Wednesday, February 25, 2009

TREE FOR ALL

Professor Chandra Krishnamurthy, avid environmentalist and Vice Chancellor of SNDT University, thought a few months ago that it would be a good idea to inspire students of the university's constituent and affiliated colleges and post-graduate departments to plant a tree each. Today she waits for the seeds planted in these young minds to bear fruit in the form of 70,000 trees throughout the country, within campuses and without them, by the end of August.

What prompted the idea?

Much awareness is being spread about the environment and global warming via many platforms. I want to translate awareness into action. What better medium for this than the vast student body of our university? Even if each student plants one tree, there will be a noticeable difference. Also, what better way to instill awareness amongst youth than to make each one develop a relationship with a tree?

What will ensure the tree's maintenance after being planted?

The tree will bear the student's name for the years that such student looks after it (with the help of an NSS project-in-charge and teacher). The student will be marked on the condition of the tree. If the condition is not up to the mark, a detailed report will have to be prepared as to what went wrong. This will lead to a far more complex understanding of environment. When one student passes out, the tree will be put in the charge of another, and the nameplate changed.

What made so many students volunteer?

There is the incentive of marks, given for extracurriculars as per the National Social Service (NSS) grades. But also calling to them was an issue as threatening as oxygen depletion in the city or town where they lived. Then there is the sentimental value of having planted and looked after a tree you can visit later with your children and grandchildren. Finally the credit for the execution of this idea goes to the NSS coordinators, campus-in-charges of each college and other university faculty and staff who stoked the spirit of the students and supported it.

How were the trees to be planted, and the areas they were to be planted in, chosen?

We cannot afford to buy trees, so the kind of tree depends on funds we received or trees donated to us. Then we relied on information gathered by the NSS as to what tree to plant where. We associated ourselves with local government bodies to plant trees in rural areas, public gardens, railway stations and even road dividers. In Pune district, for instance, we planted Lakshmi Taru, which maintains enriches soil and is essential for farmers whose land loses fertility due to crop rotation. In Juhu, Mumbai, we planted Bakul, which has fragrant flowers and lives for around 300 years without weakening the foundation of any construction nearby. We're speaking to Raj Bhavan to plant fruit bearing trees in a portion of the gardens, which will attract birds. In sections of rural Maharashtra we're planting Aarita, whose seed is used in the manufacture of soap, because the locals are keen for such. Many such trees may be cultivated and maintained because their fruit provide a livelihood to someone. If a more extensive survey of what tree is needed where is conducted for us, we will go by that as well.

B'BAY'S UNDERGROUND?

Accordion and sax play) Roop Tera Mastana, Dil Mera Deewana…
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> Film: Aradhana; Singer: Kishore Kumar; Music Director: S D Burman
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> (Hawaiian Guitar plays) Mera Naam Chin Chin Chu…
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> Film: Howrah Bridge; Singer: Geeta Dutt; Music Director: O. P.
> Nayyar
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> Mohe Panghat Pe… (Ghungru 'plays')… Nand Lal Ched Gayo Re…
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> Film: Mughal-E-Azam; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music Director: Naushad
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> "Sachin Karta (S D Burman) was in a fix. He couldn't think of how to
> start Roop
> Tera… on an appropriately high tempo and note," says Dinesh Ghate. Then
> Kersi Lord strummed a suggestion on his accordion. And Manohari Singh blew
> in agreement on his saxophone. In the discussion that played out thereafter, the
> instrumental introduction that generations would dance to was fixed.
> "Similarly, the tune which begins Mera Naam Chin Chin Chu…, hummed even today,
> was courtesy the Hawaiian Guitar," Ghate continues, "Played by S Hazara Singh, who went onto actually invent another kind of guitar." Also, the ghungru interlude in Mohe
> Panghat Pe... was so perfect because it wasn't danced out but rung in
> rhythm with the tabla by legendary percussionist Cawas Lord (Kersi Lord's
> father). "And yet, Hindi film music credits don't include the names of instrumentalists," Ghate finishes. "Are you aware of these names?"

Ghate wasn't either. A percussionist earning his daily bread by performing old and new Hindi film songs with a band, the applause he recieved for an octopad interlude one day, made him wonder who the piece had originally been performed by? "This started a series of questions," remembers Ghate. Questions like what role do instrumentalists play in a song's composition? How much do they earn? And finally, why don't Hindi film music credits include their names when private albums and western music tracks make it a point to do so? "While it's true that some composers had upto hundred instruments playing for one track, there were always some instrumental pieces, performed solo or in duets, which formed the essence of the track," Ghate argues. So he decided to seek out the performers of such pieces, and feature them in a crudely printed black and white newsletter titled Dastak. In May 2002, his family (comprising his parents and wife who live with him) helped him prepare a mailing list of those in the music industry who would be interested in reading about such performers and mail them what looked like a xerox copy of a feature on sax and flute maestro Manohari Singh.
Today, Dastak has been renamed and registered as Swar Alaap, a finely printed colour magazine that circluates over 1000 monthly copies to the industry's who's who and universities which teach music. One such copy is found in the Voice Of America Library in Washington DC. Likeminded enthusiasts Kushal Gopalka (a businessman), Shankar Aiyar (a banker) and Arun Puranik (a corporate executive) have joined Ghate in his endeavour. They've extended their activities beyond the magazine to the Swar Alaap Foundation, that holds concerts to felicitate behind the scenes Hindi film musicians (their last show in Mumbai being a tribute to Kawas Lord after his death in December last year). They held an exhibition last year called 100 Years Of Music, which presented chronologically songs, photographs and write-ups outlining the contribution of such musicians, along with instruments they used in those times. Ghate tries novel concepts to reach out to audiences and readers alike. A show he's organising called Harmony With Hansmukh, for instance, mixes the most experienced instumentalists in the business with fresh new voices waiting to be launched.
"Some of these musicians were given upto eight bars (a sizeable range) by the music director to improvise within," Ghate mentions. Some of them, like Leslie Godinho who researched percussion to add an additional drum and make Congo a three drum set, or Hazara Singh, who invented the double guitar, were musical scientists in their own right. "Yet when I travelled to corners of cities, small towns and villages to locate such musicians post their retirement, many were living in conditions of extreme ill health and poverty," Ghate informs. Some of their neighbours, he claims, referred to them as 'bajaane waala', not knowing of their contribution to the very songs they were listening to on their tape recorders or radios as they said this. The proceeds of the felicitation concerts Swar Alaap holds go towards the medical expenses of some such musicians. Ghate wants to take this forward and have a charitable trust for the purpose. "I also want to set up a small museum displaying what we did during our exhibition permanently," he adds. "Our next project, however, is a detailed website."
Ghate might have first related so strongly to the plight of a musician living in anonymity because of his own situation. "I carried on my live shows and research alongside," he recounts. "I kept wondering: I am so unhappy when i don't recieve applause for a piece i've performed. What must a musician who improvises such a piece, and yet recieves no recognition feel like?" Then he takes out some old photograps he's collected of these legendary musicians in their younger days, clicked during performance. Seeing this photographs transforms the nature of Swar Alaap Foundation's work from complaint to celebration. These musicians, from Leslie Gudinho who drummed out O Haseena Zulfonwaali... to Pandit Ashok Sharma whose Sarod formed the backdrop for Bole Re Papihara... don't seem "unhappy" at not recieving "recognition". Their happiness instead, seems to transcend what a famous music director or singer will ever know. It is the happiness of a person who works as a part of an arrangement, yet refuses to become just a notation. It is also the happiness of making music that will be heard, rather than having names that will be read.

AZIZ MIRZA - INTERVIEW

"Ah! I see a nice tree," says the gregarious, booming voice that has come to characterize filmmaker Aziz Mirza. Mirza has left for Khandala to spend a night at his brother's place, the day after his film Kismat Konnection's release. He's now looking for a nice tree to enjoy the afternoon under.

"I am affected by the financial returns from a film because there are people who have invested money in it," Mirza states simply. "But the last time a critic affected me was Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani." His other three directorial ventures, Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman, Yes Boss and especially Chalte Chalte, were well received by critics and box offices alike. "It affected me because Phir Bhi… was a leap forward as a director," Mirza explains. While the other three films were romances set in social scenarios suffered by the middle class, Phir Bhi… was his first film to place a social issue (media urging public opinion to translate into action) at its helm. This is reminiscent of his brother Saeed Mirza's films (Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aaata Hai?; Salim Lagde Pe Mat Ro…) except that "Saeed doesn't mince words. I sugarcoated a social message to reach more people." Today, he laughs, with events like the Jessica Lall Case leading media to rouse middle-class public into protesting on streets and overturning unjust court orders, that message seemed tinged with prophecy.

