Corruption Is You: Think About It

By Sadho Ram

Is there a way to corruption OR corruption is the way? In a basket full of apples, where only few are rotten, we don't call it a basket full of rotten apples, why do we then call a society, where not everyone is corrupt, a corrupt society?

Is it because 'Hamam Mein Sab Nange Hain' (We are all nude in Public Bath) OR is it because 'Hamam HAI Toh Sab Nange Hain' (We are all nude BECAUSE there exist a Public Bath)?

Are we corrupt because we are corruptible OR are we corrupt because we don't care? And if my neighbor is corrupt, does it make me one too? If yes, will I be addressed as a good person IF my neighbor is one too?

If a homeless has no way to feed his hungry child, and no one is ready to give him a job, if he then makes some money by posing as blind, therefore, fooling the public, is NOT corrupt, why then a super rich person wanting to be more rich, goes on to do his business as usual, therefore, maybe fooling the public, is MOST corrupt?

*The title of this post has been suggested by my friend, Anshul Tewari, Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Youth Ki Awaaz

A Note on Mob!

By Sadho Ram

What is mob? It is probably the scariest place to be in. No matter which part of the world, a mob is what it is – a mob. It, the mob, is the epitome of recklessness, which a huge pile of the humans over humans over mindlessness of nothing signifies. Blind and deaf, foolhardy and arrogant, devoid of ethics and morals, derailed from any logic and reason, it just shoves itself in and against everything whenever it so wishes, whenever it’s provoked, in whatsoever circumstances. It acts on whims. It operates on nothing but whims. And only whims alone in it set its goals.

Image Courtesy Google

A mob is every society’s worst nightmare, representing its hypocritical stature. The purpose of which is to just make noise, the force of which is to just create ruckus. Agreed that oftentimes a mob has thrown a dictator out, but what after that? The very Mob fades away, falls down too. And in manners that it has never been able to rise again, ever. Only ashes remain.

On a personal note, I’ve never seen a mob with a cause worthy of the fury it exhales and the rage in which it becomes a horde of savages. The barbarism with which a mob unleashes itself unto anything and everything that falls within the limit of its reach and ravages the very core of the victims who become subjected to its mindless madness, leaves nothing for the mind to grasp. What remains behind, after the proud march of the mob, remains forever behind rotting and hissing in pain, whether it is a village, a city, a shop, a community or a woman. No one cares after that, no soul bothers to look behind. A mob then fades away into oblivion, only to resurface in some other corner of the earth. Like bubbles bursting in the hot tub of water, a mob bursts at one spot, creates turbulence, sets off and then bursts again at another, never letting the water to remain still.

“And the calm serenity of the water on the surface and beneath is forever disturbed, forever lost.”

Our country today is going through one such turbulence, which threatens to disrupt the otherwise normalcy that surrounds us. In past, there have been numerous mobs, causing innumerable amount of unfathomable damages to the very soul and spirit of the nation. But never before in the history of mobs, have been a mob as moronically arrogant and as childish in its caricaturish behaviour as such that of Old Anna’s. Yes, Anna Hazare is nothing but a mob. Heady in his stance against the Government’s stand on JAN LOKPAL BILL, he has taken the nation by a blind storm, causing baseless uproar for the so-called call for democracy where he himself seems to have transformed into a dictator.

Every man, woman, child and dog following Old Anna in his magnanimous  “August Kranti” march must not forget that such hysterical approaches only yield spineless results, which are born out of an another kind of hysteria. One which justifies nothing, signifies nothing, takes away a lot, giving out nothing. What remains in the platter is so worthless that it matters not anymore, even a bit. And that’s what is going to happen to the proposed JAN LOKPAL BILL, which, since it was first introduced by Shanti Bhushan in 1968, has today turned 43 years old. Since then its 9 consequent versions have been introduced and re-introduced but sadly none of these have ever passed.

And in the scuffle of Anna & Government, where both seems to be happily satisfied by their own self indulgence on the subject, utterly disregarding the constitution, fighting over it, I doubt this BILL too will ever be passed.

“A nation will never rise on the fury of a mob. And where a mob decides the fate of the dawn and dusk of a nation, everything becomes ash and in the distant horizon only thing rising is smoke.”

Corruption as Metaphor

By Sadho Ram

Originally written for YKA, an online media blog. Publishing it here on ARTH, just to make it available to readers who are not aware of YKA.

Corruption, though always prevalent everywhere, but somehow over the years have become synonym with India’s name, and in 2010 it has established itself as India’s official ruling force or …party (I guess I’ve this much of liberty to write in whatever hypocrisy…err I mean, democracy is left in our country today). And Corruption is what it is. An Identity! Therefore, I’m most corrupt. (You’ll know why I’m stating this. Just read on).

