A Post for Tahrir

A woman in Bahrin. Will not say anything coz this pic itself is more than enough to convey my thoughts...

The Indian Jasmine ...

 

I will not forget this man who I saw during the ongoing agitation for Jan Lokpal in Chennai. He was a quiet old man who had come there to support Anna Hazaare. He never uttered a word unlike others who were raising slogans or singing patriotic songs, instead he just sat in a corner with this peaceful look of his and fasted. There was something in his simple face which attracted me immensely. I will always remember him as my version of the face of the revolution by Anna Hazaare - an ordinary common man with the simple  resolve to bring a change, quietly....

As Anna sits through the 5th day of his fast and thousands of his followers and fans all over India march in different sort of protests, there are many voices which call Jan Lokpal impractical, Anna a blackmailer and this whole thing a tamasha. They say its undemocratic to protest and fast and the only the parliament should be supreme. 

To such voices, I want to convey that its not the parliament in the Democracy which is Supreme but We, the people, are the ones who are supreme. If we can make the lawmakers, there is no reason why we cannot decide on a law by ourselves, especially if this law, like the RTI, has a direct conflict of interest with the parliament which is supposed to protect the Democracy and instead thrives on Mobocracy.

Further, leave Jan Lokpal alone; its not even about Lokpal. This protest is the collective show of the middle finger to the corrupt, shameless and servile government of India by the people of India. This is the outburst of anger of the average common man who sees his nation getting looted with glee by the corrupt politicians and all the government agencies entrusted with protecting his interests, siding with the rich and mighty instead. So those who dismiss this as a tamasha, are either being myopic, or elitists - frowning at the masses taking matters in their own hand, or just plain ignorant. They fail to see this agitation for what it is - the Indian, Gandhian, Jasmine.

I am with Anna Hazaare .. what about you?

Anna Hazare may be flawed, but so is the whole system. To a government which frowns at citizens protesting against the rampant corruption, this is the time to show the big middle finger of the Indian Public. To those who are laughing off the support for Anna Hazaare as yet another fad of the Indian youth which doesn't know which way to go, its our call - "Lead us against the fight against corruption if you have it in you!"

What is there which is in the blood of Egyptians, Libyans, Jordenians, Syrians and all those brave men  and women from the Arab? Why can't we stand and unite to bring down a corrpt government which has and can do no good? Why can't we start a revolution?

Have we judged the revolt of 1857 failrly ?

The revolt of 1857 is often called a revolt of the sepoys for petty reasons like greased cartidges, a mutiny without a clear sense of purpose, an effort immature in its ambitions and ambigious in character. In my humble opinion, the time has come to when we dissect such beliefs and theories and make up our mind on the true character of the revolt.

The next few paragraphs are the exerpts from a proclamation made by the Grandson of Mughal Emperor Bahadur Shah Jafar after the 'liberation' of Azamgarh. This may shed some light on what the rebels actually wanted to achieve through their 'Great Revolt'.

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"The poople of India are keenly aware of the tyranny and oppression of the English. I, the grandson of Bahadur Shah, have come here to declare that we will rid India of the English and will liberate the poor people who are groaning under their iron rule. I present this proclamation, to all the people of India, so that they can understand the politics that the Badshahi Government will enact. This will bring reform and freedom to the people in the following five key areas.

1. Taxation

India has been reeling from the heavy taxation the British have imposed on all the landed people of India, who in return tax the rest. I commit to lower the taxes, to preserve the dignity and honour of the people.

2. Trade and Commerce

The English Government has monopolized the trade of all the fine and valuable goods that India manufactures. Products such as textiles, indigo and other articles that India has exported in the past are now a complete monopoly of the English. This leaves only the trade of trifles to the people, and even in this, they are not without their share of profits by means of high customs, stamps, and bureaucracy that is entrenched in limiting freedom in trade.

My government will abolish these fraudulent practices and open the trade of every article, without exception, both by land and water, to all Indian merchants. The Government will support this trade with steam-vessels and steam-carriages for their merchandise. Merchants with little or no capital of their own shall have access to capital at lower costs with the assistance of the government treasury as necessary.

3. Public Servants

Today, Indian officials in the British Government have a limited scope for growth - the highest level they can reach is that of a Subedar with a salary of no more than Rs 60 or 70 per month. All the Officers under the government will have starting salaries of Rs 200 to rs 300 per month with the promise of reaching higher levels in public service. Understandably, if they cannot publicly proclaim their support to ny government today - I ask them to help nt government indeirectly and help assist us to free India from the British.

4. Industry

The British economic policies have thrown India's skilled workforce into a life of poverty. From weavers to cotton dressers, from carpenters to blacksmiths to shoemakers have all lost their livelihood under this oppressive rule of the British. Support us in this effort and help us to enjoy the fruits of our labor and economic freedom for eternal prosperity.

5. Personal Freedom
The British have imposed and forced Christianity upon us - Hindus and the Muslims alike. I urge the guardians of both faiths to join me in this effort to rid India of the British and create a nation that freely practices its faith and its culture.

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The nature of any plan is evident from the dream behind it. Looking at what this young man from Delhi dreamt for an India post the British, is it fair to say that the revolt of 1857 was just a sepoy mutiny with no national character of its own and no ideology? Was it an attempt to deny the leadership of the revolt, the true status that they deserved?

Time we give the First War of Indian Independece, its due and know it for what it truely was - a revolution as good as the ones in France before and Russia later on...


Reference:
1. Parag Tope, Operation Red Lotus, ISBN 978-81-291-1562-1, Rupa & Co.
2. Ainslee T. Embree, 1857 in India: Mutiny or War of Independence, p.1, D.C Heath and Company, Boston, 1963

Total Revolution around the corner ?? Can we see?

It was just another afternoon in 1974, the only difference being the electric discontent flowing through the mammoth gathering of people assembled at the Gandhi Maidan of Patna. After a few speakers had talked and left, a fragile 70 year old man comes on the stage. He throws a challenge to the regime:

“Do raah samay ke rath ka gharghar naad suno,
Simhasan khaali karo ki janata aati hai !"