Kismat… is the first film he's made since wife Nirmala's death, five years ago. "It's not that I'd taken a hiatus," he explains. "I was just too upset to work." Nirmala, a dedicated social worker, had pushed Mirza to not worry about money, quit his truck transport business, and pursue his passion in filmmaking. The son of scriptwriter Akhtar Mirza (who wrote Naya Daur) remembers his mother noting ideas for his father's scripts on unused pages of his school exercise books. "Nirmala was in the hospital during Chalte…," Mirza also remembers. "But she kept sending me notes on how the relationship between the couple should be depicted." Nirmala was an ex-psychology student, and Mirza was scared of using some of her deep analyses in Chalte… "because I didn't want to experiment too much after Phir Bhi…" But what she did manage to influence, by her life rather than her notes, was his creation of strong female characters, and romances that stem from the struggle that a relationship endures. "I was in love with my wife from school," he recounts happily. "Romance for us wasn't dancing around trees like in the movies, but waiting for a bus while promising to buy ourselves a car some day. It was dependence, and faith." This romance comes forth in Kismat…as well: "All the struggles – of ideology and livelihood – which come in between a relationship are present, just in a different environment." And this lasting romance, with a childhood love, is as ever omnipresent in the script he's writing, which he took a break from to make Kismat…, that deals with love, and death.

Kismat… is also Mirza's first film to be situated outside Mumbai. "I wanted a change - a city that was a metropolis in general," he explains. "This city could be any metropolis, not Toronto specifically." This is unlike his earlier films which had distinct shades of Bombay city in its locales as well as characters. "It's an honest film," he reiterates. "If one has to, one will connect with the content of a film, not its setting."

Finally, Kismat… is the first film made by Mirza that doesn't have Shahrukh Khan playing protagonist. From Circus and Raju… to Chalte… Mirza has always been credited for being able to cast Khan as the common man, while so many directors thought his star image was too huge for such portrayal. "Shahrukh has grown up before me," dismisses Mirza. "I understand his middleclass roots so well, because I see a younger me in him so often." This understanding had prompted Mirza and Khan, along with Juhi Chawla to start production house Dreamz Unlimited, to make the kind of movies they wanted to make. "Dreamz hasn't been shut down. Only the office closed, because we weren't making any film," Mirza emphasizes, and follows with a pun. "When Shahrukh, Juhi and I decide to make a film, we'll make it with 'Dreamz'." Dreamt personally, amidst a middle class metropolis romance… or under a tree near Khandala.

SHIVAJI'S LEGACY

"As a child, I listened to my father's tales about Shivaji Maharaj every night before sleeping. He dramatized them with higher voice and tempo while describing battle scenes. He linked them our family's history. I felt them creep through my ear into my brain, and my blood. Whenever I saw the Chattrapati's picture then, what struck me most was the punch dagger tucked in his waistband. I felt the Chattrapati must really like that dagger he's always holding. And I felt, that whatever the Chattrapati liked, I must like too."

Girish Jadhav, a 58 year old Senior Manager with a multinational, strikes a stance from the Hanmanti school of sword fighting (an ancient school followed by the Maratha army), holding a 11th century punch dagger. He jumps and twirls, forming a perfect semi-arc to demonstrate an ideal thrust, which the weapon was designed for. He does this deftly, in little space, because the small room he lives in at Pune is crowded with three beds besides his own, occupied by three other lodgers he shares it with. He keeps a handful of weapons here in the corner of a shared cupboard. His one room-kitchen residence in Kurla, Mumbai, where his wife and children stay, contains 700 odd antique weapons, from the 11th century onwards, belonging to the period in between the rise and the fall of the Maratha empire.

The collection comprises different kinds of punch daggers, swords, sword handles, shields, spears, war axes, arrows, tiger claws, head gear, battle armour, kukris and some pistols. Carefully maintained and kept wrapped in cloth or canvas, they leave hardly any place for clothes or utensils.

His weapons collection has seen 180 exhibitions throughout the country and won him many awards and medals from historians and government bodies. On his desk in Pune lie some sample weapons he has short listed to be sent to London, for a possible exhibition. Next to these lie notes for a book he's working on, to be titled 'The History Of Weaponry'. And next to those lie information to be sent to Nitin Desai (the man behind many a Bollywood historical) for a serial he's producing on Shivaji, along with Jadav's many weapons, which will serve as models for duplicate weapons to be made for the serial.

Jadhav's first antique weapon, "obviously, the Maratha punch dagger", was bought at age 30 in Pune's Old Bazaar. "I knew exactly where to find it, because I had scoured the market for it, for many years," he remembers. "I had dreamt of buying it since childhood, but had to wait till I had earned enough money." But no yearning so old will be easily satisfied, and so, 40 weapons followed. "This was when friends and colleagues started talking about what I had, at business meetings even," he says. "And I became a 'collector'." A friend got some school children to see his collection. "One of them told his history teacher, who asked me for an exhibition in his school," he relates. "And the idea of holding exhibitions for the public hit me." These exhibitions brought local journalists and consequent write-ups, spreading his fame further. "I received 80 letters after the first write-up," he says incredulously. "Some from villagers who said they would pray to God that I can carry on this 'noble work'."

His marketing job enabled him to travel to towns like Surat, Balsar, Bilaspur, Jodhpur, Udaipur and Bijapur which were valuable sources for weapons from the Maratha period. "My last marketing call would be at 5, after which I would ask people around me where to find antiques in the city," he says. "I was particularly interested in places where wars were fought during this period." Well wishers contributed to his cause in cash and kind. So while it took him many an excursion to a Surat Warehouse to procure a Pre-British muzzle loading gun-powder pistol, a 400 year old Turkish Yataghan sword whose jade hilt was embedded with diamonds, rubies and gold (worth many lakhs of rupees) was gifted to him by Madhukar More. One such well wisher was famed Maratha historian Babasaheb Purandhare, who contributed to his cause with his own knowledge on the era. "Discussions with him opened a new world to me," Jadhav recounts. "I saw the link between weapons, history, places and the character of people and politics in today's India." His final step in this direction was learning to swordfight as the Marathas did then. "I went to Kolhapur to ask people, 'Who knows Hanmanti?" he says. "When some youngsters who knew the art started demonstrating, I filmed it to learn the moves." Endless attempts in this direction led to finding Katkade Guruji, who taught him the art properly. Explaining how he could discover and rescue from obscurity the remains of an 11th century cannon ball, which no one else notice, Jadhav says: "I had to. My liking for these weapons has developed into love, into obsession and then gone beyond madness."

Jadhav was not privileged enough to pursue the low-paying career of a professional historian. Yet his historical and cultural roots clutched at him too much to let him remain a 9 to 5 executive. "I didn't buy a colour TV, long after everyone else in my salary bracket had, because I needed to purchase tiger claws," he says as he begins to tear up. "I saw my children having to sneak into other's living room windows to catch their favourite serial. Yet they never once asked me to forsake my passion." Ironically the same roots that prompt such passion, prompted a mob in Mazagaon to scream "Jaanta Raja" while burning a hut housing Muslim women and children. "No person who loves a subject can misuse it," says Jadhav uncompromisingly. "An understanding of history will show you how people are connected, not how to divide them by caste, class, religion… or even region."

ANGEL OF DEATH

"Wait a minute. Let me salute you properly," said a police officer to Kishore Chandra Shankar Bhatt. A nun had just been run over by a truck. Bhatt was assisting the police and medical team in carrying her corpse to an ambulance. But that was not the reason for the salute.

The nun belonged to a church that would claim her body, and bury it. Since the last forty years, Bhatt has given an appropriate funeral to over 2000 bodies belonging to people of varying faith, and even animals. These bodies were either unclaimed, or claimed by people who did not have money for the funeral. His work has been recognized by police stations and hospitals who call him when they have an unclaimed body, or give a person who can't afford funeral expenses his phone number. It has been recognized by a Muslim religious society which has awarded him a medal for his work in the field. It has been recognized in other parts of the country as well, by government authorities who call him to help out with such unfortunate corpses during calamities, as he did in Mumbai during the riots of '92 - '93 and the bomb blasts following them. The salute was a culmination of this recognition.

Bhatt first encountered death when he was 17. "I had gone to Surat to help out with flood relief. I saw human corpses lying around with those of animals – mangled together as one," he remembers. "On telling my father this, he said: To wrap a corpse in its shroud, to lend your shoulder to carrying it, to perform it's last rites – is the greatest good you can do." So he started visiting hospitals and police stations, asking them to contact him whenever a body would be unclaimed, and asking acquaintances to inform him whenever they saw a corpse lying on the road. "The police were suspicious towards the beginning," he recounts. "They would check to see if I had stolen anything from a body I picked up from the street." As suspicions subdued, he won well wishers: "An NGO which helped me create a trust for my work, a chartered accountant who did our accounts, a medicine store owner who gave me supplies and a friend who donated two Suzuki vans for conveyance – one of which has been transformed into an ambulance like vehicle for carrying bodies." Also contributing to his cause are umpteen youth residing near his Arthur Road interior decoration shop, on call to help him with the corpses. Each of them has to learn, as Bhatt did, the funeral rituals for each religion.

