Friday, October 31, 2008

Bihar 'Martyr' or 'Maniac'?

“Additional Police Commissioner Sadanand Date said the youth was carrying an illegal weapon and had opened indiscriminate firing in a public place, and that he was killed in a police operation.
The 25-year-old man, Rahul Raj boarded the double-decker city bus plying on route No. 332 between Kurla and Andheri at Saki Naka stop around 10 am and went to the upper deck.
When the upper deck conductor Mahendra M. Ghule asked him to buy a ticket, he refused to do so and instead whipped out a revolver and pointed it at his head, a spokesman of the public transport service BEST said.
Raj also produced a chain and tied up one of the 25-odd commuters to a seat and pushed Ghule to a back seat in the bus.”

1. He refuses to buy a ticket
2. He threatens the conductor
3. He threatens him with a revolver
4. He carries an illegal weapon.
5. He ties up a fellow passenger with a chain
6. He fires indiscriminately.

Seems like a goonda to me. If I was travelling in that bus no matter whether I was in Patna or in Panipat, I would certainly feel that the man was a menace to society.
But on several Bihari e-fora such as 'cool bihari', apparently law abiding citizens are hailing this anti-social behaviour as
Heroism …
I don’t get it.

Did he fire at the police or was he shot in cold blood? That is the question which should be debated. Couldn’t he have been arrested? The young man was no ‘martyr’. To prop such a person up as a symbol of ‘Bihari pride’ is bizarre.

To condemn his killing [in case it was a fake encounter], and call for the punishment of the man who flouted the police manual is definitely something that must be done. If the action was deliberately done because of a bias against Biharis, then it will be logical to argue that Biharis will find it very difficult to get justice in Mumbai.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

A yarn for Diwali

[Enjoy this yarn]
True Horror, which took place last month
This happened about a month ago near Lonavala. A guy was driving fromMumbai to Pune and decided not to take the new expressway as he wanted to
See the scenery. The inevitable happens and when he reached the ghats hisCar breaks down - he's stranded miles from nowhere. Having no choice he
Started walking on the side of the road, hoping to get a lift to theNearest town. It was dark. And pretty soon he got wet and shivering.
The night rolled on and no car passed by. Suddenly he sees a carcoming towards him. It slows and then stops next to him - without thinking the guy opens the door and jumps in. Seated in the back, he leans forward to thank the person who had saved him.
he realizes there is nobody behind the wheel!!!
Even though there's no one in the front seat and no sound of any engine, the car starts moving slowly. The guy looks at the road ahead and sees a curve coming. Scared almost to death he starts to pray, begging the Lord for his life.
He hasn't come out of shock, when just before he hits the curve, a hand appears through the window and moves the wheel! The car makes the curve safely and continues on the road to the next bend. The guy, now paralyzed in terror, watches how the hand appears every time they are before a curve and moves the steering wheel just enough to get the car around each bend.
Finally, the guy sees lights ahead.
Gathering his courage he wrenches openthe door of the silent, slowly moving car, scrambles out and runs as hard as he can towards the lights. It's a small town.
He stumbles into a dhaba, and asks for a drink, and breaks down. Then he starts talking about the horrible experience he's just been through.
There is dead silence in the dhaba when he stops talking ..... . . . .... . . . . . . . . ......

and that's when Santa and Banta Singh walk into the dhaba. Santa points and says "Look Banta - that's the weird guy who got into our car when we were pushing it."

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Remembering Matthew Shepard



On Monday October 12 1998, as most of Canada was dreaming about the Thanksgiving supper they had either just eaten, or were planning to eat, the Shepard family had little to give thanks for. In a moment that would seem ripped from a horror novel, they were faced with the reality that their son Matthew had died as the result of injuries sustained during a vicious attack by a couple of all too human monsters.

At 12:53am Matthew's heart stopped and he was pronounced dead in the hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. How did a bright, friendly 21 year old man end up in such a state? Simply, he was brutally assaulted and left for dead, apparently for 2 simple reasons. Robbery and because he was gay. His attackers allegedly lured him out of a bar, using his sexuality as a tool, then robbed, pistol-whipped, burned and beat him. They left him tied to a fence-post to die on a near freezing night, even taking his shoes so he couldn't walk away.