Give way; listen to the roar of the chariot of time
Vacate the throne, here comes the public!

This was the starting of the Bihar Movement, what later came to be known as the “Total Revolution”. The Indian youth which was in need of a pillar of inspiration to rally around came out in full force and gave a befitting reply to the bunch of corrupt sycophants who used to believe that Indira was India.

Today in 2011, another 73 year old man stands up and challenges the remnants of the same regime, more corrupt and immoral than ever. Does the youth of India today has the guts to support Anna Hazare as they supported Jayprakash Narayan two generations back? Or does our patriotism starts and ends with Cricket only?

I wonder …

तुम नक्सली बन जाना

क्योंकि तुम इन्हें गोली मार कर

अपनी भड़ास निकाल सकोगे

और अगर

तुम

तथाकथित निर्दोष

आवाम को मार भी बैठे

तो

मीडिया

तुम्हे सर माथे बिठा लेगा

तुम

भोपाल के गैस पीड़ितों की तरह

नक्सलियों और डकैतों को

जन्म देने वाली व्यवस्था

की चौखट पर इंतेजार मत करना

तुम

इनकी नाक में दम कर देना

इनके कच्छे उतार देना

इनके सफ़ेद कुरते को

इतना खीचना के

ये हराम खोर राजनीतिज्ञ

जहा जाए

नंगे ही नजर आये

हेडली से

उसके आकाओं का

पता पूछने चले थे ये

नपुंसकों के वंशज

वहा बैठे

पूरे विश्व में

अपनी ठिठोली करवा रहे है

अरे

तुमसे अच्छी कूटनीति तो

इजराएल और पाकिस्तान

जानते है

जाने कब

हमारा सब्र टूटेगा

जाने कब हम

नींद से जागेंगे

बहुराष्ट्रीय कंपनियों

और

हथियार के दलालों

के हाथ

बिक चुका देश

अब

सचमुच

सोने की चिड़िया

बन गया है

अपनो के तिरस्कार

उपेक्षा

और

कुपोषण के चलते

भारत रूपी वन में

हर कोई

बहेलिया बन गया है

हो सकता है

हमें भी

कलम छोड़

हथियार उठाने पड़ेंगे

तबकी तैय्यारी रखना

हमें भी

धरती का

कर्ज चुकाना होगा

तब की

तैय्यारी रखना

बहुत लिख चुके

ड्राइंग रूम में बैठ कर

काफी, चाय , दारु

पीते हुवे

एक शाल

और श्रीफल

के लोभ में

कब तक

सड़ चुकी सत्ता को

ढांकते रहोगे

कब तक

कुत्तों , गधों और सुवरों के

प्रसंस्ती वाचते रहोगे

तुम्हारे पास एक स्कूटर तो होगा

आज फिर तेल महँगा होगा

कल गेहूं के दाम बढ़ेंगे

परसों कपड़ा भी नहीं रहेगा

सर पर छत

की तो आस भी मत रखना

साँसों का भी

हिसाब ले लिया जाएगा

और

आने वाले वक्त में

जीने का भी टेक्स

ले लिया जाएगा

==

This poem is written by Tarun and is available on Bharhaas
This poem is not in support of the Naxal murders but against this rotten system which breeds them...

Revolution ~ Bhagat Singh

• 'Revolution' does not necessarily involve sanguinary strife nor is there any place in it for individual vendetta. It is not the cult of the bomb and the pistol. By 'Revolution' we mean that the present order of things, which is based on manifest injustice, must change.

• Revolution is an inalienable right of mankind. Freedom is an imperishable birth right of all. Labour is the real sustainer of society. The sovereignty of the ultimate destiny of the workers.

• The revolutionaries must always keep in mind that they are striving for a complete revolution.

• Merciless criticism and independent thinking are the two necessary traits of revolutionary thinking.

• Crush your individuality first. Shake off the dreams of personal comfort. Then start to work. Inch by inch you shall have to proceed. It needs courage, perseverance and very strong determination. No difficulties and no hardships shall discourage you. No failure and betrayals shall dishearten you. No travails (!) imposed upon you shall snuff out the revolutionary will in you. Through the ordeal of sufferings and sacrifice you shall come out victorious. And these individual victories shall be the valuable assets of the revolution.

• Let us declare that the state of war does exist and shall exist so long as the Indian toiling masses and the natural resources are being exploited by a handful of parasites. They may be purely British Capitalist or mixed British and Indian or even purely Indian. They may be carrying on their insidious exploitation through mixed or even on purely Indian bureaucratic apparatus. All these things make no difference. ".....The war neither began with us nor is it going to end with our lives."

PS : Tomorrow (27-Sep-2009) is Bhagat Singh's birth anniversary. About his martyrdom, he had said - "Shaheedon ki mazaaron par judenge har baras mele, watan pe marne waalon ka yahi baaki nishaan hoga"

Wonder how far has that come true ...

My Life as a Tamil Tiger

In 1987, aged 17, Niromi de Soyza shocked her middle-class Sri Lankan family by joining the Tamil Tigers. One of the rebels' first female soldiers, equipped with rifle and cyanide capsule, she was engaged in fierce combat.

From the Telegraph - London


December 23 1987 was a warm, clear day, and I was hiding under a plantana bush with eight of my comrades in a village north of Jaffna. With our rifles cocked and our cyanide capsules clenched between our teeth, we awaited the soldiers who had been scouring the area for us
for several hours. Our orders were to empty our magazines into them before biting into the glass capsules we called 'kuppies' that hung on a thread around our necks. As a Tamil Tiger guerrilla, there was no honour in being caught alive.

There had been 22 of us that morning – nine boys and 13 girls, aged between 15 and 26 (I was 17). Now, four of my comrades were missing, two were wounded. Ten were dead.

At dawn that day, Indian soldiers had surrounded our hideout, an abandoned house in Urumpiraay, a village in Sri Lanka's far north. As the war had intensified, our units were being squeezed out of Jaffna peninsula. We slept in different places each night: in open fields or houses taken by force.

