, which is still to comprehend what good is a democracy for, turn towards militancy. Had the fruits of Indian democracy trickled down to the masses, such armed rebellions would’ve only adorned books of fiction.

The ceaseless killings in the recent past, such as the beheadings in Jharkhand and the massacre in Maharashtra, the abductions-cum-murders in Bihar, reflect the capability of the Maoists to strike at will. While it definitely requires a solid strategy from the respective state governments to counter such pseudo-terrorism, It also reflects the gross apathy of the Union government towards the naxal menace which until a few days ago had been shirking it as the states’ internal issue. The absence of a strategy to deal with these extremists is quite clear. The State governments which derive a considerable chunk of their rural votes through such naxal leaders are averse to the idea of using force against such groups citing a possible civil retaliation in the areas controlled by them. The Union government until in the wake of the recent massacres had largely turned a blind eye towards incidents such as these. While the state governments are opposed to the use of force against naxals, proposing to get such groups into mainstream India, such propositions only blot papers in the state offices. The underlying truth about such strategies only reveals just how much deeper the naxal Hand is into the government Gloves. While the Union government’s apathy towards the ‘internal’ issues of states (where the opposition is in power) is a trademark of Indian politics, the ghastly murders of harmless, innocent children and women drawing widespread flak from the global media, has put New Delhi into damage control. The south block, in a never-before step , has advocated the use of military and para-military forces to drive the naxals out of their hideouts . Such ‘combing’ operations , especially in a democracy such as ours poses a lot of challenges to the ruling lot, from issues ranging from Human Rights groups crying foul and alleging culpable genocide, to the more serious problem of a decline in the ruling party’s populist votes.

So, what is the road ahead?

While the impasse over ‘The Naxal Ideology’ , the ‘ Lal-Salaam’ and other such Maoist fellowships is one that is here to stay, one cannot help but acquiesce over the futile arrangement of such an institution in India . In a country like ours, which is young and passionate but at the same time congested and poor, such an extremist, left-of-center idea is a proven bane.It comes as little surprise then that the so called Red Corridor in India mostly consists of states that often find themselves at the lowest rungs of all development rankings and surveys. By the rule of thumb, almost all insurgencies are fruits of far-flung dissatisfaction and a gross lack of trust of who the insurgency is directed against. In India’s case, it’s the poor , the under privileged, and the unemployed who are taken for a ride everytime, at times by such extremist organizations and at other times by government itself. And an end to all this has only one road. Education.

Only if our governments uphold the basic right to education of every being in India, half the war against such anti-democratic processes is won. Only educating somebody can explain what democracy ensures. Only educating the youth, so that they find employment can make sure that they are not wasted into such pseudo- radicalism. We, that largely constitute the ‘mainstream’ in India, in our efforts to keep up with the gold rush have forgotten these people, who have been untouched, unfamiliar and immune of the much talked about Global India.

And all this has to start today, a day lost just means another extremist somewhere, who does not know what he’s fighting against. And while this would take an entirely different polity than what we have at hands, it’s definitely not impossible. Lets us all be a part of such an effort, in whatever little way possible, because the day we run for India’s glory again, it’ll be nice to have them by our side.

Confessions of a Micro-Observer.

I still don’t know why I have to do this. It’s killing me inside. I am sick in my head, and it hurts. I would like to believe that I am not scared. But that single thing evades me like sand in your fists. The more I try to reassure myself, the more I lose it. I think I have to get back home before anything .And I have to do that silently, so no one notices. I would rather sneak out of the back door. Lest they catch hold of me.

Oh! Wait! Let me grab that doomed thing in my hands. And the keys to my Car?? HELL!! Where are they? Why on earth did they choose me! This! Here they are! My keys. No one’s watching. I have to make my way out of this place. I don’t want to see that wretched Srivastav anymore. I think he knows I have this condition. I always knew something was wrong here. Ever since I have arrived, things are going haywire. I had never lost a wallet in the 48 years that I am alive and I lost it the first day here! All the money that I fed into them to avoid it has gone to nothing but waste. And now this! Only GOD knows what lies inside this hell sent envelope!! I want to throw it out of the rear window. Drive the fastest that I possibly can, and get out of reach. But I am scared of that too, I know it would find its way again, as it did today.