Bhatt's own son died at the young age of seventeen. When asked about what makes him persevere in his philanthropy sans any cynicism, he presents a plethora of fantastic tales. There is a woman who told him after he cremated her daughter, that her faith in God was reinstated. There is a man whose son had gone into coma and was discharged from a public hospital because doctors said he would die in a few hours anyway. "He wanted to take him back to his village to die in his hometown, but his village was far off," Bhatt recounts. "So I arranged for some men with supplies to travel with him, to cremate him if he died on the way." Bhatt, being a Brahmin, sprinkled some gangajal on the boy's lips to fulfill the priest's side of the Hindu rites, in case they couldn't find a priest when he passed away, "and the boy sprang out of coma!" Then there is a wealthy Mr Memon who decreed before dying that his last rites be conducted not by a Muslim, but by Bhatt. Also, there is a tuberculosis patient, who Bhatt had admitted to the hospital, who returned to his shop in a tearing hurry. "Pay the taxi fare fast, I have no money, and no time, he said," Bhatt narrates. Bhatt paid the taxi fare and asked him if he'd like some tea. He said: "No. No time, I just wanted to say thanks, and bye." And passed away.

Bhatt has resorted to lies and coercion to get his work done: "I have called a hospital and pretended to be a politician to get a baby girl admitted. I have told a taxi driver he would be sinning heavily if he didn't help me transport a dead man's body." This commitment is in line with lineage – Bhatts, traditionally, were Brahmins entrusted with the specific duty of performing a Hindu's Antim Sanskaar. What is not in line with lineage, however, is for a Brahmin to actually do any manual work connected with the funeral, leave alone the funeral of a person from another caste, or religion. "A funeral is a necessary tribute to life which transcends death," Bhatt retorts. Step out of his shop into the big bad metropolis, however, and one realizes his work as a tribute to lives that were… and that could have been.

GHULAM MOHAMMED - OF PROPHECIES AND LEGACIES

A son was born in 1903 at a village called Naal, near Bikaner, Rajasthan to Ustad Nobi Bukhsh, Music Director of Musicals. His first tabla performance was at the age of six, after which he continued to work as a child artist with the Jodhpur-Bikaner Theatre Company (J B Theatre Co.) and the Albert Theatre Company at Lahore. The Nawab of Junagadh presented him with a golden sword when he was 13, for the singing portrayal of a prince, prophesying he would grow up to be one of India's great artists. He went on to specialize in the field of percussion, commanding the highest pay any musician did during the 20s and early 30s (he was paid one rupee and 50 paise per recording when the staple was 50 paise) for recordings that were played as a backdrop to silent movies. He continued his work in theatre alongside this to become the Chief Dance Director and Chief Director of Musicals. It was with the talkies, however, that Ghulam Mohammed fulfilled the Nawab's prophecy.

Played a part in this fulfillment is his fast-paced composition of Ghalib's somber Dil-e-Nadaan for Sohrab Modi's Mirza Ghalib (1954) and his presenting of La De Mohe Balma Aaasmani Churiya in a format akin to Rap, long before Rap was popular in the west even, in Rail Ka Dibba (1943). But his being the original music composer for Pakeezah (1972) (Naushad took over towards the end because he passed away during the making of the film), has placed him securely in the Indian music director's hall of fame. He is credited with introducing to Hindi film music instruments like the duff, matka, chimta, kharkaal, manjeere and lota. His family's claim to him introducing the dholak to Hindi film music with Sharda (1942) is contested by the Sen family (descendants of percussionist Jamal Sen). But there is no contesting him being the first ever person to have recorded the dholak in a recording of Begum Inaayati Dera Waali's in 1934. His six sons (each a musician in his own right) have grown adept at the instrument too, prompting Pyarelal Sharma of Laxmikant-Pyarelal to call their family the 'dholak gharana'.

"Begum Inayaati rejected many tabalchis because they couldn't give her the rhythm she wanted for her recording," recounts Mumtaz Ahmed, the eldest of his sons. "She was skeptical about my father playing the dholak, an instrument used only in mujras, instead of the tabla." Ghulam Mohammed had been invited to a wedding in Jammu by U*ma Dutt (Shiv Kumar Sharma's father) where he had seen many women playing dholaks to perfection because one woman kept rhythm by tapping a small stone to the ground. To discipline the dholak in similarly to match the precision of a tabla, he thought, one should use the challa (the metal ring seen on every tabalchi's fore-finger***). "But the dholak was a different kind of drum altogether," Mumtaz explains. "So he decided that the challa should be placed on the dholak player's little finger. Where it has remained ever since…"

The idea of using the matka, in Sharda (1942), stemmed similarly, from Ghulam Mohammed's wanderings through festival celebrations in Punjab and Multan. "He suggested to Naushad that a soft rounded sound would match Suraiya's 14 year old voice," says Aziz Mohammed, the second eldest brother and an acclaimed percussionist within the industry. "And he knew exactly where to find it." Ghulam Mohammed's unabashed use of rough un-engineered musical instruments in carefully crafted compositions took a new turn when he was music director himself. "He introduced the khanjari, chimta, kharkaal, manjeere and lota (only a small brass pot) all at once in Doli (1943) which composed the music for," remembers Mumtaz. "It was a riot." Literally, and figuratively.

Mumtaz, while experimenting with acting, directing and production work, has remained faithful to music, his dedication culminating in his work as instructor at the Indian Music School in Dubai. Having produced a musical called Tamanna, his dream now "is to produce a film some day, where all of us brothers compose the music together." Aziz, a talented tabalchi from a young age, was egged on into the field by both his father and his uncle Abdul Kareem, another tabla legend (his solo recital makes Madhuban Mein Radhika Naache Re in Kohinoor come alive even today). His hands have hammered away since at both the tabla and the dholak to sculpt famous melodies for famous films like Aaina (1977 – where he's done a solo), Leader, Sangharsh and many more. Mohammed Iqbal, whose heart lies with the congo and the tumba, has served as an essential aide to popular Qawwal voices Aziz Nazan (Jhoom Baraabar Jhoom Sharaabi) and Altaf Raja (Tum to Thehre Pardesi). He and brother Masood Mohammad have jointly released an album Paigaam and are currently working currently on their second release. Yusuf Mohammed, like Aziz, is an industry favourite, and his expertise with the dholak and tabla has led him to work with popular music directors Laxmikant-Pyarelal, and more recently, Anu Malik and Aadesh Shrivastav. Khalique Ahmed, on the other hand, has taken his percussion skills live with shows for banners like Percept and Sahara. He's currently touring Europe with an Indian music show called Bharti, and his dholak and tabla as hand baggage. The brothers are particularly proud of Javed, Mumtaz's son, "whose left hand on the tabla is exactly like that of our chachajaan (Abdul Kareem)". But some of their sons have taken to other fields – in business and service.

Their discontent at this is complementary to their discontent at the way Hindi film music is created today. "I don't want to sound pessimistic, because we have excellent music directors even today," says Aziz. "And I'm not against westernization of music either. But the method has gone awry." His brothers join in to lay down their contentions. Synthesized sound is in, they say, so even string, wind, and percussion instrument sounds are strummed out on the keyboard, which can never have the same effect. "At earlier recordings musicians were required to play an entire song together," recounts Mumtaz. "There was live interaction among the musicians, through their sounds, which made magic that resonated in the recording." With recording studios being too expensive today, each musician is recorded separately, and their sounds are assembled technologically. "This often results in a musician not knowing what he's playing for," says Iqbal. "We are told the general mood, but the complexities a musician used to work with earlier are left out. Is our piece a sawaal (question), a jawaab (answer) or a paradox? Where do we fit in?" As if to better voice this, in a language only they understand, the brothers settle down for our photoshoot, with musical instruments that their father presented to them as he did to the world and play out their sawaals, their jawaabs and their paradoxes.

HOMELESS IN MUMBAI...

If home is where the heart is, Mumbai has a lot of soul searching to do. Redevelopment plans throughout the city have provoked a series of protests for a series of reasons. We feature two unlikely faces in the crowd. Father Warner D'souza, Assistant Parish Priest, Mount Carmel Church and Kamlesh Khemani, a software professional waiting to join a New York job, have veered from trodden paths to a road less taken.

GOOD SHEPHERD


Pereirawadi
Residents of the 125 year old settlement witnessed demolition and violent eviction by goons in June under the Slum Rehabilitation Authority (SRA) redevelopment scheme. These also violated a Supreme Court order prohibiting demolitions during the monsoons. Residents further allege that majority consent for redevelopment was attained by fraud, forgery and coercion. Mt Carmel Church is a rallying point for protesters.

"If I was able to choose my patron saint, it would be Arch Bishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador. He was radical in speaking out against human rights abuse and social injustice, even after being stripped and humiliated by a dictatorial regime. He did this till he was shot, while celebrating mass, his blood spilling on the altar."

