kindle magazine june 2012

June 2012 • KINDLE INDIA | 1

KINDLEINDIA

Critical Re� ective Journalism

www.kindlemag.in

`30

Is Kashmir Happy?

TM

1st June 2012

Why have the apples of Kashmir turned sour?Do the roots carry salt up to the apple fl owers?

Has the earth wept salty tears or is it the people?Is there anything sadder in the world than sour

apples hanging on an apple tree?

Interviews: Sanjay Kak, Shashi Tharoor, Deepti Naval

| KINDLE INDIA • June 2012 16

THEPOLITICAL

AND OTHER FRAGMENTS

He is not only one of the most erudite politicians in contemporary India but also one its wittiest, even

though that often lands him in troubled waters. An interview with Shashi Tharoor. By Pritha Kejriwal. I

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In Latin America our local elites want to make us believe we live in modern civilized societies, but women are still treated as objects, as possessions. For years they were assaulted by men (poor and rich, no particular skin colour attached) a lot like what Indian men do to their wives, sisters and daughters everyday. But us, we already went further down that road, like in Ciudad Juárez, on the border of California, and we simply rape and kill them by the thousands like ox eating fl owers in a fi eld. We call that “Femicides” and every politician rejects that, but the death toll keeps growing.

So destitution, occupation, discrimination and the impune state fuels violence... maybe we’re quite familiar to you. Anyway, I’m here to tell you about what else has been going on there, because we also have treasures to share and histories to rebuild. Of course we’ve had wars and revolutions over the last 200 years too, like the Mexican and the Cuban (yes, we are the homeland of the involuntary poster boy of the left over the last 45 years: Che Guevara.)

For instance, I could do a “family portrait” of the dozen new left governments we have been electing since 1999. But that’s not exactly my fi eld of work, even if I’ve covered a few presidential runnings and some major political events (revolts or social forums.)

Someone told me that for the Pujas in Kolkata, special magazines and books appear, only at that time of the year, telling stories and biographies of regular guys, unknown people. And I’ve loved the idea. For over the last 15 years I’ve been taking news from the ground level, their realities and stories for themselves and for people around me.

Like in October 2002, I was in Brazil when Lula da Silva won his fi rst election. Th e newly elected president was an ex metallurgical worker refurbished into a new age socialist. He gave his fi rst speech on October 27th, late at night in a very posh hotel, and then went to the most popular street in Sao Paulo,

Avenida Paulista, to celebrate with the people.

Th ere, thousands of Brazilians gathered to celebrate, to dance and sing... only one old man remained quiet that night. Extremely poor, black skinned, he didn’t wave the fl ag in his hands. Th e old man stared at the podium where Lula was, standing in the middle of the crowd, crying silently in relief and happiness. Th at day I knew something was changing.

Venezuela was already ruled by a left ist military. And soon aft er came Ecuador. Bolivia engaged in a revolutionary process. People protested, staged blockades in the roads, and expelled transnationals from their territories, like in Cochabamba, a peaceful city where even the rain was privatized to benefi t an American corporation. And all that had a price: hunger, jail, deprivation, the dead... like that of Marlene Rojas, an aymara girl in Bolivia.

She was 8 when a sniper snuff ed out her life on September 19th, 2003. She was at home nursing her mother Etelvina, who had given birth to another girl the night before. Marlene knew the soldiers were in the small town she lived in, Warisata. Her dad was outside with the other men, protesting unarmed and being shot as mortal enemies. Just because they didn’t want to sell the huge reserve of natural gas Bolivia has, at cheap prices to the Americans... this is the only image we have of her.

A few weeks later, the insurrection against the Bolivian government succeeded. Th e president Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada was kicked out of the country. Th e aymara, 2 millions indigenous Andean people, were the protagonists, the catalysts of change. Sticks and stones against machine guns, tanks, snipers and grenades. At least 60 people were killed, hundreds were wounded and fi ve survived mutilated. But they won.

Th en for the next 8 years the relatives of the dead fought for justice (in the Bolivian Congress, in court, in the media, in the streets.) Th ey fi led a

We are not that different. Over there, we have

tropical weather and high glacier

mountains. Most of us are brown

skinned, have dark eyes and we speak several indigenous

languages...

Marlene Rojas

Che Guevara

COLUMN: THE WESTERN INDIES


EXAMINING ESSAYS WRITTEN IN BUBBLESBy Anuradha Bhasin Jamwal

Courtesy: Reuters


eager to be in the service of the nation, even if it means becoming blind to the reality before them.

Th e last 2 summers have seen a lull in the valley. What do you make of the situation there?

What we are seeing is a lull in the street protests, yes. What we cannot see, and the media will not help us see, is the incredible machinery that has been pressed into service to keep the young protesters off the streets. Th e arrests and intimidation began early in 2011, when young people were picked up in their thousands. Some got away with no more than a few slaps and a lecture from the police station, but many were locked up under the draconian Public Safety Act. Once released, the young men–and their families–are drawn into the intimidating net of monthly, sometimes weekly reporting at the local police station. Th e local media has been tied up in knots. Th e hounding of social media groups continues brazenly. Th e political leadership is mostly under detention. What we are seeing is a society and a people that have been choked tight with something called normalcy: so this is not a lull, but a gagging.

