Police Reforms: for Their Own Sake!

Look around, there's a lot happening around your locality these days, makes you want to bury your head and say, "Oh God! We were never this way!" Petty crimes, breaking up families, increasing rapes, atrocities against minorities, etc. You have this secure cocoon in which you feel sort of safe and suddenly something breaks the complacency. When it hits you, it hits with the force of unpreparedness, with the surprise of "orkapurathu oru adi" which Malayalam saying means "A slap on the back when least expected." These are just examples, one of which was brought to me last week which I mentioned in this post. The robber entered, stole two laptops from the office, the hi-tech cameras caught him (its so sensitive, it can catch every sound, every movement, but the robber was smarter, he wore a mask), but no headway was made in the investigation. Petty robberies upset our rhythm just as terror acts spread, well, terror.

Next step, the police came, asked who they suspected and the poor office boy got called to the station and beaten up. Yes, it happened in this day and age, which makes me wonder if we are in some kind of police raj where medieval torture tactics are still employed. Then, serendipitously, I think of the policemen caught unawares with only wooden sticks in front of killing machines line the AK-47. Have we failed to modernise our law and order mechanism, is it still lagging in the days of the British where the cruel racist masters' trained dogs unleashed terror upon the people the kind I read in the "Last Mughal" and "Sea of Poppies." When will we Indians realise our constitutional right to justice and peace. After all doesn't our constitution state:

"WE, THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a 1[SOVEREIGN SOCIALIST SECULAR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC] and to secure to all its citizens:

JUSTICE, social, economic and political;
LIBERTY of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship;
EQUALITY of status and of opportunity; and to promote among them all
FRATERNITY assuring the dignity of the individual and the [unity and integrity of the Nation];"

And, what's more, it happened on Christmas Day the day that is supposed to be a day of peace and goodwill to everyone on earth. I got very upset, but was told to ignore it because it was their method of investigation. But in this day and age? What are we if we look down upon a fellow citizen of our country (the office boy who got tortured) because of his poverty and economic need and subject him to all sort of suspicion just because he happens to be poor? Don't they know about forensics, the sort of gadgetry you see in serials like 'CID' which can nail the culprit? Can't the police investigate without resorting to third degree? When things like this happen so close to you, and you see the pain in his eyes, his stoic silence, his holding back of tears, you feel that tug inside you. Yes, we have heard of this before, but never seen it from this close. When it happens at a distance it is okay, it's not our pain, its their pain, but when it happens to someone who you have learnt to trust, who brings you much-needed food when you are hungry and returns the exact change, who willingly does everything he is asked to do, who just was blessed with a baby girl, and whose wife broke down when she heard that he was beaten, you feel like nothing is worth it anymore.

It seems the torture treatment was crude and went on for three hours (4 p.m. to 7 p.m.), because he was pointed out as the prime suspect by someone. Whipping with a belt (the sort used in a flour mill, he says), hammering the palms on the floor for hours, jumping on the floor repeatedly to break the subject down. Heard the joke how the police caught five suspects and after this treatment all the five admitted to crimes they hadn't committed at all? But, shhhhhhh, this isn't the time for your droll jokes, is it? He cried, he swore on his new-born child's name that he didn't do it, but the torture went on, just because someone suspected him. As usual the hurt was inflicted on the palms and the heels which do not show any marks or wounds. He said his hands and feet were swollen.

The policemen for whom I adapted Elton John's song "Emtpy Garden," after the recent terror attacks are a brave lot, but they need training in interrogation methods, they need to trust people more and not resort to third degree to break down suspects. They need to be treated humanely so that they also treat others in the same fashion. Most of all they need to be paid well, offered counselling to deal with their tough jobs or this is what will happen.

