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November 16 INDIA 'BLOODY' SHINING1st April! I know the 1st thing that came in your mind….. April Fool, right? Wrong! How? Well, let’s see! 1st April was the date! Chandrakant was sitting on the lawn in front of his home in that afternoon! The Sun never seems to melt its heat even when the day is gradually loosing its life! The darkness was approaching, yet, the heat brought sweat drops on his forehead! Now which heat it was, only he knew it! Rishi, his youngest son (9) zoomed past him making a whistle sound! Chandrakant sighed! He generally does, more often these days and most often that day! He looked at Rishi carefully, the torn half pant was exposing his little bump and his thin hands were showcasing only bones, no flesh! The condition is the same! The same condition everywhere, the whole of Bidharva is suffering! Chandrakant held his right palm up and said to himself… “What have you become man? What? This shameless creature! Don’t you look at your children and feel like heel? How do you tolerate? ” Another voice from deep inside raged, “ yeah I see. But what could I do?” Question came, “What could you do?” Answers murmured, “I know! And I’ve tried too… but! But I couldn’t! My hope was restored on the cotton on the field! But it all scorched in the heat, no water! I tried, tried a lot to arrange water, but couldn’t! Friends turned their faces, they themselves were suffering! None had money! I searched light, got darkness! They suggested me to knock the door of the Sukhidar, the money lender!” Question came, “Money lenders!? The bloody murderers!?” Voice inside agreed, “Yes, the murderers! Gave me Rs. 5000 and asked a 200% interest! But I had to take it because even that money was nothing! I went to bank and begged a lot! The manager spitted on my face! He said I was a looser, me and my family shall ‘starve till death’! how could he do so… how could he?” I knew it from the last year that this will happen! I tried so much to get my daughter Rajni married. She is 17 and the way my condition is, I will never be able to get her married! The pandit said that he had a groom! He was 42 and had one wife before! I knew Rajni will not be happy, but Radha, my wife insisted! She said that it’s good for a girl to have a matured husband. But they demanded Rs 15,000! I begged to the bank manager, and he repeated the same.. me and my family shall ‘starve till death’! Again I had to go to the money lender! The murdered grinned at me and gave me only Rs 8,000! I told him repeatedly that my daughter will not be married if I don’t give them full Rs 15,000, but he abused me and said ‘in that case, send your daughter to me for few nights! She will ever be happy’! God! Why didn’t my ears burnt before listening to this! I saw the wolf, the wolf barked, shed juice from his tongue for my daughter and I was holding the wolf’s legs! I got Rs 9000 with an interest rate of 250%! And when holding the hands of my would-be son-in-law I cried on the weeding night, he laughed at me and said that he was least bothered about my family! His tone also was the same… me and my family shall ‘stave till death’! My daughter remained unmarried and this time with a possibility that she will never be married as the scars of shame on her forehead are clearly saying that she shall ‘cry till death’….. oh God!” “Now?” “Now what? What will I do? I don’t think I can ever recover the crops! The field is barren now! The money lender will kill me the next time he sees me!” “The money you borrowed…. “ “Oh I tried a bank loan and murderer agent fooled me! He said that he will take only 3% commission, I trusted and the entire money is gone!! God, there is no hope God! There’s no hope! Kill me God! Kill Meee” “God doesn’t kill anyone!” Chandrakant became silent…. Rishi again made a whistling sound and had no impact of it on his father! He was just soundless and the one thing that was echoing inside his heart’s walls was ‘God doesn’t kill anyone’….. With the echo in his mind, he stood up, went inside the home and with practiced hands brought out the pesticide bottle…. Expensive one! Costs, Rs. 5,000 per liter! This small can has some left! …. Instead of going by the costly way, the cheaper way is smarter…. Just half tea-spoon of HEAVEN! At the dinner, everyone had food! Chandrakanta didn’t! He observed everyone! Dinner was over… he was sitting on the lawn… everyone went to sleep! Chandrakanta took the rope and went to the nearest banyan tree! Tied the rope on the leaning branch, put the other end around his neck and closed his eyes!!! Said to himself, “My family must be sleeping! The pesticide has killed the pests!” Then a straight jump….. a little pain on the neck, a little search for the earth…. But the earth was too low!!! The sigh came out… whispering .. me and my family, ‘shall starve till death’! Bloody, April Fools!