Open’s cover story “Sorry, Kashmir is happy” has generated a lot of debate. What is your take on the piece? What do you make of statements like “Trauma is like a heritage building here”?

For me the most interesting thing about the recent kerfuffl e over the Open magazine cover story was the reaction to it, especially amongst young Kashmiris, who I suppose, it was mainly meant to vilify. Coming from a senior journalist, the writing itself was an astonishing example of shallow journalism, so let’s leave it aside for the moment. More than anger, or outrage, the tone of the Kashmiri reaction was one of cheeky impudence, reacting to the shallowness of the analysis with the tactics of the ad-busters, where you turn the very size and visibility of your opponents’ bill-board against them. In this case ‘Kashmir is happy’ became a catch-phrase that bounced around the web, and allowed for all sorts of irreverence, in a highly political way. At the end of the day, it also spawned a whole lot of well argued commentary, including by non-Kashmiris, about how Kashmiris may be happy, but they’ve not given up the fi ght!

Th at comment about trauma? What can one say, except that it’s clearly written by someone who would never dare to say that of the Sikhs in Tilak Nagar, Delhi, or of the Muslims of Naroda Patiya, Ahmedabad. Kashmir is a place where people still wince at the mention of begar, the forced labour that was extracted from them centuries ago. Will they now easily forget what has happened in the 1990s, or in 2010? Th e ghairat, the honour, of Kashmiris is intricately tied in with their sense of overcoming their shame at being dishonoured. A Dalit in India would understand that. Perhaps a Manu Joseph may not.

Manu Joseph heavily comes down on Kashmiri elites living outside India as stoking dissent even though

COVER STORY


CINEMA · MUSIC · BOOKS · SCIENCE · TECHNOLOGY

Arts & Culture

RETURN OF THE CAMPBy Thomas Crowley

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When folk music maestro, Saakar Khan Manganiar, the most renowned Khamaicha player, alive today, puts his nails under the strings of his musical instrument, the music comes like the cold showers in the dry deserts

of Rajasthan. It melts in the ears, touches the soul and challenges our proclaimed wisdoms, where we have left almost no room for folk or traditional music as compared to Indian classical music.

It was a hot summer day. ‘Th e city of gold’ was the phrase originally used for Lanka (which might have been imagined by Tulsidas aft er observing the craze for gold among South Indians) in the Ramayana. But this was really a city of gold. City of Sonar Kella. We stepped out of the bus at Jaisalmer Bus Stand, with the sun shining right on our faces. Our backpacks were overloaded with cameras, audio and A/V devices, recorders… and there was gold everywhere. Th e sand was like gold dust on our bodies. Every brick, every stone piece, each house, offi ce, rest houses… all made of the famous Jaisalmer stone, shining like gold. We were in Jailsalmer to welcome Saakar Khan Saheb. He was coming back aft er receiving the Padma Shri from the President of India.

I have seen scores of Langa-Manganiar artists playing the great music of the desert in various gatherings. Th e musicians from the Langa-Manganiar community and the Kalbeliya lady dancers are the fi rst images that many of us think of when we talk about the tourism and culture of Rajasthan. As soon as we checked into a Dharmashala at Hanuman Chowk, we received word that Saakar Khan had come and now the welcoming procession would go around the city. We rushed to the fi rst Torana outside the city, where he was to be received but we were some fi ve minutes late and he was now inside the city, making his way around the Havelis of Patwas and the narrow lanes of the old market.

Th e fi rst glimpse was of an open-roofed red jeep, decorated for the occasion. Saakar Khan, his elder son Ghewar Khan and his grandsons were greeted by people from their own community; from the business-class and the upper castes as well. Garlands covered his chest and neck; dry pink and red colours of celebration on his cheeks. He was tired but excited and through the dull lenses of his glasses, he was trying hard to capture every face, every moment of his welcome.

A dull welcome

But contrary to what I had imagined, the number of people participating in the procession was few- hardly 50 including ourselves and some other social, cultural representatives. His Jajmaans were apparently appreciating him for his achievement but there was more jealousy than pride in their body language. It was for the fi rst time that a member of the Jaisalmer-Barmer based Langa-Manganiar communities had got a Padma award. Yet the procession comprised mostly his family members. He was welcomed at some shops and houses of the city. We reached a campus where a welcome ceremony had been organised. Th e sun was burning. Everyone was sweating and thirsty, eyes red thanks to the dusty winds. Th en out came the fi rst celebrity; the great Mohan Veena maestro, Pandit Vishva Mohan Bhatt. He greeted

A PADMAON THESAND DUNESPanini Anand travels to Jaisalmer to bring to us a tale of gloom, loss, neglect… yet also a tale of endurance and dedication

THE KINDLE LIBRARY: MUSIC


RNI NO. WBENG/2010/36111Regd. No. KOL RMS/429/2011-2013

kindle magazine june 2012

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