I don’t want to open it, but I’ll have to.There’s nothing that I can do now. I would have to do what’s required of me. But GOD knows I cant help falling sick. I know I have to do it just once, just this first time, cz I’ll never be seen alive again. Yes. In all probability. I’ll be killed.

I flip the envelope open .

भारतीय निर्वाचन आयोग

ELECTION COMMISSION OF INDIA



The white sheet inside tells me I am one of the several Micro-Observers chosen for this year’s Lok Sabha Elections. To hell with it! What good would I do to it? Except getting myself murdered by some crazy extremist! And what on earth is a Micro-Observer! if not another jargon from the ECI’s kitty!

I read on

It tells me I am supposed to second an OBSERVER, an IAS officer presiding the region’s Polls. I am supposed to look after things that I scantily comprehend. And report things I do not want to think of.
It asks me to deputy him ,to see through a nearly impossible happy ending to the polls in the region.It asks me to fight an already lost War.Something that has waged on since decades now!. I am expected to sit amongst insane extremists armed with Automatic Kalashnikovs, waiting in anticipation of a good headline Kill, and make irrelevant notes to somebody who doesn’t give a damned about neither.The notes or me. And all this to somebody who couldn’t save his wallet from a silly street urchin! O such Hypocrisy!


The worst has just happened. I have been chosen to micro-observe the bishrampur block of this doomed district. I feel like a goat waiting to get slaughtered. I am calling up every possible contact to get myself out of this trap. But all in vain. No reservations, I have to go there. That’s what the scroll in my left hand says.It just arrived. They find me everywhere.

The last person I want to think about at this point in time is Srivastav, but he creeps in. He is just a bloody clerk in my office! And ever since he has known about my misfortunes , he has been reciting tales of people who’ve witnessed worse.

He tells me stories of men who were killed in naxal ambushes. I told you he knows I have this condition, (of getting sick) . I am scared to listen to them too. But I don’t tell him to stop, lest he thinks I am bothered. And now that he knows I am micro-observing Bishrampur. He is telling me all about it. Last panchayat polls there ended in a bloodbath. The insurgents killed 6 persons. And none that was killed had anything to do with the polls or the insurgents.GOD I don’t want to think about Srivastav. He’s scares the living daylights out of me.

I re dialled all the numbers and did it again, but no one returns my calls. They say everyone deserts you when you have nothing to lose, except your life. There are more scrolls inside this new envelope from the ECI.

I don’t want to read them all. I know each one of them tells me what I already know. I think of ways to escape it. What if I catch acute influenza?. I float through the scrolls until I read this.

• Palamu is an extremely sensitive area infested with extremist activities and insurgent outfits. For your personal safety, please follow the following instuctions

1. Do not use vehicles to move around your allocated constituency. Vehicles are prime targets for possible Landmine Attacks.

2. Do not move in groups and maintain a safe distance from any police vehicles.

3. Report immediately to the stationed police picket about any loose wire ends , dug-up roads, loose earth that you witness around the polling area.

4. Avoid any acquaintance with the local people in and around the polling area.


My throat feels croupy.I drink a glass of water and read on.

“All micro-observers are required to be present in person at the Commissioner’s Office on the 15th Day of April 2009. Any absenteeism would draw an F.I.R against the respective absentee.”

It all ends here. And here I stand Trapped.











15th April 2009. Bishrampur

Its been 2 hours since we started for Bishrampur. There are no signs of life on the highway, except an occasional police check post that halts the vehicle carrying me. I have as my co passengers, other unfortunates with grim faces. I feel like a refugee facing deportation. I want to talk to these people. Some of whom I already know. But none is willing to talk. May be they are as scared as I am. I look at my watch. An old timepiece I received as dowry from my in-laws. I spoke at length to vibha (my wife) and my son Rahul before starting off for this ordeal. They are in Allahabad. I am happy they are away from this hell. They were worried, about this assignment handed over to me. My son tells me more than I knew about the extremism here. He said the naxals had an ideology, but that was long back. Now they need the headlines. I tried to obfuscate what I was undergoing. I spoke to them until my cellphone went out of the coverage area. There is just one Service Provider here, BSNL. But I still have no coverage in my Phone. I want to speak to them again, so that I can divert my mind from the hell that is in store. If this isn’t one already.