As an aside, Salman Rushdie says in this interview with SAJA and Asia Society, "Well, first of all, I think, it is very difficult, as you said in the beginning, to articulate exactly how deeply we were affected by what we saw. I think there were many days when it was almost impossible to think, let alone to speak about what was happening, specially I think to those of us who grew up on those streets. And by the way, I think we have all agreed before hand that we are going to call the city by its proper name, which is Bombay. It is Bombay that was attacked and not Mumbai. And, by the way, I cannot say, and this is the only time I will say it, the words "Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus". This railway station is and always will be VT. And so, because these are the names of love, the others are the artificial names imposed by the politicians. But these are the names of the city that we love."

A Subdued Christmas!

Christmas is over! I can't believe it came and went. The day I was looking forward to, the day I cherished, the day I wanted to be happy more than ever. But this Christmas was sad one, indeed a very sad one. No, not because Ghajini released (guess it is a part of the whole), or the terror attack, or anything of that sort. I will come to that. But because of a combination of factors that make me feel, sort of, well, kind of disoriented.

Well, Ghajini for instance. Let me get it over with. There was this team of giggly and over-excited reporters on Star TV interviewing Aamir about Ghajini and they were going on about the hair cut and other things. Truly sickened me. Seems the hair had to be trimmed everyday. Those crude lines had to be shaved, at the right spot, "what if the barber decided to draw another line?" a reporter joked facetiously; and they went on and on about the stunts, how Aamir was injured and the shooting had to be stopped for a week (yeah!); and how he had to exercise everyday to get that eight pack (what's that? Never heard of it, a little exaggeration is okay, but don't go overboard because a star is around); and how the music was scored and picturised; and how it was marketed and sponsored with Aamir wearing some bloody suitlength (forget which, oh, never mind) over half sleeves and a tie; how Aamir did this and that, etc., etc., ad nauseum....

I sat through all this thinking they would discuss: the story, the plot, the characters, the direction. Nothing. They spoke nothing of the story except that it was a remake of a Tamil film. The rushes of the Tamil film looked much better than the Hindi ones. So Hindi and Tamil films can be conjoined in some incestuous relationship and not progress beyond the borders? Is that the idea? God help us on Christmas day. I don't know if I will see Ghajini but the interview left a bad taste in my mouth. One of the interviewers was the guy who asked Salman, "Salman, as an actor, what do you think of Shahrukh's body?" Get the irony? No, he isn't asking "as an actor what do you think of Shahrukh's acting," he is way off the mark, as everyone in the film industry is, I guess.

Another thing that made my Christmas less than enjoyable happened yesterday. Last Saturday I was in Manisha's office and she remarked how somebody had stolen the LED projector from the conference room. I clucked my tongue and raised my eyebrows. Yesterday, four days later, an unidentified morning visitor decamped with two laptops from my office. We had close circuit television 24-hours and all that, but when we played the footage, the light was too dim, the robber wore a mask, and he had done a neat job. In short: he couldn't be identified, though some said he was tall, he was dark, he was this and he was that. It had me totally confused, I mean, their theories and Sherlockian "Elementary, my dear Watson" deductions. The bad men are always one step ahead of us, aren't they? To be robbed leaves one humiliated, just like a terror act leaves us, well, petrified.

So the Christmas spirit is down, a subdued Christmas was had by yours truly, this blogger.

Merry Christmas!

Wishing all readers of this blog a Merry Christmas. May the season of
peace and hope be a time to look ahead and decide to make difference
in our own and others' lives. This is no damn platitude, it's being
said with a lot of moisture around the corners of eyes and a throat
stuck as if one has swallowed a whole turkey. Peace. More later after
I finish reading these screaming hedlines about war. Hope they don't
start anything they can't end.

--
Sent from my mobile device

For a mobile blogging experience: http://johnpmathew.blogspot.com, for
all else: http://johnwriter.com

Meena Alexander Reads at Theosophy Hall, Bombay

Meena Alexander Reading at the Theosophy Hall, Bombay. She was in conversation with poet Arundhati Subramaniam

Meena Alexander read her poems at the Theosophy Hall, Bombay, yesterday. The reading had a better than average attendance for a normal, poets-hearing-other-poets-read reading. I was there. I caught her on my cellphone and here's the result. You may have to crank up the volume to "full" to hear her words.