Our sentry had spotted the enemy soldiers beyond a distant line of trees to the south, and Muralie, our unit's second in command, decided that we should flee north across an arterial road. The morning chill was still in the air and the dew dripped from banana leaves as we ran though fields and approached the road. As we attempted to cross it, we were ambushed from both sides in a barrage of automatic gunfire, grenades and mortars.

'Get on the ground!' Muralie commanded. 'Fire and break through!'

Everyone was screaming. We crashed to the earth as the gunfire grew heavier, now coming from behind as well. A helicopter gunship hovered above, strafing. We were surrounded. There was no cover other than a few palmyra and banana trees that dotted the landscape.

Lying on my stomach, I shuffled forward, following another girl, Ajanthi. My heart was pounding and thick smoke stung my eyes. In a state of panic, a few of my comrades attempted to cross the road. One by one, they fell. One was on her back, screaming, 'My leg, someone help me!'

A grenade flew over from my left. As I scrambled to my hands and knees, I realised Gandhi, our area leader, was in its path. 'Gandhi anna, duck!' I screamed. The grenade hit his head and exploded, ripping his skull apart and covering me with blood and tissue.

Ajanthi got to her knees, ready to dash across the road, then abruptly fell backwards, her arms and legs splayed awkwardly. Blood spurted from the centre of her forehead, soaking her auburn hair. In shock, the air left my lungs and I could not inhale it back. Ajanthi had been my friend since primary school and we had joined the Tigers together. She had been hit by a sniper.

I crawled forward holding my AK-47 with both hands, desperate to reach Ajanthi and drag her to safety. To my right, two comrades were trying to drag Muralie, who had also been hit, through the wet grass. His blood-soaked body kept slipping through their hands. As I reached Ajanthi our unit commander, Sudharshan, yanked me by the collar, dragging me with him.

'But Sudharshan anna,' I said, stumbling to my feet. 'We have to get Ajanthi, Muralie and the others.' 'They will follow us,' he said.

We ran through the fields and scrambled over a concrete parapet as rifle rounds flew from behind us, gouging holes in the wall. On the other side, we kept running and found five comrades. Seeing no means of escape, we took shelter under a large lantana bush.

At sunset, confident that the soldiers had moved on, we set out through fields, supporting the injured, eventually reaching a gathering of huts on a narrow lane. News of our arrival spread
quickly, and a curious crowd assembled along the sides of the lane. Most had never seen female Tigers before. An old woman flung her bony arms around me: 'Ayyo, my poor child! Wouldn't your mother's heart break if she saw you like this?' I didn't realise then how I must have
looked – a starved teenage girl with torn clothes, caked in blood, barefoot and carrying an automatic rifle. Most villagers wanted us gone. If the enemy soldiers knew we were still around, they were sure to attack the village.

On Christmas Day we arrived at a hideout occupied by another Tigers unit. I sat outside on the mud veranda, thinking about the ambush. Since joining the Tigers, Ajanthi and I – and another girl, Akila – had been inseparable. The last time I had seen Akila she had been firing her M16 rifle from behind a water tank during the ambush. Sengamalam, one of the boys, told me that more than 2,000 soldiers had been involved in the round-up of our 22-strong unit, and had dumped the bodies of those who died in the open air. My mind swum with images of Ajanthi and Muralie, their bodies being scavenged by dogs.

I heard footsteps and looked up to see the silhouette of three figures approaching our hut. I recognised the tall Akila, her hair in plaits, and ran towards her. As we embraced she told me that, after the ambush, she had survived by hiding in the water tank for two days. 'I wish I was dead, like Ajanthi,' I spluttered. 'How will I face her family again?'

'We have to keep their dream of Tamil Eelam alive,' Akila said. For me, the dream felt far from reach.

I was born in 1969 in Kandy, a Sinhala-majority town in Sri Lanka's hill country, where I spent the first seven years of my childhood. Although I had Tamil ancestry – Tamils make up 18 per cent of Sri Lanka's population – my extended family included Sinhalese, Sri Lanka's main ethnic group. In 1978 I was packed off to the northern Tamil city of Jaffna to live with my grandmother, whom I hardly knew. 'So that you can become a doctor like your aunts and uncles,' my father reasoned. 'Education in Jaffna is far superior.' I was a confident, independent girl, and my parents believed that I would cope well in a new environment without them.

Though I was unsure about becoming a doctor, life in Jaffna was idyllic. Not knowing when I would see my family again, I began to distance myself from them and focused on shaping my own life, making new friends and working hard at school. My weekends were busy with music, art and drama lessons.

Soon after, my father, an engineer, went to work in Dubai (it was becoming difficult for Tamils to get good jobs at home). My mother, a teacher, and sister, who was three years my junior, joined me in Jaffna. I had been oblivious to the deep-rooted tensions that were simmering between the Tamils and Sinhalese, and knew nothing of the anti-Tamil riots that had killed more than 250 Tamils in the country the year before. But before long the growing unrest outside my sheltered world was hard to ignore.

Tamil pressure groups were becoming more vocal in their calls for equal rights between Tamils and Sinhalese, and an end to what many Tamils felt were the government's discriminatory policies. Meanwhile, Sinhala extremism in the south was growing. There were boycotts, strikes and skirmishes. There were reports of Tamil politicians being shot dead, Tamil students being kidnapped.

The quest for equality had spawned a number of militant groups, including the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), known as Tamil Tigers outside Sri Lanka. In the late 1970s they had taken up an armed struggle for an autonomous Tamil homeland – Tamil Eelam – in the north
and north-east of the country. To begin with, they carried out minor attacks on government targets, but on July 23 1983, when I was 14, they ambushed an army patrol in Jaffna, which brought them into the national spotlight.

