Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Bhopal - May you rest in Peace
The growth figures of India makes us all so very conceited. We take pride in the fact that India has weathered the storm of recession better than any of the developed countries. The internal consumption led by the infamous middle class, government expenditure at the risk of increasing the fiscal deficit and inflow of foreign capital as a safe parking place had contributed to the growth. The political class is vying for the credit whether with the BJP’s “India Shining” campaign [which was a sort of blunder] or the Congress’s untoward affection for the “Common Man”.
The basic question arises if we are capable of handling such growth? Are we self disciplined enough to respect this fantastic opportunity that has been bestowed on us?
On the seventh of June the landmark judgement was passed by the court on the Bhopal Gas tragedy. The tragedy happened in 1984, when the Congress government headed by Rajiv Gandhi was at the centre and the undivided state of Madhya Pradesh had Arjun Singh [who recently fell out of favour of the Congress high command] as the Chief Minister.
Bhopal, even today is considered to be a tier 3 city, in spite of it being the capital of Madhya Pradesh. It had very few industries [Union Carbide India Limited was one of the biggest, apart from BHEL] and India was still reeling under a license Raj. The leakage of the MIC [methyl isocyanate] killed nearly 20,000 people and maimed an entire generation [some five hundred thousand people were affected by the gas and has permanent disabilities]. It is considered as one of the worst of the industrial tragedies that happened in the planet.
Candle light protests were not a fashion during those days; we were more Indian than westernized. The social activists tirelessly campaigned but the might of the government and the corporation is something even God will find difficult to fight against, and that to a corrupt government and a rogue corporation.
After 26 year and the fresh verdict there is renewed interest in the case and as usual we like rumination. We get wiser in afterthoughts.
The news channels are fielding their “best man” for the show to raise their TRPs. Is anyone concerned for real justice? I do not think so. Every morning we need some spicy news to make our day – death, tragedy, injustice – all such incidents make us feel a little better before we commence on our daily boring grind.
UCIL flouted safety norms in lieu of saving money like we do every day, not wearing a helmet while riding a two wheeler, carrying more load than a tuck can bear, carrying more passengers in a car than what is prescribed for a truck and the list goes on. They ran the plant with little or no maintenance and on depleted manpower [cost cutting had always been a fashion for multinationals for making more profits]. It was a very American way of operation, typified by running a subsidiary as an illegitimate son.
But is UCIL to blame for all these? Everyone is running after Warren Anderson, who was the Chairman of Union carbide at that point of time. One news channel in their unbridled imagination compared him with Adolf Hitler. What was his fault? He was born in a country where his mother taught him from his birth how to love the color GREEN. It was in his blood, capitalism is written large on every American. But India, which always had been on the fringes of so called socialism, what did she do repudiate the diabolical plans of the corporation? Our governments are always effete against corporation, whether foreign or innate.
Every country has strict specifications published by statutory bodies. India also does have such bodies like the Pollution Control Board, the Bureau of Indian Standards and so many others. They all have been legacies of our colonial rule and after independence, they fluttered like headless chicken. They clung to the old British Standards of the forties and never ever thought of revising them.
There are hardly any guidelines for installation of hazardous chemicals, electrical installations or anything that can lead to danger to society at large. Such is the apathy of the government and its obstinate departments to change that still today we lose more than a thousand lives every year in industrial accidents only.
Any government regulatory board can be bought or influenced with and that is not new – so the verdict of this case does not ring a new bell anyhow.
The chemical hub of Ankleswar has toxic levels which can reduce the life of people staying there by more than ten years – but the industrialists and the government take cognizance of the fact that in a country with a population of more than a billion such exigencies are always pardonable.
As a citizen we are equally culpable. More we are educated more is our disrespect for the law. A degree in engineering or medicine makes us immune to the constitution of India – we detest standing in a queue as it undermines our privilege of education. We hate to follow the lane discipline while driving as we want to prove to the world how important our role in office is for the survival of the nation.
I find one dialogue from Spiderman very apt, “With great power come greater responsibilities.”
Who are we trying to blame? It would always be between us and them as that best suits our status quo.
The victims of the Bhopal Gas tragedy were mostly people from labor class. They only have the number on their side, but not the relevant voice. Their voices pass through us, who refine it, mould it and use it for our own good.
For few good days the new channels, media will come with more and more revelations until people are fed up and then Bhopal will be once again forgotten till we again wake up from slumber to another new tragedy, the opposition will try to harass the government, the government will defend all allegations to their teeth, Arjun Singh’s stoic silence will renew his bargaining power [what goes up always comes down and the old man will have the last laugh before he dies] and the victims will lay buried in injustice simply because they cannot recite ‘Jack and Jill’ or differentiate between a wine from Boudreaux or Burgundy.