About Meena Alexander:
Meena Alexander was born in Allahabad, and now lives and works in New York City. Her six books of poetry include Illiterate Heart, which won the PEN Open Book Award, Raw Silk, and the recently published Quickly Changing River. She is the author of the acclaimed memoir Fault Lines and editor of Indian Love Poems (Everyman's Library). She has also published two novels, Nampally Road (1991) and Manhattan Music (1997); a book of poems and essays, The Shock of Arrival: Reflections on Postcolonial Experience (1996); and two academic studies, one of which is Women in Romanticism: Mary Wollstonecraft, Dorothy Wordsworth, and Mary Shelley (1989). Her book, Poetics of Dislocation, is forthcoming in Fall 2009 from the University of Michigan Poets on Poetry series. She is Distinguished Professor of English at Hunter College and the Graduate Center, CUNY and a 2008 Guggenheim Fellow in Poetry.

Lovers Holding Hands in Traffic!

Call it a city hostile to lovers, or a city that frowns on public display of affection, I found it odd that the boy in the picture (on the bike) was holding the girl's finger (in the taxi) for as long as we waited for the signal to change. And how did they meet at the traffic intersection? Was it serendipitous or deliberate? Was it destined or pre-meditated? As regards to matters of the heart, of which I am a big zero, I guess, I will never know.

Empty Station! (Lyrics)

Elton John wrote "Emtpy Garden" for his friend John Lennon after he was murdered in New York. The first few words go like this (apologies Elton John and Bernie Taupin, you are my fave singer and songwriter team, so have mercy, puhleeze!):

What happened here
As the new york sunset disappeared
I found an empty garden among the flagstones there
Who lived here
He must have been a gardener that cared a lot
Who weeded out the tears and grew a good crop
And now it all looks strange
It's funny how one insect can damage so much grain

Here's my tribute to the Bombay policemen who despite being armed only with lathis bravely fought the terrorists and gave their lives in the terror attack in Bombay on November 26, 2008. Sing it in tune to "Empty Garden", I tried and it fits in rather nicely:

Empty Station

What happened here?
As the Bombay sunset disappeared
I found an empty station among the gothic towers there
Who was here?
He must have been a policeman that cared a lot
Who weeded out the tears and became a good cop
And now it all looks strange
It's funny how one terrorist can cause so much pain.

And what's it for
This little empty station by the Bombay docks
And in the cracks along the sidewalk nothing grows no more
Who lived here?
He must have been a policeman that cared a lot
Who weeded out the tears and became a good cop
And we are so amazed, we're crippled and we're dazed
A policeman like that one no one can replace.

And I've been knocking but no one answers
And I've been knocking most all the day
Oh and I've been calling, oh hey hey havildar
Can't you come out today?

And through their tears
Some say he guarded his best in younger years
But he'd have said that roots grow stronger if only he could hear
Who lived there?
He must have been a policeman that cared a lot
Who weeded out the tears and became a good cop
Now we pray for him, and with every drop that falls
We hear, we hear your name.

And I've been knocking but no one answers
And I've been knocking most all the day
Oh and I've been calling oh hey hey havildar
Can't you come out today?

Havildar, can't you come out today in this empty station?

Hitler Isn't Hot!

A bit strident and voluble, but I approve of her stridency and feel it ineluctable under the present circumstances. Here's fellow blogger, writer and columnist Sarah Islam on the hero-worship we are foisting post-November 26 on Adolf Hitler and his ilk. Imagine, how can we forget the holocaust that killed six million people, that too, in gas chambers and freezing prisons. How easily we forget the lessons of history!