Bisrampur is another 15 kms from here. Suddenly I realized we are not alone. There is an army truck loaded with jawans. It reads the BORDER SECURITY FORCE (BSF). They are a good half a mile ahead, sometimes in the field of view , at other times invisible. I bet they are scared too. We have another truck behind our vehicle. This one is a lot closer, and its closing in. It reads ON ELECTION DUTY. We are told to stick together if something goes wrong. An unknown voice instructs our driver on the wireless to maintain a mile’s distance from the leading BSF truck. I start feeling sick. We pass a makeshift army base. I see two choppers ready for the take off. The police and the army is brave. I admit. My job is easier, a lot easier and I thank GOD for that.


We hear a huge explosion somewhere, Is it the end? I am gasping for breath. I have two people over me. My senses betray me. My chest is numb. My eyes, I can barely open . An acute pain shoots my spine. I hear somebody saying it’s a landmine. But I am not afraid anymore. I am squeezed out of the vehicle. They are hitting me in my chest. It hurts now. I see the truck following us parked next to where I lie. I see people talking of emergency. I don’t want to die. I can smell blood and diesel all over me.

The voices are distant again. It has gotten nasty. I don’t want to die. I am in a vehicle now with a mask on my face.Its oxygen. I can hardly breathe now. They keep hitting my chest and it hurts again. I move my fingers to see if I am alive. I am.
There are two people lying next to me. I don’t know if they are alive. I can see the blue sky above, the clouds racing past my head.

Where are they taking us?


Oh!To the poll- booth may be. Didn’t I tell you I am the MICRO-OBSERVER? I guess I did.