A TV and a treadmill are the most prominent features of Father Warner D'souza's modest office at Mount Carmel's Church. Known for being popular with the youth, he wraps up a meeting with four youngsters before settling down. He's just gotten back from a Mumbai High Court hearing on the Pereirawadi case where a hot discussion topic was the legal notice served on him, Father Larrie (also of Mount Carmel Church), Bombay Catholic Arch Bishop Oswald Gracias and President of the Bombay Catholic Sabha Dolphy D'souza for "giving the episode a communal colour".
"The numbers present in our meetings on Pereirawadi have gone from 20 to 600 to 1000," he asserts. "Many, if not most, of those attending have been non-Christians. There are residents at Pereirawadi who are non- Christians. Our meetings at the church have invited and addressed issues for residents belonging to different religions and localities." Then, Father Warner defends his stance further. Why must a Shabana Azmi be criticized for speaking for Muslims, he asks, or another group for speaking for Hindus. "What matters is the substance of the speech. If human rights are upheld, constructive ideas for a community suggested, why must such be decried?"
Eight years ago, Father Warner had passed out of a catering course to work with the Oberoi hotels for a year. He describes his enrolling in the divine service as "a decision rather than a calling." Much like another decision, made two months back, while he attended a public meeting held for those at Pereirawadi. "We are used to seeing the poor as those we should help, but not stick our neck out for," he says. "That afternoon, as I heard account after account of violence and deceit, something in me snapped." He had prepared a spiritual discourse for the evening's sermon at the church, but he spoke instead of Pereirawadi: "Finally, you guys are talking, people said to me, Finally you're telling us to stand up!"
The church joined forces with the H West Ward Federation and Bombay Catholic Sabha to host meetings addressing builders' arm twisting throughout Mumbai. Father Warner got youth together to campaign for a series of issues beginning with Pereirawadi to global warming and poverty. "We have a long battle to fight," he emphasizes. "While working with youth we have to start with something as basic as getting them to enlist as voters. We have to deal with red tape, corruption, and powerful builder-politician-criminal nexuses." He says the current legal notice is just the beginning: "We know that people like us are easy targets for character assassination, and more." Or as Bishop Oscar Romero said on the assassination of his friend priest Rutilio Grande: "If they have killed him for doing what he did, then I too have to walk the same path."

RESIDENT INDIAN


SAHARA SOCIETY, KHAR

A landmark Bombay High Court order on the Sahara Society Case last year said that the redevelopment of a housing society cannot be stalled if 70 percent of the members have agreed to it, and that dissenting flat owners could be evicted, using police force if necessary. This order (which is distinct from a judgment) is being used by builders throughout the city to convince dissenting flat owners in various housing society's to part with their homes. One such dissenting flat owner on whom a notice is served on is Kamlesh Khemani, living in Sahara Housing Society itself.


"Your house is your world when you live in it – like a frog in a well. But when it is taken away from you, you see the real world, outside. After the initial shock, you realize that there are many like you, whose houses have been taken away too, and you realize a common cause."

Kamlesh Khemani refuses a coffee. "Let's get a drink instead," he offers. "That's what my days consist of. All day I haggle with lawyers and the courts. Then get a drink. Then write on my blog!" He had as tough a time finding a lawyer for his case last year, as he did understanding the loopholes of law. "You learn to swim when you jump into water," the 26 year old grins. "You ask friends, study the relevant portions of law yourself… You get wise."
Khemani, who worked with computers and marketing related jobs for long while residing at Khar, got his big break last year as he bagged a software job in the big apple. "And then this case started and my plans got postponed. I don't know how long it'll take, but I'll stick it out." The only other person in his Khar flat is his 80 year old grandmother. "My father doesn't live in Bombay," he explains. "And it really wasn't fair for me to run off to my career leaving her here to deal with things."
Khemani isn't against redevelopment. "What is fishy is that only one proposal for redevelopment came in, from just one builder," he claims. "When a few of us flat owners objected, saying we wanted a choice, the court handed us a 'majority wins' order." Khemani's indignance at this order found outlet where any software professional's indignance would: the blog. "From Orkut, to Sulekha to Blogspot," he lists. "I've used every platform I can find.
The blog led to comments and exchanges with mumbaikars suffering similar fates, which led to meetings. One year hence, Khemani has emerged as a sort of encyclopaedia on builder vs residents cases. "I ask many people to get together too fight this," he says, disillusioned. "But they're scared." A ray of hope emerged with Vanessa D'souza, a woman threatened by a builder, to whom he had recommended the Mount Carmel Church which was "agitating on such issues for Catholics". "She came back to me and said, "It's not just Catholics! They're agitating for everyone!" And so Khemani found himself, listening to Father Warner's address on Pereirawadi, and standing up to cite his own case.

MISSION POSSIBLE

The National Police Mission was announced by the Prime Minister two years ago, to study policing in India and suggest improvement. The mission is to be implemented by six 'micro missions', studying communication and technology, human resource development, infrastructure, community policing, process re-engineering and pro-active policing. Each of these micro missions, constituted by the ministry of Home Affairs, comprise 10 police officers each, from throughout the country. Their reports will be submitted to the Home Ministry in the next four months. Ahmed Javed, Additional Director General (ADG), State Reserve Police Force (SRPF) and Hemant Karkare Inspector General Police (IGP) Anti Terrorism Squad (ATS) are two police officers selected from Maharashtra to be parts of the Process Re-engineering and Infrastructure missions respectively.

HEMANT KARKARE, IGP, ATS



PART OF INFRASTRUCTURE MISSION



Where should the Infrastructure Mission's priorities lie?





The micro-mission on Infrastructure shall encompass the entire gamut of policing and hence there will be some overlap with the work of other micro-missions. Primarily our focus would be on empowering the police men on field with complete backup; he should have the all the necessary wherewithal which will enable him to discharge his duty effectively. So, the micro-mission on infrastructure will include not only brick and mortar that creates office and residential buildings but also vehicles for mobility, communication systems etc. Especially training facilities, because the equipments and the system are only as good as the man behind the machine. One important mandate of the micro-missions is to make recommendations arising from out-of-box thinking. For example, presently, residential accomodation provided to policemen is Government owned. Instead, one could think of facilitating acquisition of accomodation owned by policemen themselves. This could be done by providing soft loans to policemen right in the beginning of service when he has lesser responsibilities. Another example could be outsourcing noncore police functions like housekeeping, canteens etc. One more possibility is that of suggesting structures which could achieve synergy between police and a very large private security establishment. All these ideas have excellent potential to be 'force multipliers' for police.



What new challenges necessitate a re-look at policing?



Terrorism is the foremost challenge. It's not that terrorism did not exist before, but now, thanks to the ever expanding reach of media, terrorist incidents are brought to your drawing rooms and played up again and again. So the impact of the incident is magnified manifold. Another challenge faced by Police today is succintly explained by Thomas Friedman's concept-"The world is flat". In this global village, we have to more than match the global connect of terrorists and organized crime syndicates. Unless we coordinate and network on the national and international level, neutralizing our adversaries shall be extremely difficult.



What about infrastructure needed to tackle cyber crime?



We have to look at systems in place to facilitate processes as well as prevent security breaches and criminal and terrorist cyber attacks. There is no national boundary to cyber crime as it occurs in an international virtual space. So, international cooperation is necessary to fight it. We must have systems in place for this.



Won't tackling economic offences require special infrastructure?



It requires three things – coordination, more coordination and even more coordination. It is unrealistic to expect a policeman to be an expert on everything. We will have to hire domain experts and coordinate with other agencies. For instance, TRIPPS for patent fraud, SEBI for share market irregularities, FEMA for Hawala, the Company Law Board for company law violations and so on. We also have to ensure that we don't duplicate the other agencies' work, but complement it.



Will the 6th Pay Commission help correct corruption?



Corruption is greed based, not need based. Otherwise incidents of pay would have reduced it, or officials receiving higher incomes would be honest. Correcting corruption would involve correcting value systems, cultures etc. Also, there should be a 'certainty' rather than a 'quantum' of punishment. But the 6th pay commission should reduce the temptation for government servants to switch over to private sector jobs.



In high pressure cases, how do you decide between respecting individual human rights and getting results? Some allege that the Gujarat Police has been more successful in the current spate of terrorism investigations because they have been given a free hand to crack down on a certain minority, which the Maharashtra, Rajasthan and Karnataka police forces don't have.



Your question suggests that human rights and results are on opposite sides. Violating human rights may yield short term results, but create anger and alienation – spawning more terrorists and criminals – in the long run. The Palestinian dispute, among similar flashpoints, stands testimony to this. Situations have to be dealt with firmly without resorting to rights violations. As far as the Gujarat Police is concerned, each police officer abiding by the Constitution and the law has a "free hand" to do his duty. His binding himself of his own accord is a different story, but not an excuse.

AHMED JAVED, Addl DGP, Estt

PART OF PROCESS RE-ENGINEERING MISSION

What does 'process re-engineering' mean?

Generally it would mean looking at the existing processes in a different way and re-engineering the same by modifying, adding or deleting. The ultimate aim is to arrive at processes which enhance the response and image of the police through effective, efficient and positive service delivery. The bulk of our processes are inherited from the colonial era and hence are totally out of sync with the needs of present times. Re-engineering would involve, inter alia, multitasking, simplifying, greater delegation, increased use of technology, outsourcing and overall maximising of existing resources with an avowed focus on enhancing core policing functions and reducing if not completely eliminating non-core functions presently being tasked to the police (eg. guarding duties, service of summons etc.) A better and more scientific system of performance appraisal, re-looking at working conditions, greater and smoother public police interface practices will be the other highlights of this re-engineering. Our micro-mission will also be interfacing with other missions on overlapping issues.