"Many Indians who I spoke to after the ‘office episode of shock and awe’ said that they admired Adolf Hitler and a leader like him would surely help India on the right path. Sad, that we still think we need to be beaten black and blue in the name of discipline and exterminated if we show dissent. On a deeper level, perhaps Hitler’s handling of the Jews does induce wet dreams in many right wing Hindus and Muslims who think that ethnic cleansing would solve all our problems as it will automatically create a perfect nation consisting of citizens with the correct bloodline, the correct faith and the right ideals. Diversity, as we all know is the not a trait that any dictator, brainwashed hoodlum or inbred nationalist likes."

"On television these days, we have many Indians who are holding up Israel as an example of how a country should defend its borders against its enemies. No matter that apartheid is rampart inside Israel, we are again vacantly quoting from history and current affairs without understanding a damn word of it! It makes me sad that a country with so many global aspirations just fails to see what is really happening around them. Shame! Read more on Sarah Islam's blog.

Deja Vu, the Sham Called Awards

I guess I have been through this before, meaning I have mentioned this on my blog before. I am a big sucker for awards functions. I like to see the stars all dolled up, all dressed up and somehwere to go, corrupting the age-old phrase a bit, I like to see their cute smiles, their careful interaction, the way they keep their eyes averted from their old flames, the way lovers sat across each other exchanging glances furtively lest the world know they are having an affair, the way the old flame batted eyelids at her lover while dancing on stage, the way the star families sat together even forming their own camps in full view of the public, the way they acted magnanimously, even if they had enough animosity in them to burn the whole auditorium down, etc. etc.

But this show took the cake, really. It was called Star Junior awards and there they were, the stars all scrubbed, made up, coiffured and smiling politely at each other. But they were tense, and acting as if tension didn't exist. I could make out from their smiles that it was faked and the smiles could become sneers and sniggers in no time, god help me!

so, it was the awards that recognised junior stars meaning the child stars right. I knew by the way the camera panned Urmila matdondkar that she was going to win an award. She was acting so cutesy, too. Poor thing hasn't had a hit movie for a long time. I loved this actress in Rangila, couple of other films I don't remember, well, they were forgettable movies too.

I knew Raju Hirani (he of "Munnabhai MBBS fame") was going to win an award the way the camera panned him. He was smiling and acting cute too, obviously, he knew too. I mean he knew too that he was going to win an award.

If the accused (I don't mean it literally) knew what the verdict was, even before the judge pronounced it, what's the meaning of having a sham award show of this type? Is it worth generating all that hype that would lead to nothing? Pretty good actors these guys are, but sometimes, during these public events, something slips and the whole raw underbelly is exposed. Not even the best compereing can hide these fact.

Yes, Urmila did win an award for the song from "Masoom" and said "The credit should go to Shekhar Kapoor, I didn't know what I was doing then, I still don't know," or something to that effect. Pardon me madam, could you be more specific?

Kishore Biyani - Retail King

Knowing as to how much Mr. Kishore Biyani is respected in industry circles for putting India on the retailing map of the world, I couldn't but admire this man's ingenuity. Today Food Bazaars and Big Bazaars are everywhere and have made shopping such a pleasure in malls across the country. Read more here in this article written by Sourya Biswas in thedailyretail.com:

"Mr. Biyani began by saying that the last keynote address he delivered was in the “old world order”, with the one he was about to deliver being in the new one. In his opinion, while the former involved competition, the latter is defined by collaboration.

"Drawing from examples of his own brands, Pantaloons and Big Bazaar, Mr. Biyani outlined the challenges facing Indian retail today, and how co-operation between Indian retailers can help reduce costs. The first head of expenditure he mentioned was marketing, which, according to him eats up as much as 3%-6% of a retailer’s revenues."

Do Literary Agents Read Novels? "What Happened Here?"