Image Courtesy Google

Not a day goes by, when there’s even one news headline that says that yesterday was a corruption free day. No scams were discovered. Government offices and officers worked without bribe. Traffic constable did not stop a helmet wearing and under-speed riding biker and did not fine him for something that he wasn’t doing. That the recently constructed bridge suddenly did not come down because instead of poor quality iron rods, there were superior qualities used, or the ongoing metro work was not postponed because the issue of non-payment of the workers was cleared. Not a single day. It’s all in just fantasy. And while we keep dreaming about all this, our public-appointed and (some) self-appointed guardians indulge in those games uglier than shitholes of a slum and messier than the garbage canisters of a posh colony. (I’m telling ya… these two are the worst places you’ll wanna fall into).

And while my Editor-in-Chief wants me to write about the top political scams happened in India during 2010, I somehow see no point in it. But still, I’m writing (though not entirely what he wanted. You see now, why I stated above that I’m most corrupt? I’m not doing the job I was asked to). Maybe because, like our politicians, who might not want to be included in the metaphor on their own but are somehow reluctantly keen to be part of it. Why? Maybe, they see it, the Corruption, as a larger symbol than the metaphor itself. Or maybe, they are just plain greedy (as you will plainly agree) and are simply having a jolly grand time stuffing away your hard-earned-tax-paid money. Maybe something else! But who knows? And most importantly, who cares? While it, the scams happen, noises rise. Groups are formed. Inquires run. RTIs and PILs are filed. The official representative of that organisation, involved in that particular scam, gets his or her profile and job axed. While some random officer is picked up and put behind bars. Public rage turns into euphoria. Media starts praising the same it was blaming a few hours ago and so on. And the one, the King of the Kong, the executioner, the Chanakya of cunningness, is having the last laugh, while also foreseeing all those future possibilities where he, she or they, as collective force, will again have the same old but still grand last laugh, at the cost of all those who themselves, in their own greed for a so called promised land and twisted ideologies based on some ancient theory, have appointed him, her or them as their collective ruler.

I call this chaos. Perfect, precise, and fulfilling its purpose to the level of utter equality. Like you eat, you shit and then to clean it, you flush, wipe or pay yourself (depending on the type of life-style you are leading). Because at the end…err I mean, beginning of the day, it is after all your mess, and you ought to yourself or pay to clean it. So in the same manner, you chose them, the one now eating away all the butter made from your bloody/bloodier sweat, and alongside asking you to say – “cheese”. There’s literally nothing you and I can do, except about venting out our anger (Literary Expression in my case. Come on, give me that much of space. Will ya? Thank you!) But there are ways. Some real ways! Not all those just high-talk ways. Though, I’m afraid, that I can’t write them here in this Opinion openly. But I’ll give you some glimpses. Some subtle hints!

Like what you do, when that tiny little tree inside that intricately designed pot, made with earthly attributes, kept in the balcony of your home (provided you have one. No, no, not the home, the intricately designed pot, made with earthly attributes, with that tiny little tree), starts to rot? Yes, rot. Not dry, but rot. What? What exactly do you do?

I don’t know about you, but I immediately pluck it out of that…that intricately designed pot, made with earthly attributes, and throw it as far as I could, with a force sometime, even not familiar to me.

But I know what most possessors often do. They keep watering it. With a hope! Yes, with that so called most famous word in the English dictionary, they keep watering it with a blind hope that someday it will become what it was. Pure! Un-corrupt!

I call them escapists. You can call them illusionary.

Because, no amount of persistence, however willing, can reverse that cycle where the tree, though still growing, but is rotting! Of course, until forcedly stopped. So, if you really want to get rid of this metaphor, you know what you have to do. And if you are not clear then enjoy dude (gal?), because this metaphor of – I am most corrupt – is not meant for you.

I Was Bhopal Once: A Letter To India!

By Sadho Ram

Greetings India,

Howdy?

I hope (yes hope) that you are duan’ just awesome.

And why wouldn't you? Last week you delivered what others thought you can’t – as in your own word – “a righteous and fair enough justice” to my miserable people.

Why my?

Oh I am sorry… I am so sorry for not introducing myself at the first place.

But before I introduce myself to you, I think I should thank you, as it would be rude if I don’t thank you, right?

But what the heck let it be rude. I won’t thank you. Never!

Hmm…

Now the intro!

I was Bhopal once, yes, a very long ago – to be precise – 25 years and few months ago – I use to be Bhopal once. The land of happy and peaceful people!

