Mumbai terror attacks: more thoughts

This can happen only in India. Here is the nation’s elite commando force attempting to flush out a bunch of hardened, motivated & trained terrorists amidst chaos, from Mumbai’s leading hotel. The whole nation is watching. Tension all around. People are mourning the death of near & dear ones. Millions angry about the attack. The commandos & the authorities would be expected to get the hostages out alive and ‘take out’ the militants. And who decided to grace the occasion? L K Advani – a leading politician of the country. Will we ever learn? Of what use is a politician’s sound byte at that situation? Anything for political upmanship?

One man’s food is another man’s poison. And one man’s ‘terrorism’ is another man’s freedom movement. Take a look at the comments made on the Mumbai attack by Sri Lankan readers – it paints a picture of India’s perception among its smaller neighbours. We are seen as those primarily responsible for creating the LTTE and the ensuing violence in that country. And Sri Lankans have experienced such attacks on their landmarks & commercial establishments for 2 decades now. The comments over there are insensitive alright (how can someone have a gleeful, ‘good it happened to you’ kind of attitude) but a reflection of the complexity around the issue of terrorism. There is no such thing as good terrorism or bad terrorism. Closer home, Kashmiris live in this kind of environment day in day out.

Watching the attacks in Mumbai can naturally make a Mumbaikar angry. As someone who spent a large part of my career in that city and saw myself as a ‘Mumabikar’ it is hurting to see they way the city has been brought to its knees. I just hope and pray that there are no reprisal attacks. But with elections around the corner, can it be ruled out?

Some views on our own ‘Christiane Amanpour’, Barkha Dutt’s coverage of the event here and here.

Mumbai terror attacks: some thoughts

Like millions of other Indians, I too feel angry and sad about the Mumbai terror attacks. I am angry that a bunch of terrorists can so easily ‘take over’ a city and hold the country to ransom. I am angry that we failed to stop them – how the hell did they enter the city? How on earth did they enter a 5-star hotel undetected? I am angry that we are sitting ducks when it comes to terrorists desperate to prove a point. I am angry that we don’t have the political will or a system in place to prevent such attacks (I guess that’s virtually impossible). I am sad that innocent people had to pay the price for such madness. I am angry that the world equates India & Pakistan as victims of terror in the same breath. The identity of the devious minds behind this attack may never be known. And knowing that they don’t care of the loss of lives and will surely plan more such attacks makes me angry. I am angry that the Mumbai we know of (and I was part of) died in 1993. Forget about the ’spirit of the Mumbaikar’ and his work ethic which made him get on with his life, come what may. It no longer exists. What remains is fear. Fear of the unknown.

The channels are already screaming more than they usually do. And out come the bumbling reporters, overly excited news anchors and the usual sound bytes. Expect the usual questions: are we a soft state? Will Mumbai be the same?. A friend of mine wrote an email about how this incident would make us realize that ‘this is what it takes to appreciate what it’s like to be Kashmiri or Manipuri or a resident of any of the 120 districts that we designate ‘disturbed’ areas’. Significant point, that. We all sit up and take notice if our big cities come under terrorist attack. But the incidents in far-away places like Guwahati and Kashmir evoke total apathy elsewhere.

It is difficult to kindle hope in such a situation. And hope for a better India for our children. But then, what is life without hope. It is time to reflect upon the actions that each of us need to take to make it a better tomorrow.

My experience with India Post: giving whinges to my dreams

Visiting Indian post offices for stuff like stamps, mails etc., is a distant memory for me. Recently, I had to interact with a couple of their branches in Chennai and the experience has been memorable. As memorable as being hauled over a skewer.

All I had to do was close my dad’s savings bank accounts and transfer it to my mom’s name. My dad had passed away last year and the process to transfer the accounts started well over six months ago. My first exposure to the financial services of India Post was my dad’s Pass Book. It resembled a book that has been given to a 3-year old. There were numbers, initials and scribbles galore – it appeared as if everyone who touched it at the Post Office wanted to leave his mark. During a visit to Chennai earlier this month, I approached them to complete the process. I was sent from the branch office to the Regional Office. The sight that hits you when you walk in there is this:

Here are two gentlemen busy figuring out how to give ‘Wings to the dreams’ of India’s populace. Notice the CPU that is a make-shift cupboard? Amidst this depressing mess were two angels: Mrs. Arokyaselvi and Mrs. Rajalakshmi. They were apparently deputed to this office to clear the backlog of pending cases. And they operated like a crack-o team. They were efficiency personified – they began by creating a summary of my parents’ accounts with the Post Office. It took them 10 minutes. Imagine seasoned Postal Office employees finding it difficult to sift through their own Pass Books! They quickly arrived at a conclusion and dispatched the necessary papers for closure. One small hitch though. The application form had to have a ‘Registration Number’ or some such, which had to be written by the staff at the branch where the account was held. So trudged all the way back to the branch and met the Asst. Post Master who had his forefinger right up his nose and was about to discover gold. He shooed me to the next table. The clerk there yelled back at him and asked him to fill up the number himself. A helpful soul at another counter finally wrote the numbers. To my horror -they were already there in the pass book! The folks at Park Town could have easily written it down themselves and nobody would have known.