It's weird and its upsetting. Yeah, it is. These days people jump to conclusions about a book or novel before they read it. I participated in a discussion on an online forum and most of the participants hadn't read the book but seemed so knowledable, in fact, more knowledgable than the author himself, or Poovannamnilkunnathil Mathaichettan himself. Back and forth the arguments went about semantics, motives, author's quirks of language, endless arguments over grammar, but nobody had read the book, and I am sure nobody will.

Says Mathaichettan, "You know there is a section in the novel "White Tiger" which goes as follows":

"One day, as I was driving my ex-employers Mr. Ashok and Pinky Madam in their Honda City car, Mr. Ashok put a hand on my shoulder, and said, "Pull over to the side." Following this command, he leaned forward so close that I could smell his aftershave -- it was a delicious, fruitlike smell that day -- and said, politely as ever, "Balram, I have a few questions to ask you, all right?"

""Yes, sir," I said.

""Balram," Mr. Ashok asked, "how many planets are there in the sky?"

"I gave the answer as best as I could.

""Balram, who was the first prime minister of India?"

"And then: "Balram, what is the difference between a Hindu and a Muslim?"

"And then: "What is the name of our continent?"

"Mr. Ashok leaned back and asked Pinky Madam, "Did you hear his answers?"

""Was he joking?" she asked, and my heart beat faster, as it did every time she said something.

""No. That's really what he thinks the correct answers are."

"She giggled when she heard this: but his face, which I saw reflected in my rearview mirror, was serious.

""The thing is, he probably has...what, two, three years of schooling in him? He can read and write, but he doesn't get what he's read. He's half-baked. The country is full of people like him, I'll tell you that. And we entrust our glorious parliamentary democracy" -- he pointed at me -- "to characters like these. That's the whole tragedy of this country.""

I find this amusing. What I am also stumped and stupefied as to how these days people discuss a book even before reading it. But then neither do the literary agent and editor. Then

I read this here:

"The first line and first paragraph should demonstrate great writing ability and the knowledge that the author knows how to write a hook. If it's a romance, it would be nice if the hero/heroine meet on the first page or close to it."

I have suspected this for a long time. These days writers write a stunning first paragraph, the agent after reading the bombastic first para, is so inspired that he/she rushes to the editor at the publisher and say, "Look here, this is a sure Booker/Pulitzer/Commonwealth prize winner. The editor is suitably awed and assigns the newly recruited fine arts graduate editor to edit it. The book is published, critics are invited to the wine, cheese and dinner party with lot of wine, and people read the first ten pages and start denigrating/deriding/sniggering/character assassinating the book/author/editor.

Exactly what Ashoky said to Pnky madam about Balram Halwai:

"The country is full of people like him, I'll tell you that. And we entrust our glorious parliamentary democracy" -- he pointed at me -- "to characters like these. That's the whole tragedy of this country."

Once again Mathaichettan reminded me of this dialogue when I read the reports in the press about the terror attacks. Some say we should become a dictatorship, some say bring back the emergency, some say hate them and love ourselves more, some say we need more Hindu fundamentalists, some say we need more Naxalites, some say the law-keepers should be shot, some say politicians are dummies and duds and they should be sent to the wilderness of the Sahara, etc. etc. Where's the voice of reason in this cacophony, where's the tranquility that we need to mull over and do something constructive.

I am overwhelmed, my senses are reeling, I am flabbergasted, the numbness hasn't ended, the solutions aren't found, and every evening after I leave the office for home, I weep. Yes my eyes become moist for all those people who died, so close, in the heart of a heartless city, because of the callousness of a few.

A few ministers have resigned and we hope order has been restored. But one indication of nothing having changed is that the metal detectors at VT station are still unmanned and the policemen/policewomen still gather in a bunch and chat. As if nothing ever happened here. I am reminded of Elton John's song "What happened here, as the New York sunset disappeared" about the death of John Lennon a friend. It's as if nothing happened in Bombay. We are no respecters of history, we sneer and snigger at history and don't learn from its lessons.