Did I know Matthew? No. Did I know his family? No. Does that matter? No. I'm not one to jump on bandwagons going by. I usually keep to myself and let world events pass me by, but for some reason, this particular crime caught me. I was saddened by the loneliness of it, enraged by the senselessness of it, and touched by the out-pouring of support, from common people to President Clinton.
How did it touch me? As a person first. This kind of atrocity should never be brought upon a person. Matthew's suffering will remain unknown to us, mercifully. But the suffering and pain his family will imagine for him will be unbearable. A comment I read regarding his death said the following (paraphrased): "A good son to the end, Matthew spared his family the choice of removing his life support." A comment and perspective that paints a picture of the man Matthew was.

I'll never know if it's true, but I'll hold him in that light. As a person with a compassionate soul (I think), I couldn't help but feel for Matthew's suffering, his family's loss, and his friends pain. This personal/human connection is quite removed from my empathy as a gay person.

Yes, the spectre of homophobic violence looms in the back of my mind. Is it a large fear? No, but one wonders why it need exist at all. One report on Hate Crimes recently suggested that they've existed as long as there have been people, and will continue regardless. A sad fact of human nature that one of the first emotions we probably demonstrated to another human was hate, perhaps even before love. Hate Crimes are any crime perpetrated for a specific reason growing out of hate. Race, creed, colour, religion, sexuality and even age can be catalysts for these heinous crimes.

A quick look at our history tells us they're not new. My connection to Matthew through a shared sexuality seems tenuous. I didn't know Matthew but I do know someone who was "gay-bashed" at one time and although we've barely spoken of it, I wonder what that must be like. To be attacked for who you are. Not a choice you have made, or an action you have taken but simply for being. In my mind, it's an inconceivable thought.


My only complaint about this so far is that certain members of the gay community are attempting to hold Matthew up as a martyr for their causes. While there is little doubt in my mind that Matthew was assaulted primarily for being gay, a fact he hid from no one, I'm not sure that anyone would want to become a martyr like this. To me, a martyr is someone who works their whole life through for a cause and in the end dies for it. While Matthew perhaps was working toward gay rights and equality, he certainly didn't intend to die for the cause. Maybe that's what makes his death seem to qualify to these people.

Monday, October 06, 2008

Healing and Hospitals

What’s a hospital for? To make sick people get better. Duh? What are the ingredients that go into a good hospital? Generally speaking, it’s the skill of the doctors, especially the surgeons that are the most sought after. It’s the most skilful surgeon that you want operating on you – the best services that your money can buy.

And that’s why more than just a couple of eyebrows were raised when I decided to jettison one of the best surgeons in the business available in the city of Patna for a rather ‘foolish’ reason. He wasn’t going to operate on me at the hospital of my choice. It’s not that he was trying to get me to try out the services of the super-speciality hospitals, or at least the ones with the chrome-plated doors. He just wasn’t a consultant of the Holy Family Hospital at Kurji. And, after two weeks of soul searching, I opted for the hospital and not the doctor, much to the consternation of my more knowledgeable friends, who were of the opinion that the doctors there were—well -- not the very best.

Now, what do I want from a doctor? Apart from knowing his craft, he should have a pleasant manner, the ability to explain things clearly to me in lay-person’s terms, a frank assessment of the risks involved, and the willingness to answer all my questions. I discovered all of these in Dr Khalid, who did an excellent job. But with due respect to doctors, the success of the operation is only about ten percent of the real business of healing.

For me, Holy Family Hospital provides a blanket of comfort and security that I haven’t had in any other place, and I have been to a few! Every member of the staff: the orderlies, the bookkeepers, and the lab assistants speak to you in a way that puts you at ease. There is a pervasive sense of gentleness, and the purposeful gait of the professionals reassures you – it makes you feel wanted. You are not just another number in a long line of ‘jobs’ to be dealt with.

I am a loner. I check into the hospital on my own. I sign my own papers. I am not used to being seen as vulnerable, and so the less people that witness my incapacitation, the better. Of course, there are people who care about me who make it a point to let me know that they are there for me, but generally, I prefer the Spartan way.

Even so, I have never felt alone and helpless at KHFH. The morning of the operation. There was no ‘companion’ in my room to send me off. I was transferred to the stretcher and on my way to the OR. At the door, the staff nurse a feisty woman named Ragini Gurung, appeared. She held my hands and said a prayer over me, asking God’s blessings for my speedy recovery. As luck would have it another friend, a nun, appeared at the same time. The staff nurse accompanied me all the way to the OR, telling me that things would be all right. I was really touched by this gesture. I felt that I was not alone, that I was a person, not a ‘patient’.

The sunny dispositions of the kitchen staff who came along to serve the meals were most exhilarating. At the end of my stay, when I thought of offering the cleaning and serving staff a tip, they refused. Your happy face is reward enough, they said. One does not tip one’s family, I was justly rebuked.