Today, as I write this, marks 50 days from the day Mumbai was liberated from terror and the day of Mumbai marathon supposedly marking resilience of Mumbai, the spirit of Mumbaikars. As today morning unfolded with over 40,000 taking to streets for the marathon, I could only notice the sombre mood post the initial mass hysteria. As if the Mumbai Marathon today was serving a grim reminder of the never forgotten realization of hopelessness, helplessness; of being ineffective and unable.
Let me clarify though, that neither was anyone of my loved ones in any of the affected places of The Leopold Café, The Trident, The Taj, Nariman House, CST, nor was I in any of these places but still I had felt as if I was everywhere… glued to my television watching the horror unfold in real time, my mobile phone buzzing continuously with SMS as we heard gunshots that felt right out of my bedroom window and blasts that sent tremors on the terrace of my home from 5 km away; my teenage child insisting to sleep with us parents as I lay awake completely stunned, first from the horror of terrible events and subsequently the complete lack of government response bordering on absolute and total apathy.
Terror was not in Kashmir, not in Assam, nor in Malegaon. Terror was now at home.
The flash of some of the bravest officers’ minutes before they were killed was being played on television screen; the slimy attack outside Metro theatre was virtually beamed live. Pictures that unfurled later made it clear that the gunshots we heard practically just out of the bedroom window were actually those; marking the bare handed struggle of our brave policeman, ASI Tukaram Ombale who took the many bullets fired point-blank from the AK-47 making the impossible convincing by not letting go of the lone arrested fidayeen, Mohammed Ajmal.
Much has changed after those days; I ask the cabbie if he has checked the boot, and suspiciously look at the young tourists curiously photographing the GPO and CST from around my office with haversacks lugged on their backs. More than those 3 days, the aftermath has changed much inside me. As a young computer engineer, I always wanted to do something for my country, live and die in India. This love for my nation continued even when my subs took my letters of recommendation to seize opportunities abroad.
Now I am not so sure.
For years, I thought we symbolized the new India; the hard working middle class that is on the elevator to progress not just as a witness, but being a part of the process, somewhere making a difference. Now, I think I am useless, worthless… one who can be shot at by any 20-some year old who lands from a boat without being noticed, without being detected, without being questioned, without being caught even when being seen on CCTV installations strolling on streets brandishing AK47 slaughtering the best of my security forces.
There may be many who would share my feelings… of being incompetent to change anything.
The fact is supremely etched in my mind that my motherland was brutally raped in front of the whole world and till date we are tied up, unable to break the shackles like cowards, like impotents. In everything we do, the terror we witnessed overshadows. Mumbai marathon today stands testimony to this fact as it was supposedly celebrating the spirit of Mumbai.
What spirit? That damp feeling of emptiness? Of being truthful and thus losers?
Mumbai marathon celebrated the resilience of Mumbaikars. Are we resilient? Or are we dented permanently?
Ironically, the 40,000 odd of us who participated in the dream run have seen our dreams, run.
Why there seems to be no aim, no purpose to survive? Why even the vision appears blurred? The demons from Pakistan have succeeded in bringing to fore our own demons of self-doubt that we had battled successfully to ensure our hard work put us on the expressways of progress. Those demons, declared dead long ago, have returned with vengeance. And not only have they returned they now occupy the centre-stage in everything we do. These demons of self-doubt have robbed us of our dreams of a better India that we intended to make true.
So many transformations of India that I had earlier contemplated witnessing during my lifetime seem to have vanished in thin air, now they no longer appear possible. So much I wanted to do but suddenly everything seems to be in vain. So many dreams that I had are now destined to remain just - dreams.
Friends, demons and countrymen, I solemnly state…
I no longer have a dream…
I no longer have a dream of my nation becoming the land of opportunities; prosperous and leading the world, if the economic progress is not backed up by stringent national security; for what good is prosperity without peace?
I no longer have a dream that my security forces shall be motivated to protect my country, be paid excellent salaries, provided world class living and working conditions and insured generously for financial security of their loved ones posthumously, so that they can discharge their duty with honour.
I no longer have a dream that the highly educated of my country shall feel safe, valued, respected and rewarded to not want to emigrate to better treating countries.
I no longer have a dream that we shall remain a nation united when even noble thoughts and deeds are muddled by divisive politics and factionalism.
I no longer have a dream that each of my country’s cities shall have the best in the world public transport for decongestion of roads and superior security for decongestion of fearsome thoughts.
I no longer have a dream that the people of my countryside shall stop migrating to cities for want of proper education, healthcare facilities and lack of suitable employment opportunities.
I no longer have a dream that the JAGAT KE TAT of my nation shall stop committing suicide because farming gives them nothing more than bent backs and the burden of debts from money-lenders.
I no longer have a dream that the farm-labourers of my country shall own the piece of land they work upon to promote a sense of belonging and pride, not to mention doing them their rightful justice.
I no longer have a dream that every single citizen of India shall be compulsorily educated for free till completing secondary education to make them prepared and mature to wither every storm and not be swayed by divisive politics and unethical people.
I no longer have a dream that my country shall have excellent connectivity across the length, the breadth and the DEPTH; not only of roads and cellular phones, but also of Internet connectivity to make them truly competitive world citizens.
I no longer have a dream that the farmers of my country shall be able to sell their produce online direct to buyers at market rates and shall not have to let go of 90% of value to middlemen.
I no longer have a dream that my country shall make the rich farmers pay for electricity and taxes from the greater income generated due to better infrastructure created for their benefit.
I no longer have a dream that my country shall issue a uniform national Identity card for each citizen that would provide for him and enable him to perform his duties as its citizen.
I no longer have a dream that my nation shall make the law and implement it too to not only provide for a holiday to vote on the day of elections, but also make it cognisable offence not to vote as failing in national duty.
I no longer have a dream that my elected government shall stop acting like profiteering extortionists not losing a single opportunity to squeeze the common man dry and wanting.
I no longer have a dream that my elected representatives shall stop behaving as owners of each piece of land, building and infrastructure in the cities.
I no longer have a dream that my country’s bureaucracy shall stop behaving like majority partner in private enterprises threatening them with dire consequences in response to their genuine problems.
I no longer have a dream of India without upheavals when we cannot reduce the economic disparity, and respect an individual not by the car he drives, but the heart that cares; not by Satyam he owns but the satya he practices.
I no longer have a dream that my government shall listen to my voice, or even be bothered to hear my voice till the time I become capable to vote them out of power.
In a nation that prints promissory on currency notes “I agree to pay the bearer a sum of rupees …”, but not on the Re. 1 note… not on coins, ostensibly called CHILLER… the
CHILLAR people, the common man is screaming in a muffled voice…
I NO LONGER HAVE A DREAM.
Kshitij M Kotak, BE (Computer) Kshitiz, Simplifying Complex IT. Personally, Kshitiz is very impressed with life and achievements of Dhirubhai. And regrets that he can never be like him. He is more sensitive than most of | |
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