A silent soliloquy

As I drove through the wilderness circumscribed by Mahua and Palash trees, weeds and overgrown bushes, I was also fighting myself back. My ride was a 135cc motorcycle and if I’d ever get somewhere, it would be Palamu. I say that because I never knew if I’d ever get there. Bypassing trouble I mean. My apprehensions, I must say, should have found a way out into my brains had I been new to the region. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. I knew Palamu for the last 24 years. I was born in a small missionary hospital in Palamu and had witnessed my childhood and adolescence in a small borough in the region. I knew its places, its languages, its people, the weather, you name it and I could show you all its elements at any given time. But as my bike slithered on NH-75 which connects Ranchi, the Capital of Jharkhand, to Palamu, my being, I was afraid, was about to be questioned. The day was observed as a total Economic Bandh. Bandhs, which are more of a customary tradition of contemporary Jharkhand, are total suspensions of all economic, political and social activities, called upon by armed outfits, and extremist insurgents who aim at nothing more than meeting their own vested interests. Consequently, NH-75 was lifeless. There were no vehicles commuting. All traffic was suspended. I was the lone rider as I had to, by any means; reach Palamu for an indispensable assignment. And as the engine of my bike murdered the prevalent silence ensconced upon the notorious Patki jungle, my mind rode a different tide. I couldn’t refrain from thinking about the sorry state of affairs that had crippled the region which had given me some of the best moments of my life. It was incontrovertible that Palamu was sick and all of it because we did not care anymore.
Palamu is a once-famous-now-infamous district of the state of Jharkhand which owes its contemporary infamy to the various banned militant outfits that are active in the region. That however is just one side of the story. Each and every one of us who has been associated with Palamu is responsible for the disheartening plight of its misery. Palamu was a beautiful plain situated in the midst of the chotanagpur plateau. Palamu, per se, encapsulated the three most prized possessions the region once boasted off. Palash which yields excellent colors, Lah or Lac which is an expert fire resistant material and Mahua the fruits of which create the local intoxicant handiya. The district is bounded north by the river Son which separates it from the districts of Rohtas, and Aurangabad (Bihar), on the east by the districts of Chatra and Hazaribagh, on the south by the district Latehar and on the west by the district Garhwa and Chhatisgarh state. The region was rich in almost everything one could think of. It once had rich reserves of coal, bauxite and other commercially important minerals under its womb. It had great prospects for the tourism industry to thrive which could have effortlessly generated enough revenues to support its drooping economy. The forests of Palamu were once considered among the best in the country in terms of Wildlife dwellings. There are still around 40 species of mammals that coexist in the wild. Also, there are a whopping 170 species of birds that one could find in the greens of the district. Palamu was also declared a Tiger Reserve; after various studies projected it as the best region in India to protect tigers when the number of tigers in India reached all time lows. All the above facts should have easily put any region at an enviable platform. But unfortunately, with Palamu, that was not to be.
I meanwhile, was maneuvering my bike at a fairly decent speed when I crossed a small village which straddled NH-75. I was fortunate to have come that far on a Bandh. I encountered a couple of occasional police vehicles patrolling to make sure nothing went wrong. At least that’s what I think they hoped for, since the policemen were also flesh and blood like me, but unlike me, they were preferred targets for the militants who regularly ambushed them for looting their arms and ammunition. And these poor policemen, who seldom have enough ammunition to check insurgency, end up losing their dear lives. While I passed by this small hamlet, I saw an old woman blowing hard inside her choolha, (an earthen furnace) to reignite whatever little coal was left over in it. She probably couldn’t buy herself coal that day, since the Bandh call had been successful and all haulage on NH-75 had been whipped. A large chunk of Palamu’s population was still dependant on coal for their daily chores. Even when the world outside played Show-and-Tell with the latest technology in their kitchens, Liquefied Petroleum Gas and everything that was new and easy, this part of the world, like the old woman, was still blowing hard on the choolhas. That was primarily because the rich coal and mineral reserves of Palamu had become the new commodities on which, the self styled coal mafias, propped by some dodgy authorities, extorted control and manipulated its mining, transportation and distribution to fuel their personal ambitions and interests. The rulers of the region were only more than happy to get their shares out of these lucrative deals and forgot to spare a thought about the region that had made them all rich overnight. The people of Palamu, who deserved a much better treatment than what was meted out to them, continued living in abject poverty. Their repeated cries fell on deaf ears and their agonies never found a voice. And we, the so called ‘middle class’, who sometimes even do not want to be labeled from Palamu, were too busy with our own petty grievances, and ambitions to care about the old woman who asked nothing more than a thread to hang on to life.
My mind, as I continued my journey, wandered into unfathomable territories that day. I had spared a thought for Palamu after 24 years that I had lived under its sun. May be, even that day, I did it because I had nothing better to do, except driving on that endless road. As I moved forward, with prayers that I found no extremists waiting in anticipation of somebody who had breached the bandh, I forced my mind to get back to me so that I could concentrate on my driving. Suddenly I realized I was into the most beautiful part of the drive. The road was straddled with sal trees and the air which was warm so far suddenly got cooler. I felt relaxed and wanted to get off my bike for a while to enjoy the freshness that reigned the area. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it because the area was infected with people who operated under the veils of extremism. Naxalites, as they are characterized, are a dread in the area and were declared a banned outfit long back because they often adopted violent means to make themselves heard. The people of small rural areas like Palamu were soft targets for such extremists due to severe ignorance and illiteracy that is prevalent in these areas. The ignorant and unemployed local youth is misled by such extremist organizations and are trained covertly in guerilla warfare. The locals are then used to attack public installations, wreak havoc and create a state of anarchy in the entire region. The self styled commanders of these extremist outfits sit back and exploit the illiterate local people of such regions and more often than not, these exploitations end up in filling up their own pots. This dirty game then got filthier, with some knave politicians metamorphosing into benefactors of such organizations to grab political ascendancy. The beautiful valleys of Palamu were now home to dreaded militants and the once famous tourist attractions became avenues of unprecedented holocausts. Even the National Park at Betla, which had been commissioned as a Tiger Reserve for their conservation, and which once witnessed flocks of tourists all round the year, lost its charisma, thanks to the ever increasing militancy and the numb authorities, who turned out to be nothing more than mute spectators. Consequently, the tourist potentials of this region took a severe blow and Palamu repeatedly made it to the headlines, but for all the wrong reasons.
Thankfully, my journey had been uninterrupted so far, and I had almost covered three quarters of the distance to Daltonganj, the administrative headquarters of Palamu. Daltonganj, a small town of Palamu situated on the banks of river Koel. I remember playing cricket on Koel’s banks with my friends. I know that sounds weird, but we did play cricket on the sands of koel. A sudden wave of nostalgia brushed me, as I drove through the silence that was settled on every village, every hamlet I crossed. For the first part of my formal education, I went to Sacred Heart High, a reputed missionary school in Daltonganj. I was among the privileged lot to have studied in an English Medium School, which in itself was a matter of pride in the area. While I went to a missionary school which was the best in Palamu, children in various parts of the region worked as daily wage workers, orderlies, housekeepers and minions to make both ends meet. A large percentage of children in the region never went to schools, never looked beyond their grease smeared hands and sweaty eyebrows. Palamu still manages to keep the overall literacy rate well below 50% (45.67% to quote the government website for the region). While the male literacy rates plot a rising graph (59.76%, kudos to some genuine NGOs who made it possible), the Female literacy rates are still nowhere near to what can be called figures. A mere 30% of the female population ever visited school, but how many of them actually finished school? Well, that’s another question to be answered. I still remember Sameena, the daughter of our school bus driver, who was forced out of school by her father after the fifth grade. When I came across her father years after I passed out of Sacred Heart, I couldn’t help asking him about sameena. It was only then that I learnt that she had been married to a man from the nearby village, two years after she dropped school. We were still in the seventh grade then. Even today, when female empowerment makes it to the headlines so often, females in Palamu continue living under a rigid, orthodox social structure that can put the very word “female empowerment” to shame.
I knew I was about to reach Daltonganj in another five minutes when I realized I just passed by my School. It was after quite a long time that I had come back to where I belonged. After I finished high school, I had a four-year stint in South India, where I graduated in electrical engineering. Today with an engineering degree, I had a decent job with a global software giant. And somehow, all this, I owed to Palamu, my parents, my school, everyone who let me do whatever I wanted to. In a few months time I’d probably even leave India for foreign shores to live up to the commitments I had made to my employers. Good enough may be, but what after all of that is done? I wondered what my duties were. I wondered if I’d ever return any of the selfless favors that Palamu had bestowed upon me. After so much that I had absorbed from it, wasn’t it my turn now? Suddenly, I wanted to concentrate on my driving.
I reached Daltonganj. The effects of the Bandh were discernible. Almost all collapsible shutters were down and there were only a few vehicles moving. I was tired after the four hour journey, but was happy to finally be home. I entered the gates looking around for changes that had taken place while I was gone. I saw Ma waiting for me relieved, that I reached home safe. And me, well, I was home and had nothing to worry about. Not anymore.