What significant changes in policing does the National Police Mission strive for?
We are hopeful of significant changes in the way policing is done: better and more prompt responses, enhancing professionalism, and citizen-friendliness in an atmosphere of transparency. What we are endeavouring to achieve is an improvement in the overall image of the police.

What legislation changes would benefit policing?
Yes, the law isn't always in sync with the times either. But this has been sufficiently addressed by many commission reports, like the Justice Malimath Commission report, which has been submitted by the government long back. Our reports can be implemented quickly at various levels. Commission reports are in the realm of the government.

In high-pressure cases, how do you balance individual human rights with results?

There ought not to be any conflict per se. As a matter of fact it's under such situations that high professionalism and strong leadership will resolve any negative pressure. Ideally, human rights violations should never occur. When they do these aberrations should be dealt with most seriously and promptly.

What is your take on the never ending corruption issue?
Decidedly it is an area of grave concern. It is all the more so when its spread is not only wide but at various levels. This is compounded when both material and intellectual corruption exists. I have some reservation about whether a salary raise will end this. There are many complex issues which will need the greatest will and determination to enable eradicating this huge malaise.

There have been allegations of anti-Muslim bias against the force, especially from Muslim accused in terrorism cases. Being a Muslim yourself, how would you answer these?

I'll try and answer all these questions. First, there is now a nearly 'templated' Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) which an accused in a terror case follows just to stymie the police investigation and in an attempt to 'misuse' our democratic institutions and other agencies. Personally, I have never felt or been made to feel my identity as a Muslim during my career. We have been taught that 'khaki' is our religion, and 'khaki' it has been. But this is not to overlook the fact that there have been cases where bias against minorities have occurred.

TO THE MADRASSA BORN

A scheme to affiliate madrassas with the National Institute Of Open Schools (NIOS), thus granting a madrassa certificate acceptance in colleges and universities, awaits cabinet approval currently. This scheme, requiring that madrassas expand their syllabi as per NIOS stipulation for subjects like science, humanities, languages and art and craft, comes on the heel of another scheme, approved already, that proposed an investment of Rs 325 crore for Islamic seminaries. Also provided under the approved scheme, covering around 6000 madrassas, are three teachers for science, mathematics and languages to each madrassa; honorariums of Rs 6000 for each student at the primary and elementary level, and Rs 10,000 monthly for each teacher at the secondary and higher secondary level; and an assistance of Rs 5,00,000 to 10 madrassa boards.

These have kick-started debates among clerics as well as laymen. Will such schemes truly lead to national integration, and increased education and employment among the country’s Muslim population, or like so many pre-election minority appeasement announcements, will their execution run only skin deep? And secondly, will they interfere with the essential religious learning a madrassa imparts? We have chosen three individuals who, after their education in madrassas, have embarked on stunningly successful careers in fields where a recognized high school degree is a must, to address these issues.

DR MOHAMMED UBAID QUREISHI

A doctor studying hospital and healthcare management

Dr Mohammed Ubaid Qureishi’s father, a doctor himself, has not studied in a Madrassa. “But he wanted me to get the religious education, that gives us a sense of purpose in life,” he remembers as the reason he found himself enrolled at the famous Navdatul Ulema in Lucknow, at age five. When at age nineteen, the same father suggested that Qureishi try his hand at the medical field, he found himself faced by a series of scary competitive exams, that his classes at the Navda (what the Navdatul Ulema is colloquially called) has ill equipped him to sit for.

“My biggest hurdles were science and mathematics,” remembers Qureishi. “Which were taught only at a very basic level at the madrassa.” So a spate of private coaching classes were sought, to enable Qureishi to take on his matriculation and higher secondary examinations, as well as crack the dreaded All India Pre Medical Test (PMT). “My father and brother’s support helped me most of all,” he recounts. “Their belief that I could do this, as well as their guidance.” Today, having completed his MBBS and internship from the GSVM Medical College at Kanpur, Qureishi has switched tracks again, cracking another competitive exam to land himself a seat in Symbiosis University’s management school in Pune, specializing in hospital and healthcare management.

“That first bit of studying for my matriculation exams was the toughest,” Qureishi says. “After that I had conditioned myself to grasping new things fast, as well as dealing with competition.” Qureishi believes that while the government schemes mentioned will give madrassa students the option of enrolling in technical courses like medicine and engineering, he would rather wait and see them pan out before commenting further. “Also, one must remember that integrating a madrassa’s syllabi with that of a normal school is not as simple as it sounds,” he cautions. “The essence of a madrassa is its emphasis on the spiritual rather than the material.”


MOHAMMAD AFZAL QASMI

Teacher, Lecturer of Arabic and English at Blackburn, UK

“You’re a maulana from India, and you’re going to teach us English?” the immigration official at Heathrow Airport asked Mohammad Afzal Qasmi. “Yes,” Qasmi smiled. “I’m a maulana from India. And I’m going to be teaching English at Blackburn.” Having begun his madrassa education at his village near Muzzafarpur, UP, he moved to the Darul-Uloom-Azizia madrassa at Mira Road, Mumbai at the age of eight. Completing his madrassa education, he went on to do his Fazil (equivalent to BA) at the Darul-Uloom Deoband before studying English at the Markazul Ma’arif at Delhi. This was the first time 18 year old Qasmi had studied English.

“It was difficult as we had to start at the beginning. All I knew to write of the language was its capital letters, which I had learnt on my own,” says Qasmi in a characteristically clipped British accent. “But we had excellent teachers – some from Jamia Milia university – who made this journey possible for me.” Qasmi is a lecturer of Arabic at the Blackburn College, and teaches English to students aged 11 to 16 at Jamiatul Ilm Wal Huda, also at Blackburn. He has also been among the first few teachers of English at the Darul Uloom Deoband, despite “initial opposition” from the organization known for scoffing at such changes.

“Merging madrassas with the education system might give people a bit of both, and a lot of neither,” he argues. “When given the option to study subjects like maths and science, which would land students career opportunities, they would naturally neglect subjects related to religion or Arabic.” Yet, Qasmi agrees that madrassas, being providers of free education, would allow the government’s education scheme to reach a wide population. “A balance has to be struck,” he counters. “While some madrassas could be integrated thus, others – known for the intensive work they’re doing in terms of religious and Arabic scholarship – should be left alone.” Instead, he recommends the provision of special ‘package courses’, such as the one he went through to learn English, for languages, science, IT and even specifically for competitive exams. “A little knowledge has proven time and again to be a very dangerous thing,” he asserts. “We need proper muftis (scholars). Not someone who decides to issue a fatwa because his knowledge of Islam has been half baked.” Another reason he wants some madrassas to be allowed to run independently is the preservation of languages like Urdu and Arabic. Qasmi himself continues to learn, as he teaches, via a host of diploma courses from British universities. “I want to be a professor here,” he wraps up. But no matter how well he knows his English, his expertise with languages was born of the nuances of Arabic, drilled into his head by rote, at a Madrassa.


WASEEM-UR REHMAN

An IAS officer

Waseem-ur Rehman holds the distinction of being the first student of the orthodox Darul-Uloom-Deoband school to have entered the civil services. He did not need to give his matriculation or higher secondary examinations in private as he chose to graduate in Unani medicine, for which the Aligarh Muslim University and the Jamia Hamdard University at Delhi, accepted his madrassa degree. “Hence, for me practicing Unani medicine was always a back up plan, in case I didn’t crack the civil service examinations,” he explains.

Rehman then goes on to explain how his madrassa experience actually contributed to his success in these examinations: “There is a tight schedule in madrassas which means a lot of hard work, and discipline.” He also says that subjects such as philosophy, Islamic jurisprudence and logic, which formed a core part of his curriculum, train a students mind to grasp new subjects very quickly.

Rehman’s journey into the IAS began with hearing of these examinations at Aligarh, and then choosing to devote two years to study his chosen subjects for the examination – History and Persian Literature. His selection was confirmed in May this year, and he has just begun training for the coveted job. On being asked what his core issues of concern as the government’s representative will be, he answers adamantly, “That’s for the government to decide. My core issues are whatever the government asks me to deal with. My faith and my long years of learning in a Madrassa has taught me loyalty and dedication. And I will be a loyal and dedicated officer. ”

“The most important thing is eligibility,” he says, lauding the government’s plan. “Once such a scheme gives madrassa students eligibility to compete, there will be no looking back for them.” Rehman feels that many poor students who partake of a free madrassa education have immense potential in them, and such a plan will unlock such potential to the country’s benefit, whether through private jobs, or government service.

THE KHAIRLANJI STORY

THE KHAIRLANJI STORY



BHANDARA COURT



Policemen and journalists stand witness to the culmination of a case that has wound its way from an unheard of hamlet in Bhandara District, to the front page of New York's Wall Street Journal. Shutterbugs click in tandem with machine gun safety clips at the Bhandara Court gate as supporters from either side join voices to murmur "Bhotmare!" or "Nikam!" The court room bans the shutter bugs, seating only parties (activists, press, lawyers, victim, accused, witnesses) related to this two year old inferno, carrying police passes that read 'pravesh patra' and awaiting a pravesh patra of a different kind. There is reason for such caution. The Naxalites have stepped in to declare that they will punish the accused the court relieves. But the Naxalites are a different story.