Thirteen soldiers died that day, but about 1,000 Tamils were said to have lost their lives in an anti-Tamil pogrom in the south that followed. Large numbers of Tamil men, mostly teenagers, reacted to what they saw as the Sri Lankan government's indiscriminate persecution of innocent Tamils and joined the insurgency, which was rapidly gathering support.

By 1985 the situation had escalated into full-scale war in the north and east, with the government launching a military offensive on Jaffna to wipe out the rebellion. From a normal happy upbringing, I now found myself living in constant fear. Jaffna's library, where I spent much of my free time, was burnt down by government forces.

We lived under indiscriminate aerial bombing and artillery shelling, day and night; our movements were restricted by long curfews. We spent many days in our home-built bunker where I studied, listening to gunshots and explosions, still hopeful that my exams would go ahead as scheduled. The Tigers' television station broadcast images of war: militant training camps, dead bodies, Tamil funerals. The images began to haunt me, and I felt outraged that no one was being held to account, and that the outside world was doing nothing.

The government launched further offensives and air raids became commonplace. Bodies were sometimes strewn by the roadside on my way to school, or hanging from lampposts. I was dismayed by the attitude of family and friends who believed that they had no power to change the situation, but didn't support the militant groups either. 'These movements are run mostly by uneducated, low-caste youth,' they said. 'They are not capable of solving the Tamil problem.' But at least they were trying, I thought.

The more I listened to the militants, the more I sympathised with the idea of an armed struggle, the more it seemed like the only response. There had never been any military connections in my family but I felt that if we were going to be killed or driven from our homes, then shouldn't we at least put up a fight? With friends, I talked about joining the insurgency, though few felt the same, believing that such actions would bring disgrace to our families. Middle-class girls didn't do such things.

In May 1987, when I was 17, the Sinhala government launched Operation Liberation, declaring all-out war against the Tamil militants on the Jaffna peninsula. By now, the Tigers had gained administrative control of the region, restricting government forces to their barracks. My mother decided that we would return to Kandy until the war was over. As we prepared to leave, I made up my mind to run away to join the Tigers. I told my mother that I was going to Ajanthi's to say goodbye.

After I told Ajanthi my plans, she said, 'I'll come with you for moral support', and we set off together for the office of the Student Organisation of Liberation Tigers, a large house near Jaffna
University. We were interviewed. They were hesitant about recruiting middle-class girls, but finally relented. Ajanthi said she would miss me too much if I left without her, and was enlisted, too.

'The life of a freedom fighter is harder than you think,' Thileepan, the leader of the Tigers' political wing, warned us, adjusting his spectacles. 'We gamble with our own lives and bury our friends. There'll be none of the comforts you are used to. I'm not convinced that you are suited to this lifestyle, but no one here is held against their will.'

Knowing my mother and sister were out, I went home and wrote them a note explaining that I had joined the Tigers. The following morning, naturally, my mother and sister and Ajanthi's family came to the Tigers' camp to plead with us to return home. 'You are about to ruin your life. This is not for you,' my mother said, grasping my hands, her eyes filled with tears. Ajanthi's father said we had been brainwashed.

Thileepan sent us to work with members of the Tigers' female political wing, the Freedom Birds, contributing articles to their magazine. At the Freedom Birds' headquarters, we met Akila, who at 17 was already an active member. We immediately became friends.

A few weeks later, Ajanthi and I were selected by Thileepan for military training, and sent to an all-girls' camp in an outer suburb of Jaffna. As we were the first group of female fighters to receive military training in Sri Lanka (at this point, there were fewer than 80 female Tigers), the organisation' s enigmatic leader, Velupillai Prabhakaran, wanted to talk to us personally. Prabhakaran was seated behind a table in his office as I entered. The flame from a hurricane lamp cast shadows across his round face, and his large brown eyes glistened.

Although he did not ask many questions, it felt like he knew everything about me. 'There's hardly anyone in our movement from your suburb,' he said. 'Most girls here come from rural areas. They are used to hard work, pounding rice and chopping firewood. Be in no doubt: training is going to be harder for you.'

Training, in a village south of Jaffna, was indeed gruelling. The days began with a two-hour exercise regime, followed by commando training. In the afternoons we had firing practice and lessons in explosives and camouflage. Prabhakaran would visit often, and one afternoon expressed his desire to recruit us into the newly formed Black Tigers, the organisation' s suicide bomber wing. Only a week earlier the first of the Tigers' suicide bombers, known as Captain Miller, had driven a lorry packed with explosives into an army barracks. Prabhakaran wanted to give women the same 'opportunity' , he said. I knew I could never do such a thing because I didn't have the courage.

As the war escalated, civilians were being drawn into the conflict, and a humanitarian crisis was developing in Jaffna. Eventually, the Indian government intervened. It was no secret that India had been fostering Tamil militants and providing them with training and ammunition, and the relationship between the Indian and Sri Lankan governments was strained.

Then the peacekeeping forces arrived, a ceasefire came into effect, and a peace accord was implemented on July 29 1987. The war-weary Tamils welcomed the Indian Peace Keeping Forces (IPKF) with open arms, and our training came to an abrupt halt. But Prabhakaran informed us that our services would be required in a month or two – he was sure that hostilities would resume by then. Like the Sri Lankan government, he did not appreciate the foreign intrusion.

So it came to pass. In September 1987, while other Tamil militant organisations engaged in the political process, Thileepan went on hunger-strike at the Nallur Hindu Temple near Jaffna in protest against certain aspects of the peace deal. Mass rallies were organised by pro-Tiger Tamils in Jaffna and also by Sinhala extremists in the south, both parties believing the IPKF's intervention served only to assert India's supremacy in the region. Fourteen days later, Thileepan died. The Tigers blamed the Indian government for his death, and for standing aside while Sinhalese forces violated the peace deal by arresting some prominent Tigers despite the amnesty provisions, and organising Sinhala settlement programmes in Tamil areas.

The war resumed, just as Prabhakaran had predicted, though now we were fighting not only the government troops but the peacekeepers, too. A few thousand youths suited only for guerrilla warfare, we were no match for the world's second largest army. Fighting the Indians made no sense to me.