Now all I am is a land of worst industrial disaster in history.

At that time most of your today’s generation was not even born, and at this time almost all of my yesteryear’s generation has been either wiped out or is facing unending health problems, still after 26 long but toxic years.

I myself sometime choke, and believe you me, though now I am kind of use to it but it still causes a lot of nausea.

When I heave, blood oozes out from my mouth along with froth.

You will say that I am growing old.

But no, I ain’t actually growing old.

As although I was born somewhere in 1000 – 1055 (quite a long time to be still alive) and so, I don’t exactly remember the date.

Not easy, you see, it has been quite a long period and since then I have been constantly tortured, gagged, raped, tormented, destroyed, betrayed and perished. So it’s just not easy to remember certain dates and events considering what I have been through all my life.

But one thing I am sure, I ain’t growing old.

I hope you understand my situation but please, I beg you to not sympathise with me. No!

I have had enough of this wretched sympathy which you have been showering upon me to cover your own apathy.

As you see, I am today considered to be one of the greenest (Yes) among the greens of yours. So that proves that I am actually not growing old.

So what’s wrong with me then? Why whenever when I heave, the goddamn blood oozes out from my mouth along with froth? Why?

Do you know the answer, India?

I know.

Of course, I am supposed to know but don’t you have any responsibility, too? Don’t you know the reason behind the existence of this bloody froth in my goddamned blood?

I know you won’t accept. Not because you can’t but because you simply don’t have the power of acceptance in you.

What you possess is nothing but your very own self-created pride of falseness born out from your own greedy actions taken against thousands like me.

Oh, I pity you, India. I pity you on your constitution. I pity you on your judicial action. I pity you on your government and its system. Moreover, I pity you on your judgements. I pity you, my India, I pity you!

I was beautiful once and peace prevailed at my door step. I was home to the leading industries (though I still am, but they are only adding up to my misery). I was bathing in glory and my life was set. But now at present, I am in dust and as my past loom hard on me, my future is in debt.

You would say then why don’t you cry, why don’t you shout, why don’t you yell, why don’t you mourn (like a woman) for help? Why, Bhopal, Why?

Well, to be honest I don’t actually want to but a part of me does cry and it also shouts and yells and yes, it also mourns (like a woman) for help, it does!

Not because it (that shouting and yelling part of me) is feeble or cannot fight. But because it (the crying and mourning part of me) needs your hand, your support to stand and ask for what belongs to it – Integrity, Justice and Righteousness.

Will you give me your hand, India? Will you support me in my fight against injustice and inhumanity? Will you stand by my side and say – “I, India, take pledge to support Bhopal and its people, who are still living under the shadow of Methyl Isocyanate, in their fight for Justice,” will you?

I guess you won’t.

Well, I have so much to say … so much so that you probably wouldn’t care to read just like you have not properly tried to avenge the culprits who robbed me off from my happiness and good-life.

So, India, I’m done. Khuda Hafez. Do well. Remember me. All things pass, but the poor and their misery remain. I am the land of poor and miserable people now. Tomorrow there will be more like me. But don’t worry; you won’t have to act to protect them just like you didn’t think about protecting me.

With Shame and Disgust


The rotting in dust Bhopal




The article appears as top story is an online newspaper Youth Ki Awaaz

Die, Bhopal, Die!

By Sadho Ram

“Because you are poor and because you are miserable, so - Die, Bhopal, Die!

You won’t get justice; we won’t let you have it, so better - Die, Bhopal, Die!”

That’s what India and its judiciary system along with its loathing government seems to be saying to the nearly 1,80,0000 people and to more than 25,000 dead of Bhopal who have waited for 26 long toxic years for a rightful justice and a fair compensation.

But in return of their shattering wait, what they get – nothing, absolutely nothing!

Thanks to the false pride of India and its greedy & murkier politics.

On Monday, the 12^th Chief Judicial Magistrate (CJM) of Bhopal delivered an order which at its best gave the accused 2 years of imprisonment and a day after, on Tuesday; all 8 accused were granted bail and released on obedience of a security of Rs. 25,000 by a trial court in Bhopal.

What a mockery of the heart-wrenching throbbing and anguish of thousands of people of that state whose water, after 26 years, is still contaminated and whose air is still toxic; and that too in the hands of its own Nation!

This, my fellow countryman and women, happens nowhere but here – in India.

On 3^rd December 1984, under the shelter of midnight’s darkness, the deadly Methyl Isocyanate leaked from the Union Carbide factory in the heart of Bhopal, immediately killing and maiming its 4,000 people and injuring 300,000 out of the then 800,000 people of Bhopal.