The night that was......

"Ebar aamay jetey hobe..colleger shomoy hoye giyeche"… she told me.

I was happy the night was over. I was happy it was day again.

I slept all day.

It was a gruesome train journey to Calcutta (now Kolkata) and I had no idea why I was in that doomed train. All I can collect is , Sid had come down to Ranchi the day before and had unfolded his plans over some clandestine alcohol. We (read He) bought a bottle of R.C ( 'Royal Challenge' for the those of you who are caught unawares!) from a theka near my abode in Ranchi , although I am strictly against such acts of unwanted paranoia. But Sid still thinks he was some kind of a superman in his last incarnation, whose soul couldn’t transmigrate entirely after he died. And here he was, born again as a normal human being, who desperately wanted to become Paranormal or worse abnormal.

Hence came the alcohol ..into my house- via the steps- to the terrace.

''Mujhe Kalkatta janaa hai.. kal..Chalega?" he said gulping down the grail.

''main.??..pata nahi yaar..waise tujhe jaana kyon hai?'' I enquired.

''arey tu kisi baat ka jawaab de sakta hai ya nahi??..jab dekho ulta sawaal pooch leta hai!!'' he snapped.

I am a God fearing middle class Brahmin, and I was pensive. I was tensed , not because Sid snapped at me.. but because I knew all hell would break loose if my folks knew I was up there on the terrace, drinking something that would invite the wrath of Goddess Lakhshmi, send Saraswati infuriated out of the house and a whole gamut of Gods would spell doom.

Q.E.D I was tensed, coz alcohol synonyms blasphemy, but the alcohol was at work I must say coz it soon got the better off my religious epistemologies and I was…as they call it….hic..'HIGH'!!!