The Wikipedia page on the Bhopal Gas Tragedy has a lot of interesting information. It may be a good read on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I recommend the same and do not forget your wine as tragedy is to be relished until it strikes you.
The basic question arises if we are capable of handling such growth? Are we self disciplined enough to respect this fantastic opportunity that has been bestowed on us?
On the seventh of June the landmark judgement was passed by the court on the Bhopal Gas tragedy. The tragedy happened in 1984, when the Congress government headed by Rajiv Gandhi was at the centre and the undivided state of Madhya Pradesh had Arjun Singh [who recently fell out of favour of the Congress high command] as the Chief Minister.
Bhopal, even today is considered to be a tier 3 city, in spite of it being the capital of Madhya Pradesh. It had very few industries [Union Carbide India Limited was one of the biggest, apart from BHEL] and India was still reeling under a license Raj. The leakage of the MIC [methyl isocyanate] killed nearly 20,000 people and maimed an entire generation [some five hundred thousand people were affected by the gas and has permanent disabilities]. It is considered as one of the worst of the industrial tragedies that happened in the planet.
Candle light protests were not a fashion during those days; we were more Indian than westernized. The social activists tirelessly campaigned but the might of the government and the corporation is something even God will find difficult to fight against, and that to a corrupt government and a rogue corporation.
After 26 year and the fresh verdict there is renewed interest in the case and as usual we like rumination. We get wiser in afterthoughts.
The news channels are fielding their “best man” for the show to raise their TRPs. Is anyone concerned for real justice? I do not think so. Every morning we need some spicy news to make our day – death, tragedy, injustice – all such incidents make us feel a little better before we commence on our daily boring grind.
UCIL flouted safety norms in lieu of saving money like we do every day, not wearing a helmet while riding a two wheeler, carrying more load than a tuck can bear, carrying more passengers in a car than what is prescribed for a truck and the list goes on. They ran the plant with little or no maintenance and on depleted manpower [cost cutting had always been a fashion for multinationals for making more profits]. It was a very American way of operation, typified by running a subsidiary as an illegitimate son.
But is UCIL to blame for all these? Everyone is running after Warren Anderson, who was the Chairman of Union carbide at that point of time. One news channel in their unbridled imagination compared him with Adolf Hitler. What was his fault? He was born in a country where his mother taught him from his birth how to love the color GREEN. It was in his blood, capitalism is written large on every American. But India, which always had been on the fringes of so called socialism, what did she do repudiate the diabolical plans of the corporation? Our governments are always effete against corporation, whether foreign or innate.
Every country has strict specifications published by statutory bodies. India also does have such bodies like the Pollution Control Board, the Bureau of Indian Standards and so many others. They all have been legacies of our colonial rule and after independence, they fluttered like headless chicken. They clung to the old British Standards of the forties and never ever thought of revising them.
There are hardly any guidelines for installation of hazardous chemicals, electrical installations or anything that can lead to danger to society at large. Such is the apathy of the government and its obstinate departments to change that still today we lose more than a thousand lives every year in industrial accidents only.
Any government regulatory board can be bought or influenced with and that is not new – so the verdict of this case does not ring a new bell anyhow.
The chemical hub of Ankleswar has toxic levels which can reduce the life of people staying there by more than ten years – but the industrialists and the government take cognizance of the fact that in a country with a population of more than a billion such exigencies are always pardonable.
As a citizen we are equally culpable. More we are educated more is our disrespect for the law. A degree in engineering or medicine makes us immune to the constitution of India – we detest standing in a queue as it undermines our privilege of education. We hate to follow the lane discipline while driving as we want to prove to the world how important our role in office is for the survival of the nation.
I find one dialogue from Spiderman very apt, “With great power come greater responsibilities.”
Who are we trying to blame? It would always be between us and them as that best suits our status quo.
The victims of the Bhopal Gas tragedy were mostly people from labor class. They only have the number on their side, but not the relevant voice. Their voices pass through us, who refine it, mould it and use it for our own good.
For few good days the new channels, media will come with more and more revelations until people are fed up and then Bhopal will be once again forgotten till we again wake up from slumber to another new tragedy, the opposition will try to harass the government, the government will defend all allegations to their teeth, Arjun Singh’s stoic silence will renew his bargaining power [what goes up always comes down and the old man will have the last laugh before he dies] and the victims will lay buried in injustice simply because they cannot recite ‘Jack and Jill’ or differentiate between a wine from Boudreaux or Burgundy.