There was absolutely no warning; none of the plant’s safety systems were working. The people of Bhopal woke amidst the harrowing darkness and to the soulful sound of screeching screams and with the gases burning their eyes, noses and mouths. They began retching and coughing up lather streaked with blood. Whole neighbourhoods fled in horror, some were crushed, and others convulsed and fell dead. People lost control of their intestines and bladders as they ran. And within hours thousands of dead bodies lay in the streets; inviting the crows and vultures but alas they too, have had fallen prey to the killer Methyl Isocyanate gas.

Today the toll has risen to more than 25,000 dead, and 1, 20,000 injured and after 26 years of its unfaithful wait – Bhopal has once again been fobbed off in the hands of its own greedy protector – who sold its dead as cheap as $450 million dollars in an out of the court settlement with the main culprits of world’s largest industrial disaster.

Makes you wonder, really?

Is that the life worth of thousands of people of Bhopal, who are still dying from the effect of Methyl Isocyanate? Is that much what the Indian government calculates the life of its poor people as?

Shame on it then, and as Shobhan Saxena so rightfully said in his TOI blog that –

“No country sells its people so cheap.

No country sells its poor so cheap.

No country sells its dead so cheap.”

No country but mine, my country, My India… and only my India who does so and does it without any shame! My heart goes out to all those people of Bhopal but then I wonder of what value is my sympathy to them?

Zero. Nil. Zilch. None. Nothing!

Yes, that’s what it will measure up to, as the people of Bhopal now seek more than just mere sympathy of its Nation. They seek full attention. They seek a better judgement. They seek that long lost path of hope which will bring them what they seek the most – Justice.

But in a nation, where the PM himself says – ‘We are a nation of one billion dollars.’

Who is going to give any heed to the plight of some few thousand poor people’s?

I live in a country where the accused have the reputation of being a “Free and Protected’ man. Upon whom millions of rupees are spent. The most recent example being – the true keeper of Jihad – Azmal Kasaab!

I am reminded of a four line poem by Fiaz Ahmed Faiz that suits the Bhopal and its misery, and to those who seek or hope for justice in this country which sells its people cheaper than chicken’s meat, the best.

“Kyun naahak tukde chun-chun kar, Daaman mein chhupaye baithe ho
Sheeshon ka maseeha koi nahin, kyun aas lagaaye baithe ho”

And so there seems to be none but only one solution to the misery of Bhopal…

Die, Bhopal, Die!




This article is also published in an Online site for the people of India, Pakistan and other South Asian countries called CHOWK

A trimmed version of this article also appears in an online newspaper YOUTH KI AWAAZ

GRPF- The Unholy Saints In Khaki.

By Sadho Ram

The digital clock at platform no. 3 of Lokmanya Tilak Terminus was precisely showing 20:35, when Jnaneswari Delx blew its final whistle and left for its destination – Howrah Jn. – a 31 hour long and tiring journey, for each and every passenger, in that scorching heat of may 2010, who was travelling in sleeper and general compartments.

To say that the sleeper and general bogies were jam-packed and over-stuffed would be an understatement.

People were sitting all over the train floor and few lucky ones were sleeping beneath the lower berths (a place used for keeping luggage), each berth was shared by 3 to 4 persons, every vestibule was cramped with more than 10 persons standing inside it,  and those who couldn’t find a place, took shelter inside the lavatories. It was as if the kumbh has moved from Banaras to Jnaneswari Delx. It was as if was the last train to heaven.

This is the usual scenario which goes on that train on daily basis but on that day it was mainly because of those hundreds of students who were going home on summer vacations.

Ah, home sweet home.

Nothing, absolutely nothing… excites more than the thought of going home to all those students who are forced to go to other distant cities in order to pursue better education for a better life.

But all those students knew not a damn thing about that law which dictates – when travelling via trains in India – there are these unholy saints who are dressed in khaki and are better known as GRPF – General Railway Protection Force – who are to be FED and SATISFIED fully for their pampered bellies in order to have a safe and relaxing journey till the sweet home arrives.

So those who are not aware of the law must be taught about it well and taught hard. And that’s how it happened.

After completing the 27 hours of its journey, 2010 – the Jnaneswari Delx – was hurriedly running towards its final destination, when around midnight, a station before Chagadarpur (in the Jharkhand region) the GRPF (about 12 in total) boarded the train. Now there was absolutely nothing wrong in that, they are the Protection Force and are supposed to board the trains at night to help protect the passengers from the thieves and thugs. But there was something on them which was not only wrong but was also against the rule.