KHAIRLANJI



Khairlanji, since its massacre, has been quoted as a shining example of un-shining India, where the law of the land is actually just the law of the land. Today, Khairlanji is not that India. The three routes into the village have been blockaded by police forces (more machine guns) that ensure Section 144. For the villagers, this means they can have no guests over. For us it means an hour long wait, before the officer in charge delivers us to the scene of crime, past the canal where it was first discovered, and just as its judgment is announced.

In one first houses at the village, Anju, aged five, swings around a sparrow, on whose feet is tied a long thread, to the tune of soul endearing giggles emanating from her and her playmates. Anju's face would have radiated no less innocence and joy had she been playing with an innovative rattle. She doesn't understand why she shouldn't choose a sparrow instead. And that, analogically, sums up Khairlanji's dilemma. The 125 families – 3 Mahar, 4 adivasi, and the rest Kunbi or Kalar (OBC) – don't get why tales they've been brought up on (the Chundur and Neerukonda massacres are near carbon copies that come to mind) have gotten to their doorsteps a state reserve police force wireless-ing army commandoes and the world's media asking questions like, "Why are you silent?" When even the police patil – appointed after the massacre, when his predecessor was sacked – answers basic questions about the village with "I haven't been here before my appointment" and "I don't understand your language", we can only assume that the language he is referring to is not Marathi.

Bisauji Titirmare breaks this silence. His son Purshottam Titirmare is one of the three just acquitted, and he can't stop saying, "I always said he was innocent." On the way to his terracotta roofed pakka house, is a wall that reads "Mumbai Dilli Aaplam Sarkaar. Aamchya Gawaat Aamhich Sarkaar" (Mumbai and Delhi has our government. But in our village we are the government). His wall carries framed pictures of Bose and Gandhi alongside other gods. There is no picture of either Ambedkar or Shivaji. "I don't know what happened that day, because I wasn't here," he replies on further questioning. "But I knew my son was innocent." A short walk away leads to what policemen call 'ground zero'. Two monsoons have transformed Bhaiyyalal Bhotmange's house into a rubble of bricks and hay. Also a reason for this is that he was never granted requisite permission by the gram panchayat to build it properly.



BHOTMANGE

"They want to use this issue to divide people," says V K Sarode, Thanedaar of nearby Seora, in charge of guarding one of the roads in. "I've dealt with naxals in my earlier posting. I'm aware of their means." While Naxal interest in dalit issues is not a new phenomenon, their planting a foot in Bhandara District would be. Sources that choose to remain unnamed for obvious reasons point out that Bhandara would be a huge tactical gain, giving naxals a connect between Maharashtra, Jharkhand and Madhya Pradesh.

After meeting countless dalit activists back in Bhandara – angered at the court's acquitting three accused out of 11, when the original number of people charged for the massacre was 36 – we meet Bhotmange's closest relatives at Warati.

"Titarmare (Purshottam) was the main culprit," says Kailash Narnavare, Bhotmange's nephew, at his chicken shop. "The only reason he got away was because his father-in-law Shri Krishna Padode is the NCP president for Mohadi Taluka". Sudhan Raut, Surekha Bhotmange's sister, and Narnavare's younger brothers explain further. Titirmare, was responsible for spreading venom against the family or a while, besides being involved in the main incident, they claim. And Bhaiyyalal, who initially stayed with them after the incident was suddenly wrapped up – and they claim, brainwashed – in the care of Dilip Uke, an NCP man himself. Their final point was that Surekha has written a letter alleging harassment from specific names around a year before the incident, which wasn't presented in court, despite being with Bhaiyyalal. All this while, even as each family member tears up, one can't help but notice a flag bearing BSP's elephant wave right next to Narnavare's shop.

Milind Pakhale, chief convener of Khairlanji Action Committee who lost his class 1 government job after holding the first press conference on Khairlanji in 2006, refuses to say anything more than "We are not satisfied with the judgment" before introducing us to Siddharth Gajbhiye.

"There was no cause other than caste. The villagers wanted them out!" says Gajbhiye, the neighbouring village's Police Patil who is looked upon as having unwittingly caused it all. Gajbhiye, accused by the accused of having an illicit affair with Surekha, repeats for the umpteenth time that she was his cousin. He also says that he didn't have any altercation with any labourer called Sakru over his wife's due wages, leading to an assault on him: "Why would a villager from Khairlanji come so far to work for me – a dalit! The reason the accused attacked me was because I was helping the Bhotmanges resist their harassment." The criminal case for the assault on him is pending in Bhandara Court too. But that's a different story.

DALIT DILEMMAS

Dr Anand Teltumbde has been known for some time now for his writings on dalit issues, particularly Hindutva And Dalits and Ambedkar In And For The Post Ambedkar Dalit Movement. His latest, the first in a series called Holocaste, published by Navayana Publishers, is called Khairlanji, A Strange And Bitter Crop. While the book is to be launched on October 10, it's author talks to us before so that we may bring to you his reactions on the judgment of the case his book was based on.







1. Rural India is full of instances of atrocity. How do you decide whether a massacre is biased by caste?

It's not that crimes are committed only on dalits. I think we are intrinsically a violent society. Violent clashes are thus ubiquitous. They do occur between people of the same caste. But when the clash involves dalits, violence gets an extra intensity, extra viciousness with a tinge of extra hatred. Caste lies in that 'extra' and demands sensitivity to see it that way. If the Bhotmanges had not belonged to Mahar caste, it is improbable that they would have met the horrific fate they did. The disputant may have beaten them, harassed them but would not have been successful in mobilzing entire village in the gruesome violence. It is because of the refusal of dalits to submit to dictates of caste Hindus, that they're taught 'a lesson' by the latter through acts of violence. Every crime against dalits invariably has this 'extra' casteist dimension. It is precisely for this reason that the Atrocity Act has a simple definition of atrocity - any crime committed by a non-dalit on a dalit person.

2. Why do you feel the khairlanji massacre should have been addressed under the SC and ST (Prevention Of Atrocities) Act?

There is no additional justification required for Khairlanji massacre to be tried under the Atrocity Act than the fact that the victims were dalits and the perpetrators of crime were non-dalits. Any crime against dalits could be easily attributed to non-caste factors such as land dispute, poverty, gender and so on. This is a kind of self delusion that blinds oneself to the reality of caste. The early communists obsessed in seeing things in 'class' terms had suffered this delusion, which their successors painstakingly try to overcome today. This tendency to deny the blemish of casteism is innate in the caste society. The very fact that a Khairlanji like crime also can be painted as lacking in caste dimension, only shows this self-deceptive attitude. Precisely for that reason has the Atrocity Act adopted a very simple definition for atrocity on a dalit.



3. The perpetrators of the khairlanji massacre were from OBC (Other backward castes – here, Kunbi mostly). Those in the Chundur massacre were from Reddy and Telaga caste, and those in the Neerukonda massacre from the Kamma caste. Do you think the perpetrator's caste (and its status quo) determines the build-up and intensity of caste crimes?

The post-independence development paradigm has created the contemporary phenomenon of caste violence by OBC castes against Dalits. While these castes benefited economically by the land reforms, Green Revolution, and capitalist development in the countryside and politically by consolidating themselves into a formidable constituency, the dalits, despite an increasing assertion of their human rights, were left relatively powerless. This basic power asymmetry in the rural setting has been at the root of increasing violence against dalits. All the infamous atrocities have these castes as perpetrators of crime. Earlier the oppression of dalits was embedded in social process and seldom had to manifest into violence acts. Now because of increasing resistance of dalits to accept these processes and the aspiration of the OBCs to flaunt their new found baton of Brahmanism added by their relative lack of cultural sophistication, the caste order is sought to be enforced often by violence against dalits.



4. The reservation allotted to SCs by constitution and various laws allows for their upliftment. Yet the same reservation imposes a stigma on them. Is there a solution to this paradox?

The paradox lies in the prevailing conception of reservation as a device of upliftment of dalits who are assumed to lack in ability. In the context of India, reservations ought to have been reckoned as the countervailing force of the state against the disability of the society to treat its own constituents with equity. The disability is with society, not with dalits. This simple alteration in conception would remove this paradox. Reservations then would become coterminous with society overcoming this disability and would even present a challenge to dalits to transcend its limitation. Unfortunately, the reservation stereotypes are getting strengthened with each passing day by our politicians.



5. Do you think conversion to Buddhism - or another religion - actually creates a separate identity that liberates a dalit from the chains of caste? Or is this in practice ineffective?