And so was Sid, coz while I was fighting back my conscience ..he had let loose half a dozen practically unbelievable, strategically unachievable and theoretically impossible stories of his heroics. Nonetheless, he had always been a friend, and we still were going strong over the alcohol.

Suddenly I had my moment of weakness. I floated over the year that had passed by and I realized I was free like a gull.. I had appeared for almost all the engineering entrances that season, and as you guessed, got through None. I deserved a break though I had done nothing worth it.

"Yess!!" I thought.. ''This could be my chance..Calcutta with Sid!!'' It was bound to be fun, I thought again, With all the Bengali chicks that I'd eye warm upon while Sid shopped for his garment store in daltonganj. WOW!! . Something,.. may be the alcohol ..or may be something else that I don’t remember made me answer him in the affirmative about the very first Question he posed .

''chalega''??

''Haan ...lekin Tickets??'' I said.

''Abey meri ticket pe dono chalenge..sona kisko hai??..T.T ko kuch paise de denge..maan jayega!!''

That was Sid and all he could be. I had never traveled without a ticket in my life until he made me do so. I was jealous of him, coz he made things really simple at times and he often left me wondering about why on earth couldn't I think like he did. And he did it yet again .as if this T.T.E was his long lost brother or like the poor man were his Father-in-Law.

The next thing I can remember is the Train. I had a heated confrontation with his 'Father-in-Law' until he took his writing pad out of the black coat and scribbled something illegibly. He had billed me for Rs.700. I wryly handed over the money to the T.T.E and hated every moment of it, when Sid who was nowhere to be seen until now appeared out of nowhere and gave me a blatant explanation about why he had slipped off just at the T.T.E 's apparition.

"Arey tuney paise kyun de diye yaar..mera intezaar kar leta"

I did not want to talk about it coz I was not buying his story this time or may be I wasn't smart enough. Whatever it was, it felt good to be out of Ranchi after a long time.

We reached at four in the morning and the city was already alive.

I had always liked Calcutta, for the magnificence that she symbolized , for the Trams and taxis that slithered around her streets. For her people, who always seemed to have taken life on full throttle. The city was already out of the bed and there was chaos everywhere. But somehow, I liked it all. It was the only metropolitan I had ever been to and it seemed my academic achievements as they stood, wouldn't have taken me any farther.

Suddenly, while I was smothering with admiration for the city, the trams, the taxis, the people, I heard Sid.

"Arey kahaan jaa raha hai tu??...idhar jaana hai us hotel me!!" Sid clamored.

It was then when I learnt that I had crossed over to the other side of the street and the hotel we were supposed to check into was on the opposite side and a couple of blocks away.

Minutes later we were standing in front of a mammoth concrete structure made up of large blocks of granite and painted red all over.

''HOTEL MEGHDOOT '' the signboard read.

We entered into it through the unguarded collapsible gates right under the grotesque signboard when a middle aged man with contorted looks almost screamed..

"aaiye sir, aaiye.. is baar kaafi dino baad aaye hain??"

My brain started processing the unknown signals that he had just transmitted. Had I been to this hotel before? I thought. I went back and forth in time but did not find a single instance of the hotel or any hotel of the same name.

"Haan is baar maal uthane me thodi der ho gayee.. aur sab badhiya??" Sid acknowledged.

''Ek double bed A.C deluxe room chahiye..apna waala'

It was only after we were into the cool ambience of the room when I learnt that this was the umpteenth time Sid was into this hotel when he was in Calcutta. In Fact, it was the only Hotel in Calcutta he had ever checked into.

Strange.. I thought and I couldn’t help wondering what had always maneuvered him to this Hotel and what made him log on to his 'apna waala Double bed ' room when he'd always travel alone for his trips. But it was him, Strange him and Stranger were his ways.

I don’t remember when I dozed off until I found Sid knocking on me as if we were supposed to catch the next flight home. And standing next to him was the same man who met us in the lobby with his old distorted looks.

''Chal taiyaar ho jaa…ghoom kar atey hain'' said Sid, with those irritating taps on my back which were growing both in magnitude and frequency. I slithered my way out of the bed coz I did not like the expressions that the man was incubating on his already distorted maxillofacial muscles.

