An evening of Despair

There is a certain sense of identification associated with a tragedy. It is popularly said that every American alive on that date remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when they first heard of the Japanese bombing of the Pearl Harbour and the assassination of President Kennedy. Tragedies, particularly the sudden, unforeseen, irregular and unexpected ones have a shaking up effect. One might think that natural disasters like cyclones and earthquakes occur so frequently that we have become numb to their havoc, but the fact is that it is not the extent and the magnitude of the damage but the complacency which it shatters that makes a tragic event leave a scar. Sometimes, for the unfortunate ones, on the body and almost permanently on the mind. Independent America never thought an enemy would reach its shores and bomb its naval base or smash its proudest towers into dust with such impunity. In those heady days of hope in the early 60s no one ever thought that a President so loved by his people would be so brutally killed on the street. When traders stepped into the Bombay Stock Exchange on a sunny morning in March of 1993, nothing unusual was expected. It was business as usual. Stock exchanges never had been targeted through an act of violence and on that spring morning too there was nothing to defy the belief. Nothing to indicate that the Sarojini Nagar market where one picked such nice bargains would ever be abandoned all alone with a bomb. No reason or historical fact to presume or believe that when people walked in for a laser show at the Lumbini park in Hyderabad, some of them would not be returning home.

We never believe that tragedy can strike – either at us or a few feet away from us or for that matter at those spots where we frequently dine, shop or eat or in that city in which unhindered movement we take for granted. And it is because we do not expect it to happen to us, to our places, to our town and to our city that when it actually does happen, it leaves us numb.

Tonight, another Indian city has had its first brush with terror. Jaipur has withstood seven bomb blasts one after the other. Each timed to perfection, placed meticulously and each kept to go off in places where ordinary people like you and me would go on ordinary days to perform ordinary activities thinking nothing extraordinary could ever happen. Well, tonight it did. 60 people are dead and more than a 150 are injured. And a vibrant, bustling and busy city has lost what it can never regain – innocence. More than 200 families spend this night in anxiety, pain, agony and despair. Men, women and children – all out on daily routines of life have been punished for just that – living. Not for committing murders or looting or demolishing mosques or temples but simply because they did that one simple thing that all of us strive to do – live our daily lives. To say that their death is a waste of human life is an understatement. The answer to the ‘Why’ behind their death is even more eluding and frightening. Why did men so upset and angry about what is happening with their religion in the bloody streets of the middle - east turn towards innocent people thousands of miles away to express that anger? Expect no simple answers.

My only brush with terror, if I may call it that, came when three serial bomb blasts shook Delhi in late October of 2005. It was a couple of days before Diwali and I was on my way home looking to a week long break when the radio broke the news. One of the blasts took place at a chaat stall in the Sarojini Nagar market. An innocuous eatery at a busy market, crowded with hungry Diwali shoppers. Everytime I now go to Chandni Chowk and stand near the Town Hall to eat the Dahi Bhallas, my heart invariably skips a beat of awareness. A busy eatery at the corner of a congested lane. Shoppers, customers, cyclists and rickshaw pullers all milling around. Electric wires hanging overhead and a footpath with hardly any space to walk in the normal course, let alone run in case of a need. A perfect setting I say to myself everytime I stand outside that lane to eat. A perfect setting I say to myself whenever I am at the railway stations. Crowded platforms, unmanned metal detectors that do not work, no screening of baggage and no CCTVs. One can walk into a train with a bag of explosives without even being touched or stopped.

In a country where the value of life is so cheap, such blasts as those borne by Jaipur will not blow the wax out of our ears. Unfortunately the death and the injuries of those 200 odd citizens will not force the Indian state to sit up and acknowledge that it does not have an anti-terror policy and that it needs to urgently draft one. That’s its Intelligence set up needs drastic streamlining and restructuring. That’s its police needs reforming and should be out patrolling our streets rather than being holed up in the VIP zones of our cities. We are a soft state not because we do not have the resolve to act against terror but because we are not able to instill a fear of law in them and play the game with as much single mindedness and brutality as they do.

And while the Indian state ‘reflects’ on another set of lives lost and damaged, you and I can only do what we do everyday. Get out on the street and live our lives. Walk the roads, travel the footpaths, shop at the markets, eat at the roadside eateries, and venture out on Diwalis at crowded and potentially unsafe markets. You and I must continue to live our lives even though on days such as today we may never be able to trace our steps back home, even though on days such as today events may not leave us with the bodily resources to walk back home, even though on days such as today we may be facing the prospects of funeral pyres. You and I must walk the roads, for the right to live is a right greater than any enshrined even in our Constitution. It’s a right granted by humanity. And you and I must not allow any person to browbeat us into mortgaging it away.

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