Conversion of dalits to Buddhism has certainly given dalits an emancipatory identity resulting in an almost instantaneous increase in self-esteem and perception of self-worth. However, it could not liberate them from the chains of caste. The foremost reason is that dalits did not have an existing Buddhist community to get merged with and lose their caste identity. This was merely an identity transformation. They remained mahars or jatavs for others. But Buddhism is not the only case of conversion. Dalits have earlier converted to Islam, Christianity, Sikhism - all anti-caste religions in theory - but not escaped their caste chains. I do believe that these religious conversions have been ineffective in liberating dalits from caste bondage.



6. There have been allegation cast on Congress, NCP and even BJP members for effecting a cover-up operation in context to Khairlanji. Who would you place the most blame on? Why?

All of these parties represent the establishment and they have stake in suppression of the Khairlanji case. BJP is seen responsible in the cover up operation because the village largely belonged to it and the local mla was seen actively performing dubious roles (in raking up a case of Ankita Lanjewar for instance by organizing an anti-dalit demonstration by the so called OBC Bachao Samiti). The ncp also did not remain far behind thereafter. Congress, though not as visible, also cannot be absolved from these acts of commission and omission because it is in power at the center as well as the state. Personally, I do not see them any different vis-à-vis the lower classes and castes. They never reflect contradiction on any policy issues relating to the interests of common masses of people. All have their share in whatever has happened in Khairlanji.



7. Issues of casteism, like those of communalism, are tricky. In trying to get justice, a writer faces the danger of propagating further reaction - and hence violence. How do you deal with this dilemma?

I don't agree. No doubt, issues of casteism and communalism are somewhat tricky to write on. But they are too important to be shied away from. Unless some one comes forward to hold a mirror for society to see its ugly face in, there will never be any hope of the latter to rectify itself. If likes of Phule and Ambedkar had not written on caste, India would never have woken up to this revolting reality. Whether the writing evokes an ugly reaction or furthers violence depends upon the kind of writing. If one writes for promoting communalism or casteism as protagonists of the Hidnutva movement try to do, it will certainly provoke such a reaction. But, if one writes against these evils, as the sources of violence, such writings could be a veritable mirror that impels people to introspect. These writings work as antidote to the disease of society. Frankly, I never faced this dilemma. I have always written against the contemporary reaction on behalf of people and found my writings getting great reception from them and activists working for them.

PRIDE, NOW PREJUDICED...

PRIDE, NOW PREJUDICED...
Rishi Majumder takes a trip in and around one of the Mumbai film
industry's oldest institutions

Off Grant road, steer into a narrow yet car-crammed gully to view aged
giant Vegas style letters standing horizontally tall to pronounce
N-A-A-Z, meaning pride. The letters branding the grand old theatre
building hang unaware along a dilapidated edifice, above a garish,
painted B grade sex-flick banner that reads Husn (meaning beauty!) –
considerate caveat against the devil's favourite sin! Scurry past
huge re-christened 'Hindi' Hollywood hoardings (Pirates Of The
Caribbean becomes Samundar Ke Lootere; Anaconda becomes Naga) on paint
ridden walls. Redemption is a cup of sickly sweet Chai across the
classic-western-saloon swinging wooden doors at the packed Naaz
cafeteria.
Packed with distributors and brokers, who're a part of, or connected
to the one of the near 80 distributor's offices in the six floors of
the building above it. The cafeteria, painted in subtly varying shades
of green, as if intended to cool down heated scraps, appears to lend
to discussions a surreal hue. No frenzied share bazaar here. Dealings
are conducted with analysis and amicability. "Are you a journalist?"
asks a suspicious reed thin moustached man who introduces himself as
producer, director and distributor Prakash Ahlawadi. More attentions
are diverted, but conversations presume. "Husn (remember the garish
poster?), released yesterday, was removed today only from a hall.
Collections were so bad," mentions distributor Kesri Nath Matre. So
who was the producer or distributor? "God knows," Matre guffaws.
"Someone on the first floor. He hasn't released a film for so long
I've forgotten his name. And with his current success rate, I'm not
very interested in finding out." "A Bhojpuri film came in it's place –
Mangal Sutra," pipes in another broker. "You have to know where to put
a sexy film. It won't work everywhere!" comes from Ahlawadi. Umm,
'sexy film' denotes B grade semi porn. And Bhojpuri cinema seems the
new trend. "Well, over 50 percent of the population in Mumbra,
Kalbadevi, Kurla, Biwandi, Chembur and near JJ flyover are from UP or
Bihar. So, it's inevitable," Matre mutters. At one time, this
cafeteria was the whole and sole of the film business. While it still
reverberates with activity, "Big production houses like Yash Raj Films
and Mukta Arts taking over all India rights for all the big releases,
leaves us with little to play with," sighs Ahlawadi in between sorry
tea slurps. Add to that VCDs, cable TV, endless channels and
multiplexes with high ticket and refreshment prices. "Also, now cinema
isn't for the lower middle or lower class," grumbles another broker,
about how a poorer citizen would rather watch a film at home, family
et all, than pay for them at the theatre. "Which is why films since
the 90s haven't spoken about lower middle class or lower class value
systems or issues as such," Ahlawadi thrusts in. Matre attaches a
label to this arbitrary opinion cocktail: "Dhande Mein Ab Utna Mazaa
Nahin Raha."
Stride away from the din into the den. March into Naaz theatre's
colossal entrance hall… which is colossally empty. The only remnants of
what the theatre used to be are the overhanging the Italian marble
staircase and three magnificently white statues – a boy blowing a
bugle into the sky, a girl holding a basket of wares and another girl
standing coyly with a fox like creature. These emblems of Gemini and
Raj Kamal studios today form similes for the theatre in terms of their
oblivion in public memory. The theatre which used to have only two
films running consecutively into their silver or golden jubilees for
the entire year, with a whooping average of 75 percent collections,
today beseeches a 25 percent audience even. "Producers used to plan
their films so that they'd get their dates in Naaz," smiles R P Anand
sadly. Anand, Dadasaheb Phalke Award winner, ex President of
Exhibitor's Association, ex Chairman of the Theatre Employees
Association and owner of Naaz theatre and building asked, "Is this
going to be a negative or positive article", then opened the
floodgates regardless. "Producers would have agreements within
themselves so that they could premiere their films here. Else a film
would go on running forever," the grand old man of Naaz smiles as he
shows off his collectionj of silver and golden jubilee awards for
premiering films – Yaadon Ki Baraat, Junglee, Waqt… the list of greats
goes on. He then leads on, Willy Wonka-ishly to the raison de etre of
his Naaz. The mammoth 1200 seater has distinct carvings on either side
of emblems from leading studios. What's revitalizing, however, is the
pala'tially high ceiling, something that no multiplex can provide.
"And these are the cry boxes!" Anand exclaims gleefully like a child
stepping into the candy store of memory. 'Cry Boxes' were rectangular
six seaters which isolated a family with a wailing baby from the rest
of the audience via a large glass window, while letting them hear the
movie through a private monitor. While leaving the theatre Anand
informs us that the blue and violet glass paneling behind the white
statues was used in Mughal-e-Azam. "If things turn back, I'll make it
even more beautiful as before," he speaks, looking at space, in a
voice that would many a hardened cynic cry.
Wind you're way out, and up through the building where the
distributor's offices have lain since 60 years. Not all who sit here
own an office, however. Many make do with a desk which is sub-let to
them. "Are you from the press? Please write about the state of the
building?" shout two angry distributors on the way down, pointing at a
spot where the wall has disintegrated to let the pipes and wiring
inside come bare. Every corner bloodbathed in Paan spit seems a
witness to happenings in the B grade horror flick posters which pop up
randomly (Shaitan Ki Premika, meaning The Monster's Mistress, is a
must check out). The distributors don't tell us something Anand has,
however: "I charge 40 paise of rent per square foot, even today!" Many
an illustrious name protrudes from among the melee of office sign
boards however. Mukta Arts on the first floor. N M Sippy's office on
the third floor. Also protruding, are not so illustrious B grade and
Bhojpuri posters – Bhavani, The Tiger, has a South Indian Actor
glaring at the camera; Two women tug at one haplessly confused model
in Tera Pati Mera Pyaar. Chaska, An Addiction, and Garam Bazaar on the
other hand, hail the semi porn genre. And then, to provide that mind
boggling twist a classic formula film is famed for, you're confronted
by the Columbia Tristar office which "Distributes its English films
itself, but sells the rights of the dubbed Hindi versions to us," a
distributor informs. And why, smart alecks like us may venture, do
these distributors continue like this, if the business is so bad?
Anand, knowing smile intact, answers: "Because that's all they've been
doing for half their lives. The business of film, is all they know…"

GADAR, AND HIS MASTER"S VOICE...