Next thing, we ( me, Sid and the man) were on the Elevator of the Hotel.. but wait!! It was supposed to winch down if we were going anywhere out of the inn!! We we're moving up!

"Tere liye surprise hai.." he retorted with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He was proud he had guessed what was going on in my head before I actually enquired about it.

In less than a minute we were on the Top Floor of the hotel. I could see the masts of all the other buildings surrounding the now seemingly haunted Hotel at my eye level.

We were walking through the incessant corridor when suddenly both of them stopped abruptly and I just managed to avoid dashing into the man whose grotesque expressions had metamorphosed into a wicked smile.

No one spoke for the next three seconds.

The man flung the door open with a jolt and what I saw inside was my most vivid memory for a long time.

It was a room full of women.

And every one of them stopped talking when we entered and looked upon us in unknown anticipation.

All thoughts, all my senses deserted me.

There were women, sitting on the chairs, standing by the closets, lying down on the bed, and on the floor. There were women who were married, with their vermilion clad countenance, there were girls of almost all ages and appearances scattered all over the room with utmost negligence as if they were prisoners of war waiting to be scavenged upon. Everyone was still. I was cold and felt sick.

I stepped out of the room as fast as I had entered it. I always knew there was something evil about that man with us who, it seemed to me, would land us into real trouble soon. I felt asphyxiated and wanted to get back to where I belonged. From where I stood, I could see a girl who by all means, was fast asleep. She was unaware of the silence that was prevalent inside those covert walls.

''Wo wali…wo jo so rahi hai….dus baje'' Sid grumbled, finally eroding the deadly silence, to the man who was still smiling slyly.

We were in the elevator again, but this time it was just me and Sid. The elevator was moving down and I heaved a sigh of relief. I was relieved, coz I did not have to witness the miserable plight of those women anymore. I was relieved that the devilish man was not in the elevator anymore. I was relieved that Sid was talking normally again. All the while that the man was around he had been very careful in his speech, speaking only after long pauses, with calculated vocabulary and absolute snobbery.

"tu mujhe wahan kyon le gaya tha.??." I snapped at him.

"arey tu darta kyun hai itna??" he retorted

''Ek ladki aane waali hai..aaj raat ko yahi rahegi hamare saath." "Chal ab bahar chalte hain..bhookh lagi hai''.

It was 6:30 P.M and the orange sky was just getting darker.

''Kya?? Tu pagal ho gaya hai kya??...I blurted out in disbelief. Yeh nahi ho sakta yaar!..tu pagal ho gaya hai''. I confirmed.

For once I wished he were not my friend. Suddenly Sid looked like an amorous fool who had got the basics wrong. I felt trapped. I did not have enough money to afford a different room where I could put up for that night and board the next train home.

''Abey tu bada ho gaya hai..!! bacchon jaisi baatein mat kar..yahi sahi wakt hai…main isliye tujhe kalkatta le kar aaya hoon …uskey purey 1700 rupaye diyen hain yaar..hum dono ke.'' Sid spoke out, in a manner that was characteristic of a concupiscent woman slayer.

''Dekh main kuch karney wala nahi hoon kisi ko…tu chahey kuch bhi kar''. I replied in a stentorian voice.

We had our dinner near the treacherous hotel. Meghdoot now reminded me of Meghnaad, the son of Ravana , the master of treachery and guile and who did give a tough time even to lord Rama. I was only a poor mortal.

It was 9:45 P.M. and we were back into the Hotel. I was counting on my contingencies. I was going to stay out, all the while Sid was with the girl, until he was done. Until she was gone.

The doorbell yelled. Sid opened the door in obnoxious haste. My heart pounded against my chest. I felt sick again.

She was a young girl in her early twenties and she was beautiful. She had dreamy eyes, which ensconced effortlessly into her perfectly suave countenance. She had a perfect jaw line that supported her carefully etched face. Her lips were colored just right to assign her an urbane persona. She was dressed in the same old black salwar kurta that she wore while she was sleeping in that doomed room on the top floor. She looked with utmost indifference to everything inside the room, including Sid and me.

I did not want to look at her anymore, coz I knew why she was with us. She knew it too.

I began looking out of the window to save my self from the embarrassment that my heart was brimming with.

