The Indian Jawan

These are few stories told by the jawans in the Indian paramilitary forces.

Story 1

“I spent one third of my 20 years in the CRPF just travelling. Of these 20 years, I could spend only three years with my children. I took medical leave to get married. I could only reach my village five days after I received news of my father passing away. I am the eldest in my family but I couldn’t even perform the last rites. I couldn’t attend three of my four sisters’ marriages. I had to arrange a separate house for my wife and kids after my father’s death because my brother threw them out from the joint family house. But if you take any of these problems to your officers, they just shoo you away.”

Story 2

A jawan who has spent 16 years in the CRPF — six in Jammu and Kashmir, three in Assam, three in Tripura, and three in Manipur. Too scared to talk at the CRPF headquarters, he calls late at night to share his story. During a posting in Srinagar, he was charged with indiscipline and lost 15 days of pay for daring to complain about inedible food and cockroaches in his dal. When he fell sick in Tripura, he couldn’t get a car to get to hospital. “I had to hire a jeep,” says he. “Only if 15-20 constables fall sick and need a car together, there’s a chance of us getting it. Otherwise the cars are busy ferrying the officers’ children. This country got independence in 1947, but we still live like slaves. Our officers order us to do unauthorized things; we have no right to express ourselves. They tell us to barge into people’s homes and pick up bricks and cement and construct our quarters. They pocket lakhs of welfare money; they take commissions from ration shops.

We pay Rs 1,326 per month for food. The bills are for A-grade rations but we get C-grade food. The commander is like the king of a battalion. He runs it the way he wants. As a driver, I am sent all the time for unauthorized pick ups. All the risk of being caught is on me. You live under so much pressure, you either shoot yourself or shoot someone else. I am just waiting to complete 20 years so I can get a part of my pension and then I’ll quit."

Story 3

One retired jawan remembers a tortuous journey in 2004 that stretched 8,000 kilometers over two months as the Home Ministry ordered his company like a pawn to move from Agartala to Gujarat via Bangladesh, Delhi, Kashmir and back to Agartala. Crowded trains, no reservations, no accommodations, no sense of why they were being deployed anywhere, and, most of all — no sense of respect. “I have fought insurgents for 20 years,” says the jawan bitterly, “but this one journey showed me my standing in my country’s eyes. How can you fool around with so many human beings on the pretext of an emergency situation?” Other jawans speak of being summoned to places for six months and being asked to stay for six years.

Read the full article here: Soldiers of Misfortune

Also read ‘My patriotism is dead’ & ‘We felt like pawns’ on the same page.

Life, as a normal Indian…

The road woes

 

+ I take my cycle to school. I approach a crossroad; a bus swerves from the right to the left extreme left of the road, close enough to flick me. Someone from inside the bus stretches his hand to take off my cap. I am glad my cap stays tight. No one says a word. They are all just like me, Indians. This is a common sight for us.

+ Another fateful Monday, I am in white school uniform, heading to school. Someone from the bus spits out his tobacco, randomly. And luck has it that the red spit of his lands on my shirt. No one says a word. No sympathy for me, this is a common occurrence, I was there at the wrong place. I will soon live with it.

+ I realize it is a bad idea to venture out on rainy days. One is sure to get mud all over the dress, thanks to the holes in the road and our dear artistic bus drivers.

+ I understand it is not safe on the road. There is nothing called a lane system here.

+ Sometimes I get so freaked, I know no one would blame me if they also saw a huge truck coming straight at me, on my ‘correct’ side of the road.

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+ I would think thrice before I take my girlfriend to the beach. For I am sure there would be some lolling tongue that would comment on her. I am just reconciled to the fact that there is no concept of solitude here!

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+ Every time I say goodbye to a friend who takes his/her bike, I offer a prayer that they reach safe. Never have I been sure that it would happen. I am not scared; I have just come to terms with lack of rules at the roads.

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The Indian real-idiot-box

+ I switch on the TV, there are ads that I don’t like, especially the one where a guy gets a deodorant out and the servant women feels him all over. If there ever was a desperate woman, this would be one.

+ I change the channels and I see our super action hero taking his 150 cc bike, with no helmet, jumping red signals and speed limits at will. The heroin behind him removes her veil and lets if fly, not caring about it falling on the path of those behind her. What love indeed!!

+ I change channels again and there is an hour show on what is going on in the world of films. Who kissed who, and who slept with who are the hot topics here. Sportsmen are not spared either, every word they utter is scrutinized and each one of their gestures is interpreted a million bad ways.

+ I don’t watch Indian channels anymore.

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It is an open secret

+ I would gladly give a couple of hundreds for not wearing a helmet, five hundred for not wearing my seat belt, a thousand for crossing the red light and a thousand more to close a case, if I banged my car and killed someone. It is so easy here, in India.

+ I go to the police station, to report the loss of my bike, and I am treated like a criminal myself. I make a follow up trip a week later and I am reasoned out that people lose their cars and houses and a bike ain’t such a great loss.

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We are used to all this now

+ I take up the newspapers, and the first item that catches my eyes is the picture of death, a burning van, a child – crying as his legs were severed from the explosion. I read of parliamentary bitching everywhere. I read of shameless ministers who jump from party to party, all of them with often conflicting ideologies. I read of deceitful men, who call themselves as saints on the outside and are sex addicts inside their so called hermitages.