The Wikipedia page on the Bhopal Gas Tragedy has a lot of interesting information. It may be a good read on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I recommend the same and do not forget your wine as tragedy is to be relished until it strikes you.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Naushad from Morocco
It was in the winter of 1997 I reached Prien am Chiemsee, a small town in the Bavarian region of Germany. This was my first trip outside India [I believe we consider Nepal as an illegal extension of India] and that to, to a country where they speak in a strange language as if they are having a fight.
Prien has a small centre for learning German language, at that time was run by Frau Rothkirch. The institute bears her name – Language Institute Von Rothkirch.
All people who were coming to Germany for the first time, from different part of the world and working for different divisions of Siemens AG, had to spend at least one month for learning the basics of the language.
It also served as a melting pot of diverse cultures and getting to know them.
Prien had a very elderly population. The old couples, mostly retired and living alone, rented their house to the students. It also helped the students in picking up German faster as they hardly spoke anything but German, that to countryside German [Bayerisches Deutsch].
I was allotted a room with a lady called Frau Neumann. There were two rooms in the attic and I was told to choose one.
She told me that the next room was booked for a gentleman from Pakistan [although I was expecting a lady from Russia]. It gave me a subtle pleasure that at least I would not spent hours talking in English or broken German. On the other hand it was also the first time I would meet a Pakistani – flesh and blood. The 1993 Mumbai bomb blast was still fresh and the word Pakistani did not evoke much camaraderie in my mind.
Naushad Alam checked in around four in the afternoon. He was very thin [I found out when he removed his warm clothes], around the same height as mine, bespectacled and I could feel him shivering beneath the layer of three coats that he was wearing and in spite of the heater turned full on.
We shook hands, introduced each other in English and then he went to his room to get fresh and change.
He came back to my room, looking a bit fresh but I could feel that he was a bit scared. I made him a cup of tea and offered him some biscuits.
He sat there in the bed, palms crossed between his legs, shivering in pulses. He seemed as innocent as a terrorist.
He was from Karachi and had joined Siemens only a year back. He has never travelled outside Karachi, leave aside being abroad. His chance came by proxy as the person who was originally scheduled to come fell sick. In a short notice he had to make arrangements, like getting his passport and then visa, buying warm clothes, food items, pressure cooker, pulses etc. He paid almost the same amount as his ticket fare in excess baggage and it was only a miracle how he lifted his stuff alone on the second floor of the building.
He was so shy that he refused to lift his face up while speaking to me. I felt a little disconcerting but carried on the conversation. Naushad spoke in a very soft voice, as if he has not yet reached his puberty.
“It is so stupid that in spite of being neighboring countries we are speaking in English.” said Naushad.
“Yes, but as per rules we should be speaking German. By the way what language do you speak?”
“I speak Urdu only, and you?”
“I speak Bengali, the language they speak in erstwhile East Pakistan and a bit of Hindi.”
“No, I do not understand any of the languages.”
“But Hindi is not that different from Urdu, except for the script.”
“Maybe, but I have never heard the language. But I heard that many in India speak Urdu.”
“Yes, maybe in the erstwhile princely state of Hyderabad and Lucknow.”
“Ah! Hyderabad, which was invaded by the Indian army and forcefully annexed it to the Indian state.”
I was totally foxed by his statement, Hyderabad – attacked by Indian Army – annexed. It was a total spin and I was left flabbergasted.
“Your army also invaded Goa and more so many people got killed, India was acting fascist at that time.”
We were sitting and having our discussion in a country which has a history of Fascism about forty years back, but no one has dared call India fascist.
“And what you did in Nagaland, killing the tribal, just because they refused to be a part of the Indian state and demanded their freedom. Their leader Phizo was exiled and continued the fight from England.”
“Excuse me, Phizo who?” I was almost sweating.
The soft spoken, gentle Pakistani was telling me the history of my own country which I was totally unaware off or was it a Pakistani propaganda.
I told him that I need to go out and make a call to my family. I rushed to the nearest telephone booth and called my father and asked in sequence what Naushad had told me. It was a part of history post independence and who in the world of our age cared about history.
But some countries do like Pakistan. When you want to inflict hatred against someone a counter productive history comes handy.
You obfuscate a part of it, mould it to suit your goals and brainwash the people. Pakistan had no history – a country only forty years old and having a series of leadership change, junta rules, and a country born on the principle of hatred cannot have a history.
Few days later, when we realized that I can understand his Urdu and he can somehow understand my Hindi [which he kept on arguing was Urdu, but the fascist Indian government gave a new name] I had asked him about his roots.