I had joined the Tigers to make a stand against my country's oppressive government, but now found myself at war with those who had come to maintain peace. It seemed that we might be destroying our only chance of resolving the situation peacefully. I expressed my doubts to Akila. Fiercely loyal and single-minded, she argued that, as foot soldiers, we were unaware of the complex politics of the situation, and that our leaders knew exactly what they were doing. 'Believe that Anna Prabhakaran is always right,' she told me. I decided to ignore the growing disquiet inside me and joined the war.

In October 1987 I was sent to the battle front north of Jaffna where, by coincidence, Akila and Ajanthi joined me in a unit of 30 cadres. The first female Tiger had died only a few days earlier, confirming that women were now firmly engaged in frontline fighting. During battles we had been trained to fire in the general direction of the enemy, not at individual targets, and I am not sure whether any of my bullets hit anyone. I'm glad I don't know. I once asked the more experienced Muralie how he had coped with the knowledge that he had shot people. 'After your second victim,' he said, 'you learn to live with it.'

The Tigers had no chance of overpowering the Indian army. Jaffna and many surrounding areas were now under their total control. We were being ambushed on an almost daily basis, becoming accustomed to life on the run. Support among Tamil civilians was waning, too. Whenever we encountered them, they pleaded with us to stop this futile war.

By early 1988 self-preservation was now our main strategy. Forced out of the Jaffna peninsula by the IPKF and following an overnight boat trip, we found ourselves in the jungles of the Vanni in the Northeastern Province, where it was easier to lie low. I was now part of a large unit of nearly 45 girls, with Sengamalam, one of only two boys, in charge. We moved around the jungle constantly, enduring primitive living conditions, while 130,000 Indian troops searched for some 2,000 Tigers on foot and by air.

After five months in the jungle, I contracted malaria; many others were ill with dysentery and typhoid. Akila stayed by my side, taking care of me, bringing medication and rice water in a rusty tin. I felt broken, physically and emotionally, constantly questioning the purpose of a war that could clearly never be won.

I had believed the militant propaganda, convinced that Tamil Eelam could be achieved within a year or two, but it was now clear that an armed conflict would resolve nothing. 'You are free to go home any time,' Thileepan had told me. It was time to walk away while I still could. One morning in June 1988, at a house near the forest where we had taken shelter following an attack on our hideout, I approached Sengamalam as he washed at a well.

'I want to resign.'

He stopped drying his face with a sarong and looked at me with alarm.

'Is someone giving you grief?'

'I just can't cope any more,' I said. 'I am tired of this war. I'm weak.'

Calmly, he said that he was sorry, that he was surprised I had lasted so long. 'I must warn you,' he said, 'your life will be in grave danger – from the Sri Lankan army, Indian forces, even rival
organisations. Your name is on their wanted lists.' I didn't care. Surrendering my rifle and kuppie, I severed all ties with the Tigers, unsure of what the future held or whether my family would take me back.

Before I left, I went to say goodbye to Akila. When she saw me wearing a dress, her jaw dropped. 'What's going on? You're leaving?' Consumed with shame, I could hardly speak. 'I can't believe you're leaving me,' she sobbed. 'We have so much to achieve.'

Before I could answer, Sengamalam hurried Akila into the forest and I watched her fade into the bright sun. I never saw her again.

Sengamalam organised for a local boy to take me to an old woman's hut in the nearby town of Kilinochchi. For the next seven days, the old woman and I did not exchange a word or a smile.

One afternoon, while I helped herd her cattle into the shed, I saw my mother running towards me down the dirt lane. The mayor of Kilinochchi, a distant relative of ours, had bumped into the Tamil boy who had taken me to the old woman's hut. The mayor was carrying a photograph of me that my mother had sent him and asked the boy if he had seen me. Once I had been identified, the mayor fetched my mother. The only emotion I felt was relief, as if I was no longer capable of experiencing happiness or sadness. My mother embraced me and sobbed while I stood numb.

'I thought you might have disowned me,' I said, finally.

'You're my daughter,' she replied. 'I'd never give up on you.'

Within two months of being re­united with my family, during which time we never discussed my experiences with the Tigers, I was sent to a boarding school in India, where I completed my studies.

Although now in the country whose army I had fought only months before, I was determined to move on, and make the best of the second chance I had been given. On the surface, normality had returned. My fellow students were girls from affluent families who liked talking about boys, movie stars and make-up. When the lights in our dormitory were turned off at night,
I cried myself to sleep.

In 1990, with help from a relative, I moved to Sydney (my family later moved here, too) and went to university. After my departure from the Tigers, and with a new life opening up to me, I blocked out any news of Sri Lanka as best I could. These days, of course, that is impossible.

The two-year war between the Tigers and the Indian forces came to an end in July 1989, with changes of government in both countries. But the fighting between the Tigers and Sri Lankan government forces continued. The primitive but effective guerrilla organisation that I left behind grew into a sophisticated and formidable fighting force. As its methods became more extreme, the LTTE's notoriety increased – not just within Sri Lanka but all over the world. (In late 2001 it was classified as a terrorist organisation by many countries, including Britain.)

The Tigers have carried out hundreds of suicide attacks over the past two decades – more than all other radical organisations in the world combined – notably the assassination of the former Indian prime minister Rajiv Gandhi in 1991 and the Sri Lankan president Ranasinghe Premadasa in 1993. The guiding principle of the Tigers, which is so difficult for outsiders to understand, is that the greater the sacrifice, the higher the honour. There are no bravery medals or pompous ceremonies for living Tigers. They are recognised for their efforts, and awarded a rank, only posthumously.

The past decade has seen several attempts to form a lasting peace agreement between the Tigers and the government, all unsuccessful, with the most recent deal being torn up in early 2008. Since 2006 the LTTE's numbers have fallen sharply, funding from the Tamil diaspora has dwindled while government forces stepped up their campaign.