''Naam kya hai tera..??''…Sid erupted out, eroding the deadly silence in a manner that did not come anywhere near to politeness. It was a long time that we passed out of Sacred Heart High, and Sid I am sure, did not retain any of the lessons taught of courtesy towards women

''aaliya'' she replied with an unassuming nonchalance in her voice. I was still standing where I stood when she entered the room. I was still looking outside the glass window. It was a dark night and it seemed it wouldn’t stop getting darker.

''Main neeche se cigarette le ke aata hoon…tu isse baat kar.'' smirked Sid. I did not know whom that sentence was addressed to, Me, or the girl and I did not give a damn.

It was five minutes since Sid left the room. I was still looking out of the window into unknown nothingness. I hated Calcutta. For the magnificence, that was a mere hoax. For its trams and taxis that seemed to carry women who were ready to get laid for a couple of currency notes. For its people who were pimps under their seemingly spic and span skins.

"Prothom baar naki?"(is it your first time?) I heard her speak. And the question was for me.

I did not speak a word. I was stiff as a rock. I couldn't move. My throat felt croupy and dry. I wanted to get out of that room. In a split second, I decided I was walking out.

I had to walk out of the room through the small gallery that ran between her and the door.

I did just what I planned in the past two seconds. I was walking. I walked through the gallery, all the while keeping my eyes off her, all the time keeping my eyes on the door that, at the moment, was my door to renaissance.

As I looked at the door, I was happy it was going to be over soon. I had almost made it.

I turned the knob … nothing happened.

The Door was locked from outside. Suddenly everything was clear. This was Sid's surprise gift to me. The girl!

I tried to open the door twenty one times and over but as luck would have it, it didn't.

The girl chortled watching me struggle with the door. I could hear her. I still didn’t look at her.

There was no way out now. Suddenly my cell phone beeped. It was a message from Sid. It read.

" darwaza maine bahar se lock kar diya hai, Khulega nahi. Mai paas waale room me hi hoon darna mat. Kal subeh milte hain''

I lost my mind. How could he possibly do this to me, I thought. I tried calling him up.

He had switched it off. I banged on the door. I shouted for rescue. But no one came for my cause.

And there I was, deserted in that room with a girl who was still chuckling, in the dead of the night. I wished I had never come to Calcutta with Sid. It was all my fault. And it was a hefty price I was paying. I felt sick.

''Ki holo? Bairey jaabey kaeno?''.( what happened? Why do you want to go out?) she enquired. I looked down at her. She sat on the bedside smiling at me as if this were some kind of joke I was enacting.

''Tum jahan baithi ho wahin baithi raho. Aur mujhse baat mat karna samjhi.?'' I retorted in an unforeseen fury. I suddenly wanted to hold her responsible for my sad state of affairs. For that weak moment, I forgot what we were taught at Sacred Heart High.

I knew this was it. I walked hastily to the wooden chair near the window and sulked, thinking a way out of those malevolently surreptitious walls. The cool ambience of the room was turning into a cold morbid chill.

It was 1 A.M and I was still there. It was getting cold inside. I could see droplets of water on the window, condensed from the warm atmosphere, which coalesced into larger drops until they were too large to defy gravity. Every was asleep. Everyone, but me. My sin? Well, I wanted to sleep. Alone.

I stole a glance, which I had so long evaded, at the girl who, may be, was trapped with me in the room. She was asleep. She was sleeping just the way she slept in the room on the Top Floor.

Finding everything my way finally, I began thinking about getting busted by the police in the middle of the night if they found out I was there in a room with a girl who was a sex worker and was not supposed to be there in the legal maxims.

I was tensed, I felt sick again.

No one came for the rest of the night. Not Sid, Not the devilish man, Not my folks from Ranchi, Not the Police. No one. I was still sitting on that piece of wood that had become increasingly uncomfortable as the night eroded until it was day again.

I had dozed off on the chair at around six when I could no more fight back sleep. A reluctant voice woke me up

''Ebaar aamay jetey hobe….colleger shomoy hoye giyeche''.( I have to leave now…its time for my college)

It was her. She was leaving. The door was open and I saw the wicked man smiling at her.

I was happy the night was over. I was happy it was day again.

I slept all day. Alone.