+ I don’t read the papers anymore.

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+ I take my friends to a hotel. I order lunch and wait half an hour for it to arrive. I don’t complain about the extra salt or the lack of salt or how hot or cold the food is. What can I expect, if I complained a fly fell in my soup I would have to drink it with the knowledge that the waiter picked it out with his bare hands!

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+ I can apply for any certification that I want. Be it birth, death, educational degree, marriage, passport, voting id, ration card. All could all be done by spending extra money. There is no waiting period for those who choose to be smart and bribe. I am smart, I bribe.

+ I live in Gandhian land, where the man in white and white is the most respected. He is also the most powerful.

+ I need a job, no problem; I just gather up a few lack of rupees and land it into his hands, I get settled for life – a job in the government.

+ I need to enrol myself in some college; I gather up some money and give it to him.

+ I need to escape the law; I flash a photograph of myself with him, or show his visiting card. He would save me, as long as I would pay him his cut dutifully!

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+ I am an Indian I endure it all. I don’t comment when someone spits on the road. I act as if I don’t notice when I see them throw litter on every empty land available. I would keep silent even if someone killed my brother and threw him into one of those pits. I would bribe anyone for I have no other choice if I need my work to be done. I am not surprised when the leader of my clan cheats his followers. I don’t stop anyone when they are busy abusing my women folk.

+ I would not dare stop them, for I fear that if I did, It would be  me who gets thrown in the pit and one of my Indian brothers who would watch me silently from above.  

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I am an Indian, and I am not proud of it.

(The author does not like to disclose his identity. Content slightly edited.)

Who on earth is Shashank Manohar?

(A bot tweeted me about this article. An interesting read about Shashank Manohar. Have not verified the facts myself, though.)

The short answer is Shashank Manohar is a NEW President of the BCCI. But there is enough dirt on this clown and he is a perfect example why Indian cricket is in such perfect shambles.

To know Shashank Manohar better, one has to go back to 26th November 1995. It was an ODI played between India and New Zealand when the VCA stadium wall collapsed, killing 13 people and injuring over 70. And who were responsible? Shashank Manohar himself, along with his father V.R. Manohar, the bosses of the VCA stadium - allegedly these guys had contracted a close relative of theirs for the construction of the wall. It isn't a surprise that a man responsible for cricket's biggest on-field tragedy is the NEW president of the board. (Read here)

It's no secret that the betting cartel run from Karachi by Dawood Ibrahim's gang has the BCCI backing. So what's the nexus between the Dawood gang and BCCI? Well. the official link is Shashank Manohar. Manohar's family is quite close to the Dawood gang and defends their gang members in most high-profile cases. So the question arises if a man is so close to the betting cartel, should he be the BCCI New president?

Is he an honest man? Shashank Manohar claims to be one. His sycophant journalists include a certain Ajay Nayudu and Vinay Nayudu who claim that Shashank Manohar does not take a penny from the BCCI, even pays for his travel expenses. Facts state otherwise. Shashank Manohar took money from the VCA offers to sponsor a school-boy team's 3 month tour to England. Why? Just because his son was playing in the team. For the record, his son Adwait Manohar is a pathetic cricketer, with a first class average of 15.

So, he spent millions from the BCCI earnings to give his own good-for-nothing son. An honest douche bag indeed. (Read here)

He is also the guy making the most fuss about contracts, pay-for-performance and endorsement caps. Why? Simply because to cover up all his betting cartel links, he needs an honest image.

As a cricketer himself, he played just one first-class match - thanks to his father's influence, averaging 9. (Read here)

Read the original article here.

IPL – it’s real

I came across this blog post, IPL, Basic Economics & Us, a few days back, while surfing the internet about how IPL is affecting the common man. The ‘phenomenon’ of IPL has gripped the whole nation for the past 3 years with an entire generation from film stars to politicians to you and I involved in it. Everyone wants to be a part of it, the rich men want to buy it, the cricketers want to play it, bloggers like me want to write about it and the common man doesn’t want to miss it either. And yeah, the Bollywood too is not behind in the race.

I am not a great fan of IPL or of cricket for that instance (not that I hate cricket) Actually, IPL is not about cricket at all. It is just another reality show with the world’s finest cricketers as lead actors. The only difference compared to other TV shows is that this reality show is LIVE and is also telecasted on YouTube. No doubt it would be one of the highest grossing shows in television history. Thanks to the amount of money involved.

Now, coming to the article which I read, is by a guy called Buddhiraj. He is not a regular blogger but I liked the only two articles (my kind) he has written so far. In this article he starts off with a story and then goes on to relate economics in IPL to inflation in the country. He also tells about the how the advertising during IPL will (might) influence the prices of day-to-day commodities. It is a short write-up and good read for IPL fans to know that IPL has some serious side effects, other than wasting a few million man-hours.

Read the complete article here. You can also read Buddhi’s other articles on his blog, Buddhi Baptizm.

Forgive me for being blasphemous about IPL and cricket. They are just not my cup of tea.