At the beginning of this year, a number of crucial Tiger strongholds were recaptured, and the government was confident it would annihilate the remaining 1,000 or so Tigers within months. After three decades, the civil war – which has claimed more than 70,000 lives, including at least 23,000 Tigers – appears to have reached its endgame, the Tigers on the verge of a final, crushing defeat. The Tamils are, it seems, back at square one.

In fact, the situation may be worse than ever, with the UN estimating last month that 150,000 civilians were trapped in the eight-square- mile battle zone, under constant threat of bombing from government forces and being used as human shields by the increasingly desperate Tigers. Some human rights groups have condemned the Sri Lankan government for practising ethnic cleansing against them under the guise of fighting terrorism.

Although the Tigers have staged many comebacks in history, the latest government offensive may prove fatal. But the scars of this war will remain and until a political solution that recognises and respects the rights of the Tamil people is reached, I am certain that the Tamil fight will continue in one form or another.

More and more these days, my thoughts turn to the friends I have lost. Recently, for the first time, I typed Akila's name into Google and found several archived reports and court documents. Akila died on November 1 1995, in a battle against the Sri Lankan army in Neervaeli, a town for which we had fought side by side. With defeat imminent, she ordered the members of her unit to bite into their cyanide capsules, and then did the same herself. She was 24. After her death, she was awarded the highest rank achievable in the Tigers at that time: lieutenant colonel.

The most shocking detail was that she had been wanted for masterminding, along with Prabhakaran, the killing of Rajiv Gandhi. The suicide bomber and her collaborators had been members of Akila's unit, as I might have been if I had not walked away from the Tigers.

On the surface, my life goes on as a happily married mother in an affluent Sydney suburb who enjoys reading, travelling and gardening. But often, in my dreams, I am being chased by soldiers or hanging off the side of a cliff, unable to save myself. It has taken me a long time not to panic when I hear a helicopter overhead.

I rarely discuss my past. Some people cannot believe that someone with my grounded life could have done such things. Others probe deeper, asking if I regret picking up a gun with the intention of killing others. Of course, some will never understand; others may consider me
a former terrorist.

The world has changed since I left the Tigers, just as the Tigers themselves have changed. In this age of terrorism it is easy to dismiss all rebel groups as evil extremists, without considering the desperate circumstances that drive people to align themselves to such organisations.

I tell people that the only reason I joined the war was to defend my people, because I felt there was no other choice. I was not coerced to join the insurgency. As an idealistic 17-year-old, I believed in the power of the individual to make a difference.

Looking back, I recognise the elements of reckless, selfish teenage rebellion in my behaviour. Naively, I had not anticipated how much my family would suffer as a consequence of my actions, and for that, above all else, I am deeply sorry. To this day, my parents have never asked me about my time as a guerrilla. As a mother myself, I understand why: that they must somehow have felt that they had failed in their duty as parents.

I hope that my own children will grow up with firm, positive views, but without the blind idealism I had all those years ago. I will try to teach them tolerance and empathy, that the end doesn't always justify the means, and that violence always breeds more violence. I learnt that lesson the hard way. Sadly, I don't think Sri Lanka has learnt it at all.

आरम्भ है प्रचन्ड !!!

Only once in a very long time comes a piece of poetry which makes you sit up and take notice, and then makes unsettled and restless as well. Here is one such song, a piece of sheer poetry which is more like a dragon breathing fire through its flaring nosetrills.

This song his heavy in tatsam hindi and is from the hindi movie Gulaal (an equally disturbing masterpiece). However I will have serious objections if someone says this is a Bollywood product. A typical bollywood song is more with words like dil, dhadkan, saajan, ishq, piya etc etc . This song is a warcry, a challenge thrown by the Indian Cinema!

Looking at the great battle of Indian democracy, how true it feels : Aarambh hai Prachand!

Enjoy a masterpiece by a gifted poet , Piyush Mishra....

आरम्भ है प्रचन्ड बोल मस्तको के झुँड
आज जँग की घड़ी की तुम गुहार दो

आन बान शान या कि जान का हो दान आज
इक धनुष के बाण पे उतार दो

आरम्भ है प्रचन्ड ....

मन करे सो प्राण दे, जो मन करे सो प्राण ले
वही तो एक सर्वशक्तिमान है

विश्व की पुकार है ये भागवत का सार है
युद्ध ही वीर का प्रमाण है
कौरवो की भीड हो या, पान्डवो का नीड हो

जो लड़ सका है वो ही तो महान है...

जीत की हवस नहीं
किसी पे कोई वश नहीं
क्या ज़िन्दगी है ठोकरों पे मार दो
मौत अंत है नहीं
तो मौत से भी क्यों डरें

ये जाके आसमान में दहाड़ दो !

आरम्भ है प्रचंड बोले मस्तकों के झुंड
आज जंग की घड़ी की तुम गुहार दो
आन बान शान या की आन का हो दान
आज ईक धनुष के बाण पे उतार दो
आरम्भ है प्रचंड ...

हो दया का भाव
या कि शौर्य का चुनाव
या कि हार का वो घाव
तुम ये सोच लो ...

या कि पूरे भाल पर

जला रहे विजय का
लाल लाल ये गुलाल
तुम ये सोच लो

रंग केसरी हो या
मृदंग केसरी हो या
कि केसरी हो ताल
तुम ये सोच लो

जिस कवि कि कल्पना में
ज़िन्दगी हो प्रेम गीत
उस कवि को आ तुम नकार दो
भीगती रगों में आज

फूलती नसों में आज
आग कि लपट को तुम उतार दो

आरम्भ है प्रचंड ....

To get the feel you can listen to the song here : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3yuxGcAghI&feature=related

If you haven't watched Gulaal yet , watch it !
Good cinema should be encouraged.

गंगा बहती हो क्यों

बिस्तेर्नो वरोरे, अफंख्या अनोरे, हाहाकार सुनियो निसब्द्थ निरोवेय
भुरल हुई तुम्ही, भुरल हुई बुरा की और ....

विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?
विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?