2nd APRIL, FRONT PAGE (LEADING NEWS PAPER): IIM-A HIKES FEES BY 12%, UMA BHARTI MEETS CEO ON MONDAY, ADVANI’S RATH SET TO ROLL, DESI ANIMATORS ARE GOING GLOBAL,…….. etc etc. 12th APRIL, 13th PAGE (SAME NEWSPAPER): ANOTHER FAMILY SUICIDE AT BIDHARV… (WORD COUNT: 337) 13 SEPTEMBER: “SUICIDES BY FARMERS IN INDIA IS NOT A NEW PHENOMENON”… SAID BY… Sri SHARAD PAWAR, ‘HONORABLE’ AGRI. MINISTER, GOVERNMENT OF INDIA. 16TH NOVEMEBER: FRONT PAGE (LEADING NEWS PAPER): US SENATE IS SET TO DISCUSS ABOUT THE INDO-US NEUCLEAR DEAL; WHAT IF ALL WOMEN WERE BLONDE!!!! 16TH NOVEMEBER: THE DEATHTOOL OF FARMERS IN BIDHARVA COMMITTING SUICIDES IS 1056! November 05 WHY~~The train was moving at its pace, and we all in that general compartment were moving ahead towards New Delhi. I could manage any reservation due to the rush I had, hence was traveling by the general compartment where, by luck, I managed to get a seat to sit on. I was wearing a black long kurta, a dark jeans and a pair of black slippers, and was trying to read a book called Iraq, Afghanistan & The Imperialism of Our Time, by Aijaz Ahmad. The book was nice, hard hitting and morning sun was at its full bloom. I concentrated into the lines…. Suddenly, someone pushed me at the right side. I, irritated, looked up and saw a Muslim family in a hurry to find seats for them. The person, who had pushed me, was in fact pushing a big bad inside the seats and he was regardless that he created some trouble to a gentleman by his push. This was a poor Muslim family and that I could make out from their attire and accent. They were talking in Bengali, but in a different accent, the typical Bangladeshi tone. They somehow managed few place there around me and managed places for their asses. I smiled and started reading again…… the exploitation on the Muslim community… I don’t know for how long my eyes were closed; perhaps I took a short nap… I woke up and saw that a kid of some 12 years, with a half eaten guava in hand, was looking straight at me. The kid, sitting on his father’s (perhaps) lap, was wearing a new cheap shirt, but his half pant was really old. Well, this was a common phenomenon. But the eyes of the kid were really startling, full of questions which he was dying to ask. I smiled and patted on my lap, so that he can feel free to come and sit there if he felt like… he moved his head in negative, but after a 5 minutes’ continuous smile and facial caricature, I managed to bring smile on his face, and he came up to me to sit on my lap. He sat; his head was right in front of my nose giving me a peculiar smell of an unknown mustard oil. I lowered my voice and asked, “So, what’s your name King?” He looked back and with a quick intelligent smile replied, “Hasaan.” “Hasaan? Wow! That’s my friend’s name also.” “My father kept this name for me.” he was proud of it. “Really? Who is your father?” I asked with a smile. Hasaan pointed towards the person on whose lap he was sitting till then (and who had pushed me), “He is my father. His name is Sk. Manirul Ishlam.” “That’s a great name. What is he doing these now Hasaan?” “Sleeping” was Hasaan’s quick reply. I couldn’t stop my laughter at the sense of humor of this little kid, and just next to me chest, around my hands, I felt Hasaan also was smiling. (Mr. genius Hasaan knows that he has got this sense of humor!) “No, I mean what does he do to earn money?” “He was a teacher.” Hasaan was again proud. “Was?” “Yes, in our country he was a teacher.” “Your country?” “Yes, Bangladesh.” I looked at the Hasaan’s father, the man in his late 30s (seems like late 40s), with an old long shirt, a lungi sleeping while burying his small beard into his chest. The 1st three buttons of his shirt were vanished and there was a blood spot on his forehead. I asked Hasaan, “hat happened on his forehead?” Hasaan shrunk and whispered, “I can’t say.” I also lowered my voice and asked, “Why? Please tell me, I will not tell anyone! Please!” After a long silence Hasaan opened his mouth (I now wish if he had not), “We used to live near the border. People took all our lands; they called my father and thrashed him a lot. We all stayed at home for few days. One day my elder sister, Mehbuba had gone to school, she didn’t return at night. She came back next morning with torn apart clothes; few people did bad things with her. That day she ate something bad (poison) and died. We all cried a lot. We had to leave Bangladesh. We came to Kolkata, but had nothing to eat. My father kept us at station and went somewhere. Next day he came back with money. We all ate, but mother didn’t. She said she won’t eat that sinful food. You know uncle, don’t tell anyone, my father was a Pickpocketer in Kolkata. But mother cried a lot, father also cried and now we are going to Delhi to find something for us.” Hasaan was silent, I was silent…. Silent for long…. Then I lowered my face and looked at Hasaan’s little face… tears were blocked there, about to flow. I took him deep into me, and he didn’t cry. Perhaps he also learnt how to stop tears. After a long silence, Hasaan turned towards me and uttered slowly, “Why? Uncle, Why is this?” The tone of his voice shook me deep inside. I was silent …. All through the journey I was silent. But when his parents were awke, Hasaan was smiling with them, playing, sleeping… A guilt feeling engulfed me all over, I was stinking…. Delhi come, Delhi also was stinking…. Before coming down, I asked Hasaan to sit on my lap, he sat, I kissed his head, spoke something and keeping him ignorant put Rs 1000/ into his pant’s pocket…… I was more helpless than them….
GOD, SAVE THESE ANGELS….. FRIENDS, I COULD HAVE WRITTEN ABOUT IT LONG BEFORE… BUT EVERYTIME I TRIED, HASAAN’S “Don’t tell anyone” KEPT ME AWAY…. BUT NOW I THINK, HASAAN ACTUALLY MEANT “Don’t tell anyone who doesn’t deserve to know it.” HASAAN, I’M SORRY…. BUT I HAD TO…
SADDAM, U GOT WHAT U DESERVE (UNFORTUNATELY, FROM THE PEOPLE WHO DESERVE THE SAME) |
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