None of them were wearing their nameplate on their chest. It was empty, to say they looked precisely like those fake Sadhus who sport long hairs and wears saffron coloured clothes and also carry their kamandal but forgets to have that one thing which makes a man a saint (Sadhu)- ‘Calmness of mind, body and soul.’

People, who noticed this, immediately knew what was going to happen. But apart from that what was more alarming that they were so heavily drunk that none of them was able to walk properly.

Few people from a certain society would ask, ‘so what’s the big fuss in that? They work 24x7x365 days, they are also human beings, can’t they have a drink or two to relax?’

No, they can’t! Not that they are not supposed to but because they are out their protecting the law, a law which has to be abided. And if they are allowed to drink on duty then it means that because they are from the system and anyone who is from the system has the righteous right to break the law first. I.e. if they desire to do so nothing should and could be done to them as they are out there protecting the law from non-system guys.

Just like the theory the ‘fake’ Sadhus believe in – that if they touch anyone while giving them blessings then their (Sadhus) good deeds and all the holiness will go to the person whom they touched while blessing them and so they refrain themselves from touching, of course, there’s always an exemption- so when it comes to blessing the young females they go out of their ways to bless them (if you have been feeding yourself with recent daily breaking news regarding the retarded godmans of our nation then you will not be having any problem understanding the message I am not clearly stating here).

Moving further ahead, what followed was not only disgusting and shocking but was sheer mockery of the law and system from its own mans.

The GRPF started picking up every second passenger who were either sleeping on the floor or was sharing a berth together. They then divided themselves in 4 groups and began their ‘search.’

The passengers knew what was in for them but couldn’t dare do or say anything as it would mean that they then had to go through those laws which the ‘Unholy Saints in Khaki’ invent.

Some of those ‘laws’ include – getting beaten down by thick wooden sticks, being stripped down in front of others, or worse going to jail for interrupting the so called bloody mandatory search.

These are just few of the lawful punishments which the ‘poor’ passengers face when they ask – ‘par humara gunaah ka hai, maalik, hum kiye ka hain?’ (But what is my fault, sir, what crime have I committed?)

But there’s a way out of it. If they pay the ‘fine’ charged by the GRPF guys, which ranges anything from 50 rupees to 100 to 200 and sometime even going to and above 300 rupees, that depending on the distance of the crime the passenger is committing in travelling via the train (even if they have a valid ticket and ID proof in some cases), they are then ‘let off’.

Of course, with a very sincere and lawful warning by the GRPF guys, that goes something like this – ‘Aage se kono sawaal na puchhiyo… je maange chup-chaap haatheliya me dhar diyo, nahi toh jaanat ho na, kanoon ke haath ketan lamba hot rahis?’  (From now on do not ask questions, whatever we demand, silently put the amount in our hands, or else you are aware of the fact that the hands of the law are how big?) – And then they would break into a mocking laughter.

The other passengers fearing that the same might happen to them doesn’t move from their place or even raise a voice, of course, all wide awake and witnessing the lawful ongoing. They just lie still and watch in horror. And their fear is very much justified, as those ‘Unholy Saints in Khaki’ are quite unbiased towards the ‘poor mango man’ in their quest to enlighten them with ‘their’ lawful wisdom on the activities that the Great Law of the so called Greatest Nation on earth Empowers them with.

And so that’s exactly what happened on that night in that train no: – 2101 – the Jnaneswari Delx – every passenger, who was ‘picked up’ ended up paying 100, 200 and 300 as ‘fine’ charged by the GRPF, because they were travelling ‘illegally’ with, of course, valid ticket. The ‘poor’ passengers who dared to argue with them were labelled as - ‘haraami, kutta, kamina and vagera – vagera (i.e. Bastard, Dog, Scoundrel and etc – etc).

The ‘Unholy Saints in Khaki’ got down at Tatanagar, of course, only after they had earned their ‘holiness’ of the night. The passengers who were looted by the man from the law went on grief mode and the passengers who weren’t, started abusing the poor, little GRPF and voicing out their personalised views on them.

Again certain few people from a certain society would say ‘they aren’t committing a crime, they are just doing their duty.’

So this means that the GRPF and other government officials who work as public servants are in the FORCE to ‘force’ the poor and innocent people pay for their low-paying 24x7x365 days job from whose salary they (the man from the system) daily drench themselves in alcohol but are unable to run their family so they go out and rob from the same people whose blood and sweat is being used to pay for their salary every month after month and month.

Then let those certain few people from a certain society decide – ‘if this is not crime than what is?’

This article is also published in a online newspaper YOUTH KI AWAAZ