नैतिकता नष्ट हुई, मानवता भ्रस्ट हुई, निर्लज भाव से बहती हो क्यों?
इतिहास की पुकार, करे हुंकार ओ गंगा की धार,
निर्बल जन को, सबलसंग्रामी, समग्रोगामी, बनाती नहीं हो क्यों ?

विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?

अनापढ़जन, अक्षरहीन, अनगिनजन, खाद्योविहीन,
नेअत्रविहीन, दिग्मौन हो क्यों ?
इतिहास की पुकार, करे हुंकार ओ गंगा की धार,
निर्बल जन को, सबलसंग्रामी, समग्रोगामी, बनाती नहीं हो क्यों ?

विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?

व्यक्ति रहित, व्यशक्ति निर्विघ्न, सकल्समाज व्यक्तित्व रहित,
निष्प्राण समाज, उपभोक्तिना क्यों?
इतिहास की पुकार, करे हुंकार ओ गंगा की धार,
निर्बल जन को, सबलसंग्रामी, समग्रोगामी, बनाती नहीं हो क्यों ?

विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?

तेजस्विनी, क्यों न रही, तुम निश्चय, चिंतन नहीं, प्राणों में प्रेरणा देंती न क्यों?
तुम मध्यवामी, कुरुक्षेत्र गरमी, गंगे जननी ,
नवभारत में, भिष्मरुपी सुत्सम्राजेय, जनती नहीं हो क्यों?

विस्तार है अपार, प्रजा दोनों पार, करे हाहाकार , निशब्द सदा,
ओ गंगा तुम, ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ?

ओ गंगा बहती हो क्यों ? ....


- भूपेन हजारिका

Update:
The song is available on Youtube on the following links :

Assamese version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcO6hIcN1A0

Hindi version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzWa6yuLX2A

23rd March 1931-2009 - Legacy of the three Martyrs

I salute Sardar Bhagat Singh, Shivram Rajguru & Pandit Sukhdev on their martyrdom day which is 23rd March....

.... Their ways and ideology may not get along with many, but what makes them respectable is their courage and the honest love for Bharat Mata, for which they didn't hesitate to go to the gallows with a proud smile on their faces...

... Salute to all our freedom fighters from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, Sindh to Chittagong... I salute them all on this Martyr's day.

INQUALAB ZINDABAAD !!!

Azad - a rememberance

Time : Sometime in late afternoon

Date : 27 February 1931
Place : Alfred Park, Allahabad





The tension is palpable as the gunshots refuse to cease. The young revolutionary realizes that he has only one bullet left in his pistol. He has been surrounded by the police from all sides and although three of them have already gone to meet the gods, thanks to his sharp shooting skills, they are still too many and too well armed. Time is running out. They are closing in and will very soon overpower him if he does not act fast. He is sad, not because everything seems to be over, but because he will not be able to achieve what he and his comrades had dreamed of for so long.

He gives a last look to his 'Bamtulbukara', his pistol as he lovingly calls it. This last bullet lying in wait in his pistol will redeem his freedom. He puts the pistol on his temple. The faces of his comrades flash past his eyes. He thinks of his mother whom he will never be able to see again. He thinks of another mother who is bound in chains, waiting for her sons to free her. The finger pulls the trigger....

... This post is not an obituary. This is a remembrance to that event and the man involved. He was just Twenty Five years old when he took his own life in preference for eternal freedom.

Today I write this post to salute Chandrashekhar Azad- who lived, and died free on this very day seventy eight years back!

The story of three young boys and the gun battle at the Writer’s building

8 Dec 1930. Calcutta Writer’s building, the administrative powerhouse of Bengal, was abuzz with daily activities. As usual there were a lot of people- British Officers, Gentry, Bengali gentlemen and clerks and the day looked like just any other day. One could hardly imagine on such an ordinary day that something extraordinary was just about to happen…

All of a sudden, the usually monotonous day was disturbed by mayhem. Three young men in their early twenties, dressed in smart European clothes, appear from nowhere and start firing a barrage of bullets from their revolvers. The target was Col. N.S Simpson, IG Prison-Calcutta, infamous for the brutal oppression of political prisoners. Col. Simpson died on spot and the three men were surrounded by British Indian Police. A brief gun battle, made famous as the ‘Gun battle in verandah’, ensued in which three police officers were injured. As the drama drew to a close and deeming it impossible to escape, one of the assailants Badal Gupta consumed Potassium Cyanide. The other two, Binoy Basu and Dinesh Gupta shot themselves. While Binoy died of the injuries after a few days, Dinesh survived only to be hanged later.

Binoy, the leader, was 22 years old; Dinesh was 20 while Badal had just turned 18. They were the members of ‘Bengal Volunteers’ an organization started by Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose which aimed to “punish” the oppressive officers of the British regime in Bengal.

78 years later, looking at their innocent faces, my heart fills with wonder at the grit and determination of the generation for whom, one’s own life was the easiest thing to give away in order to attain freedom for Mother India. This post is my salute to the generation which was so precious and which is lost forever…

Waiting for Khudiram - 100 years

"One & half years from now

I shall be born in the aunt's hut
if you tend to forget me then
O mother!
Look at my neck
for the hangman's halter."
(Ek baar bidaai deo maa, ghure aashhi...)



100 years ago on 11th August, 1908, a young boy of 19 years of age went to the gallows with the battle cry of "Vande Maataram!" on his lips. He was Khudiram Bose, the first and the youngest martyr of Indian Revolutionary Freedom Movement.

Don't you think that Khudiram deserves to be remembered on his martyrdom day? At least that much?

100 years have passed, you didnot keep your promise to come back, O Khudiram ! Look what have they done to the country you gave your life for! Kingsford still lives and he now wears Khadi instead of Suits. The Gora Sahebs have been replaced by the Brown Sahebs who desire nothing more than to keep their thrones intact, while the nation goes to dogs. The parasites are sucking the blood of "Shasya Shyamala" Bharatmata and the all powerful public is silent. No one cares, all are just mute spectators. When will you come back? When will you hurl the first bomb again?