He thought for a moment and then he said with a smile,” We are decedents of a business family from Morocco, who came to make is fortune in Afghanistan and later settled in Karachi after Pakistan was formed.”
Naushad Alam would never even have a shadow of India cross his frame.
Prien has a small centre for learning German language, at that time was run by Frau Rothkirch. The institute bears her name – Language Institute Von Rothkirch.
All people who were coming to Germany for the first time, from different part of the world and working for different divisions of Siemens AG, had to spend at least one month for learning the basics of the language.
It also served as a melting pot of diverse cultures and getting to know them.
Prien had a very elderly population. The old couples, mostly retired and living alone, rented their house to the students. It also helped the students in picking up German faster as they hardly spoke anything but German, that to countryside German [Bayerisches Deutsch].
I was allotted a room with a lady called Frau Neumann. There were two rooms in the attic and I was told to choose one.
She told me that the next room was booked for a gentleman from Pakistan [although I was expecting a lady from Russia]. It gave me a subtle pleasure that at least I would not spent hours talking in English or broken German. On the other hand it was also the first time I would meet a Pakistani – flesh and blood. The 1993 Mumbai bomb blast was still fresh and the word Pakistani did not evoke much camaraderie in my mind.
Naushad Alam checked in around four in the afternoon. He was very thin [I found out when he removed his warm clothes], around the same height as mine, bespectacled and I could feel him shivering beneath the layer of three coats that he was wearing and in spite of the heater turned full on.
We shook hands, introduced each other in English and then he went to his room to get fresh and change.
He came back to my room, looking a bit fresh but I could feel that he was a bit scared. I made him a cup of tea and offered him some biscuits.
He sat there in the bed, palms crossed between his legs, shivering in pulses. He seemed as innocent as a terrorist.
He was from Karachi and had joined Siemens only a year back. He has never travelled outside Karachi, leave aside being abroad. His chance came by proxy as the person who was originally scheduled to come fell sick. In a short notice he had to make arrangements, like getting his passport and then visa, buying warm clothes, food items, pressure cooker, pulses etc. He paid almost the same amount as his ticket fare in excess baggage and it was only a miracle how he lifted his stuff alone on the second floor of the building.
He was so shy that he refused to lift his face up while speaking to me. I felt a little disconcerting but carried on the conversation. Naushad spoke in a very soft voice, as if he has not yet reached his puberty.
“It is so stupid that in spite of being neighboring countries we are speaking in English.” said Naushad.
“Yes, but as per rules we should be speaking German. By the way what language do you speak?”
“I speak Urdu only, and you?”
“I speak Bengali, the language they speak in erstwhile East Pakistan and a bit of Hindi.”
“No, I do not understand any of the languages.”
“But Hindi is not that different from Urdu, except for the script.”
“Maybe, but I have never heard the language. But I heard that many in India speak Urdu.”
“Yes, maybe in the erstwhile princely state of Hyderabad and Lucknow.”
“Ah! Hyderabad, which was invaded by the Indian army and forcefully annexed it to the Indian state.”
I was totally foxed by his statement, Hyderabad – attacked by Indian Army – annexed. It was a total spin and I was left flabbergasted.
“Your army also invaded Goa and more so many people got killed, India was acting fascist at that time.”
We were sitting and having our discussion in a country which has a history of Fascism about forty years back, but no one has dared call India fascist.
“And what you did in Nagaland, killing the tribal, just because they refused to be a part of the Indian state and demanded their freedom. Their leader Phizo was exiled and continued the fight from England.”
“Excuse me, Phizo who?” I was almost sweating.
The soft spoken, gentle Pakistani was telling me the history of my own country which I was totally unaware off or was it a Pakistani propaganda.
I told him that I need to go out and make a call to my family. I rushed to the nearest telephone booth and called my father and asked in sequence what Naushad had told me. It was a part of history post independence and who in the world of our age cared about history.
But some countries do like Pakistan. When you want to inflict hatred against someone a counter productive history comes handy.
You obfuscate a part of it, mould it to suit your goals and brainwash the people. Pakistan had no history – a country only forty years old and having a series of leadership change, junta rules, and a country born on the principle of hatred cannot have a history.
Few days later, when we realized that I can understand his Urdu and he can somehow understand my Hindi [which he kept on arguing was Urdu, but the fascist Indian government gave a new name] I had asked him about his roots.
He thought for a moment and then he said with a smile,” We are decedents of a business family from Morocco, who came to make is fortune in Afghanistan and later settled in Karachi after Pakistan was formed.”
Naushad Alam would never even have a shadow of India cross his frame.
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