Back at Park Town, I submitted my papers. When I complained about the branch office, I half expected it to fall on deaf ears. The crack team that helped me immediately filed a complaint to one of their superiors. Despite the heartburn and the stress, I was happy that the papers were closed. And oh, when I was about to leave, a peon-type gave me this idiotic smile and asked, ‘Yenna, aachcha? (So, is it done?) – obviously angling for a baksheesh. Some things never change, eh?

What good is a campaign that announces a logo change and new baseline,when almost all consumers interacting with the Post Office have to endure this? Thank God for the Arokaselvi’s and Rajalakshmi’s of the world in our PSU’s.

Goli Baje available elsewhere too

I am in a dilemma. I love both WordPress and iWeb. For the uninitiated, this blog runs on the fantastic WordPress platform. I love its ease of use and the ability to post from any computer. I also love iWeb the website publishing suite from Apple. It is more than a blogging platform allowing you to create a full-fledged website. Blogging through iWeb is slightly more cumbersome – requiring me to use only my Mac, since I can’t post from a PC. Adding plugins etc. is also a bit more convoluted compared to WordPress.

So I am experimenting with both. I am going to cross-post some of the posts into my other personal blog. I had registered a domain some time back and have configured iWeb to publish my blog here instead of on MobileMe. So please check out Juggernaut and comment.

 

A misadventure and a great holiday – Part 1

In typical late Latif fashion, we decided to get out of Bangalore for the Diwali holidays, 3 days prior to the Diwali weekend. While we were lucky to get accommodation at a beach resort in Mamallapuram, getting there was a problem. I am not an experienced (or good) driver and couldn’t obviously screw my driver’s Diwali plans. After contemplating a cab hire – I had no idea it would have been so expensive – we decided to hire a driver. We got one a couple of days before the planned trip but made the basic of errors: I did not check his license; I only asked cursory questions about his long distance driving experience. I have not used the Bangalore-Chennai expressway extensively before so I only had a vague idea of the road. I was told that once we reach the Chennai outskirts, hitting the East Coast Road into Mamallapuram would be a cinch.

So here we were: 3 of us (self, wife and daughter) who can’t drive, who don’t know the route well enough, with a driver they aren’t fully confident about. We left at 8am – an hour after the scheduled time – on a Sunday, hoping to hit the hotel at 2pm. After the familiar crossing at Hosur and the payment at the Toll Gate, we were happy to hit the highway. My mind was occupied with profound questions: ‘why are there so many wall-paintings of Baninan & Underwear brands in Tamil Nadu? Why do they all make bizarre ads? Why do morons drive on the wrong side of the road on the National Highway?’

After a while I noticed that the highway was not as good as it was when I travelled last on it – about a year ago. There were ‘Take Diversions’ galore and we were mostly on the service roads. We stupidly assumed that this was the road to Chennai. I then called the hotel for directions. They asked us not to bother reaching Chennai – and asked us to take a diversion from Kanchipuram into Chengalpet and then on to Mamallapuram. The directions were passed on to the driver, who was only focused on the road, irrespective of where it took us. We stopped over for tea at some God-forsaken place. It happened to be at a junction with roads branching out to the right, left and straight-ahead. Not seeing Chennai anywhere on those sign boards, I was puzzled. My driver claimed that we have to take a right turn. I simply mumbled ‘go straight to Kanchipuram’ and off we went straight. Straight into hell. In no time we were in Salem – in the middle of Tamil Nadu – when we should have been kissing the East Coast! Instead of hitting NH46 after Krishnagiri we had travelled down South into NH66.

And then started the direction-asking spree with each one seemingly pointing us farther and farther away from our holiday. To add to the tension it was pouring in bucketfuls when it was not gloomy as hell. Since I had a 3-year old in tow, I began panicking. Not surprisingly, out came all the prayers! I was praying like hell that we reach our hotel before its too dark. So we trudged along several villages and towns in search of the National Highway. We had ‘Captain’ Vijayakanth for company. He was everywhere looming large on us. Small towns (some ‘patti’ or the other) were designed to shoot my blood pressure up. Finally, after a grueling 3-hour drive, we joined NH66 which took us northwards into Chengalpet. By the time we hit the hotel at Mamallapuram, it was 6.30 in the evening.

My daughter was so well-behaved through this tension it was amazing. She figured that ’something was wrong’ and either chose to ignore it or be nonchalant about it. And her joy at reaching the hotel was a sight for sore eyes. All our tensions vanished immediately. We crashed out at the prospect of lolling in the pool the next day.

 

Lessons learnt:

1. Plan in advance
2. Prepare, prepare, prepare
3. Don’t be in a position where you are totally dependent on others
4. Don’t underestimate the maturity of kids
5. There’s always something positive to hang on to
6. Jo bhi ho, kal phir aayega
7. Captain Vijayakanth will show you the way