We are waiting for you, our Khudiram...

Ruled by Scoundrels !

"Those who criticize politics as the last resort of a scoundrels are condemned to be ruled by scoundrels"

- Plato

It is really surprising to see how a statement as the above one made some 2000 years ago can so accurately describe the state of affairs of a country like India in 2008.

Consider this; 40% of MLAs in Uttar Pradesh are in Jail. Most of them booked under heinous crimes like loot, murder, kidnapping etc. And the rest of the nation does not present a very rosy picture either. Mob violence in Maharashtra, Rajasthan and West Bengal, water wars between Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, Infiltration problems in North East.. all these issues along with the rampant corruption and misuse of Power and public money point out to an inefficient and dishonest leadership.

The majority of Indians are young men and women now. Then why should they be ruled by power hungry and corrupt old Netas whose only interest lies in clinging to their "Throne"? Why is India opting for an 85 year old CM whose idea of welfare is distribution of color TVs when the state is reeling under funds crisis; or another moron whose sole aim in life is to have more and more statues and parks build in her name? More than half of the nation consists of working class, then why are they allowing the Politicians to squander the hard earned public money in "Tughlaqi projects" which have the capacity to astonish even Tughlaq himself? Why is a resurgent India letting an inefficient leadership curtail its might ?

The answer lies in the attitude of a general Indian. Like me, he too wishes for a change, BUT, he doesn't want to be the carrier of change himself. In other words, he wants Bhagat Singh to be born again and bring revolution, but in the neighbor's home, not his. He, the usually argumentative Indian, becomes totally silent when it comes to join the fight against this corrupt system. And it is the silence of a common Indian which allows a mob of thousands to control a population of millions. Simply because we fail to react, and we never protest if something is wrong.


So where is the solution for this ordeal? Are we going to allow these scoundrels rule us forever? Or are we going to do something ?

I have a dream

* "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'"

* "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

* "I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood."


- Martin Luthar King Jr

सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना - A tribute to Ram Prasad Bismil on his Birth Anniversary

सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है

(ऐ वतन,) करता नहीं क्यूँ दूसरा कुछ बातचीत,
देखता हूँ मैं जिसे वो चुप तेरी महफ़िल में है
ऐ शहीद-ए-मुल्क-ओ-मिल्लत, मैं तेरे ऊपर निसार,
अब तेरी हिम्मत का चरचः ग़ैर की महफ़िल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

वक़्त आने पर बता देंगे तुझे, ए आसमान,
हम अभी से क्या बताएँ क्या हमारे दिल में है
खेँच कर लाई है सब को क़त्ल होने की उमीद,
आशिक़ोँ का आज जमघट कूचः-ए-क़ातिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

है लिए हथियार दुशमन ताक में बैठा उधर,
और हम तय्यार हैं सीना लिये अपना इधर.
ख़ून से खेलेंगे होली गर वतन मुश्किल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

हाथ, जिन में हो जुनून, कटते नही तलवार से,
सर जो उठ जाते हैं वो झुकते नहीं ललकार से.
और भड़केगा जो शोलः सा हमारे दिल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

हम तो घर से ही थे निकले बाँधकर सर पर कफ़न,
जाँ हथेली पर लिये लो बढ चले हैं ये कदम.
जिन्दगी तो अपनी मॆहमाँ मौत की महफ़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

यूँ खड़ा मक़्तल में क़ातिल कह रहा है बार-बार,
क्या तमन्ना-ए-शहादत भी किसी के दिल में है?
दिल में तूफ़ानों की टोली और नसों में इन्क़िलाब,
होश दुश्मन के उड़ा देंगे हमें रोको न आज.
दूर रह पाए जो हमसे दम कहाँ मंज़िल में है,

जिस्म भी क्या जिस्म है जिसमें न हो ख़ून-ए-जुनून
क्या लढ़े तूफ़ान से जो कश्ती-ए-साहिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है.

- Bismil Azimabadi

This is a tribute to Amar Shaheed Sri Ram Prasad Bismil on his Birth Anniversary. Inqualab Zindabad !

PS : Usually we are not aware ... A few days back , Rediff organized a campaign on its site for people to wish Lallu on his birthday ... Ram Prasad Bismil is not salable so he is not wanted by them. So it's upto us, the people, to remember those who gave their lives so that we can live with dignity.

जनयुद्ध का आह्वाहन

सुनो भारत के मजदूरों,

यह जन विद्रोह का नारा है !
कब तक ये अत्याचार सहे ?
सत्ता का तिरस्कार सहे ?
अब उठो कि वक़्त हमारा है,
सम्पत्ति का मालिक सर्वहारा है!
जन क्रांति की मशाल जले,
जनता का हर मलाल जले!
जो जोते जमीन उसी की हो,
अपना भाग्य विधाता मजदुर ही हो!
अबके होली क्रांति से मने ,
रक्त रंग बारूद गुलाल बने!
जनयुद्ध की यही आवाज़ है,
बंदूक ही हमारी मित्र आज है !

Declaration of the War!

You are absolutely free to call me an insane fanatic. But I at least, have the guts to say that sane people do not make history. They take birth anonymous, attend school and college if they are lucky enough, get a job if they are luckier enough, marry, produce children, retire and then just fade away. Very few know them when they are alive and hardly anyone bothers to remember them when they are no more. I do not seek a life and death like theirs. And thats why I declare my rebellion against the existing system!

Today I declare! I am my destiny. I know my fate. I am one of those who write history. And history is written not by ordinary pen and ink but by blood and iron. So feel free to frolic in your sane world, I am happy with my insanity. I know what am I living for; and what will I die for !

Evil !

When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before. I believe that what the rich have done to the poor people in this city is something that a preacher could call evil. Somebody has power. Pretending that they don't so they don't need to use it to help people -- that is my idea of evil. Without followers, evil cannot spread. The evil that men do lives on and on...

Evil unchecked grows, evil tolerated poisons the whole system. The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. He who does not punish evil, commands it to be done. But, he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.