"Gadar In Mumbai!" the press releases announced. After his fiery outcries in Pune, Gaddar alias Gummadi Vittal Rao alias Telegu balladeer and revolutionary spoke (and sang and danced) out at The Press Club, Lovelane BIT Chawl – Mazagaon, and Ambedkar Bhavan. His topics: Khairlanji, acquisition of land for SEZs, American imperialism, and Left hypocrisy. He juxtaposed Manu Smriti with the Constitution. He crtitiqued the politician with a four legged chair. He integrated Mahatma Phule, Savitribai and Bhim Rao Ambedkar. And he targeted George Bush, SS – BJP, Sharad Pawar, middle class dalits… and then some. Our first glimpse of the bard was minus his vast audiences. He was rehearsing the evening's performance with a group of boys from Telengana, tapping his dolu (Telegu for drum) to check their timing. The venue was a bare flat in a government servant's building quarters. When we remarked this was ironical for a man whose life was dedicatedly anti-establishment, Gaddar laughed his booming laugh: "Working with a government bank (Canara Bank 1975-84) hadn't stopped me from striking in the same bank – far less carrying on my 'fight'. I am a revolutionary… within or without the system!"



THE IMPORTANCE



Why does a folk singer wearing a gochi (dhoti), black gongali (a rough wool shawl) and anklets build such a beat? Because he sings social and revolutionary songs? Isn't that every balladeer's trademark? And how was Gaddar's Apuro Rickshaw (his first big hit – 1971) on a rickshaw driver's plight any more novel than Nanduri Subbarao's Yenki Paatalu (on a washerwoman)? Gaddar's name shot to major headlines during four and a half years of exile (spurred by the police raiding his house in 1985 post his denunciation of dalit killings in Karamchedu village by upper caste landlords). It came after an assassination attempt – which he alleges was by the police themselves – where one of the three bullets shot into him couldn't be removed due to medical complication. It came after he was chosen as an emissary for Naxalite peace negotiations with the Telegu Desam Party in 2001, and later the Congress Party in 2004-05. With Varavara Rao and Kalyana Rao – the other two emissaries for the 2004-5 negotiations being placed under arrest, that leaves Gaddar as one of the only really prominent free-wandering spokespersons of the now CPI (Maoist). His discarding the barrel of his power-spewing gun (carried during the exile years) for his now touted lath (read shepherd's staff) is more than symbolic.



THE PRINCIPLES

"I hail armed revolution," Gaddar retorts. He speaks, even in private conversation, as though he is announcing and intersperses dialogue with singing liberally. Just as he confidently poses for our photographer and asks him every now and then: "Do you want a different pose?" Even in opposition to imperialism he has perfected the key imperialistic weapon – image marketing. Take a book: John Perkins Confessions Of An Economic Hit-Man, where the author admits to having been a key player in frauds inducing developing countries to borrow from the world bank as per misrepresented forecasts… only to use their debt to extort economic, political and military favours for the US. "We have been saying this from Bhagat Singh's time," Gaddar laughs again. "But this book is important for spreading awareness among the middle class – since it's by an American himself. We're arranging for Telegu translations!" But what if for a moment, Gaddar and all those he speaks for, were in power? What great changes would the revolutionaries induce? "We would put those who have caused and continue to cause such tragedies in our land in jail." As we gape (and then he demands civil liberties!), he elucidates: "We are in 'economic jail' because of a handful of people exploiting the population! Do you think that those who've caused so many deaths should be left free to cause them again?" Moving on to the main priorities he outlines: "Land, water and electricity has to be liberated! And the World Bank has to be told…" he sticks out his thumb here as the boys around us laugh "…sorry, thank you, go home!" Then he points to an Aqua Fina bottle: "Tell me please. Why is a Pepsi label supplying me with my drinking water?" More laughter. Hail another imperialistic weapon: humour. Gaddar was criticized by some Dalit supporters because he supported the CPI (Maoist), which had a high caste (read Reddy) bias where it's leaders were concerned. "The 'high-caste revolutionaries they are talking about have spent stayed with Dalits in Vidarbha despite being sons of crorepatis." He also talks about people who despite being of a high caste are "economically Dalit" winding up with "the problem at hand is a caste and a class problem. We have to have to say Jai Bheem and Lal Salaam in one breath." About the caste problem, this born Dalit has an interesting perspective: "There is a greater problem than education – it's self respect. I have forbidden my children from availing of any reservations. Reservations have led to many Dalits in high posts who do nothing for their community. It doesn't change anything." Post his 1997 attempted assassination, Gaddar had discussed the electoral system as a possible way to improve things, saying, "Many changes are taking place and would take place in politics." Today, he claims, "The electoral system has become fake for people. I have not participated in election with good reason – it's a failure of Democracy."



OF OTHER THINGS…

Post political discussion, we shift to other things of life. Does the Maoist supporter believe in God, for instance? He skirts the question: "I don't force beliefs on anyone. It's the misuse of religion I'm against." What about education? "Many people in Andhra Pradesh (quite a few Dalits) are educated – right upto an MA or Phd. But they still don't have Pragnya – an intuitive consciousness of what is right. You cannot assume that education will bestow this on someone!" And family? "My family has suffered a lot because of me… psychology as well as physically. But what I am fighting for involves them too."



A DIPLOMATIC CONCLUSION



In an old but detailed 1985 critique titled Naxalism Today: At An Ideological Dead End, Prakash Karat outlined "the failure to unite" as one of the principal reasons for Naxalism's decline – and predicted that it would stay that way: "The obstacle to unity is not only on pro and anti-Charuite lines… (but)… difference on the content of Mao Zedong thought, attitude to the Chinese Communist Party, application of the three world theory, participation in parliamentary activities, individual annihilation, armed struggle tactics and mass work and mass organizations concepts." Two of the parties he'd blasted in his critique were the CPI (M-L) People's War and the Maoist Communist Centre Of India. These have in 2004 merged to form the CPI (Maoist) mentioned above. Their strength, earlier estimated at 10,000 armed fighters and 6,500 firearms is only increasing. (Gaddar claims there are 10 lakhs more "mentally armed to use stones and sticks"). And their supposed liason with the Maoists in Nepal isn't a sign of any "failure to unite" on ideology. Gaddar's views while still extreme come laced with diplomacy – forwarding separate solutions for separate situations. Is this the sign of adaptability? If so, what would differentiate revolutionary from politician? As we ponder those questions and leave, Gaddar shoots another viewpoint – at us. "Globalisation has caused everyone to be "on hire". You people may be paid Rs 30,000. Your boss much more. But do you have a moment to listen to music. Saying this, he launches into a song: "Lootere Ki Chandni Loot Jaata Hai…" Getting this story ready for print, we might be tempted to agree…

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

STREET THEATRE - UNPLUGGED...

"Tapori log! Shehar ko ganda kar diya!" yells a Hindu pandit, pronouncedly crinkling his nose while hopscotch-ing past a maze of homeless bodies sleeping on the pavement. Then a policeman enters with a bamboo piece, whacking the sleepers at random and hollering, "Pakad ke andar karo. 'Quota' poora karna hai." Next is the driver of a make-believe vehicle running a pavement dweller over. Taken to a hospital, the compounder asks the victim scathingly, "Nahaate dhote nahin?" and the doctor refuses to come close for proper examination, prescribing general medicines from afar. Other incidents, like a job refusal for want of proper address, the non-payment of wages after a hard day's work, and beatings by goons, policemen and employers, follow. All enacted basically, minus costume, on Mahim Beach by a bunch of above 20 street dwelling citizens.

The policeman and compounder, alias Deepak Bahadur Thapa, is a stout Nepali who came in 10 years ago and works in the catering line. Mukesh Das, from Tripura – who plays the pandit and the doctor, has after endless catering and clerical call centre jobs moved up to being a helper for the Miss India Competition trials. Ajay from Bihar, who alternates between catering and banner hoisting, plays the quintessential homeless victim – of arrests, beatings and accidents. His prototype homeless helper – who takes him to the hospital or police station accordingly – is rendered by Santosh Yadav, from UP, who's just quit washing dishes at a roadside restaurant, and is looking for new service.

"The purpose was to give them a creative vent during spare time, so they avoid bad habits, get a group identity, build individual confidence and generate awareness of their condition amongst the public," claims Abhishek Bhardwaj, a fellow of Action Aid, who's been working with Mumbai's homeless for four years. The idea of a street theatre group emerging from the animated way in which the boys told stories, he held summary acting and scriptwriting workshops, enabling them to develop a 10 minute play talking about their travails. This went on to 20 minutes and a hundred street performances around the city. "So we developed plays on other themes like AIDS as well," Bhardwaj remembers. "They've performed for names like the Rotary club, Hindalco, TISS – where they won a medal, and even in the Kala Ghoda festival." Performing only when their seasonal jobs allow time, the group members sometimes earn, besides conveyance and lunch, Rs 100 to 300 per person for a show.

"Madhur Bhandarkar took Traffic signal's stories from us! Did you sell it?" Thapa questions Bhardwaj grinning. "Yeah! Now give us our cut!" Das takes on as the others laugh. More than connecting to an audience or their 'true selves' – both of which theatre motivates – the roughly hewn skits, caricaturing themselves and their oppressors, act as a medium for these migrants, sans any family, to connect to each other. Post their daily dose of exploitation, they pause mid-rehearsal, while depicting that exploitation, to giggle and share in local slang the experience of a happy movie ending they would never realize, or a crush they will never attain. "I've saved up and taken a room recently," says Das proudly. Yet today, he's given up a night shift which would contribute to the room's rent, to saunter into spotlight… generated by a Mahim beach street lamp.