Nation Fiddling as Assam burns

Assam is Burning. 77 casualties have been officially reported so far. Thousands are now living in makeshift shelters to get away from the war zones. None of it is new. The strife has been on for decades, the murders too. But We, the People of the 'Civilized' worlds, the people of the North and the South aren't really bothered. And why should we? Our breads butters and the milks don't come from Assam. Or for that matter from any of those states we so lovingly call, 'The Seven Sisters'. Think you are different, try remembering the name of all these states, with their capitals and stop pretending you have any idea about anything, when it comes to our North Eastern states.

For decades now, the entire local populace has been screaming for their screams to be heard, for the powers to be, to wake up from their slumber and pay attention to their plight. They scream for the masses of their own country to acknowledge that they even exist. The Union doesn't really care, not unless there are riots in Mumbai or the railway stations in B'lore are choked by a mass exodus of North Easterners who are so convinced by a mere rumor of violence against them, that they have stopped paying any heed, either to their own rationality or to the sane voices around them. The last time, I remember this happening, was when the Kashmiri Pandits were evicted. The propaganda war back then was at least backed by AK-47s. Right now, a mere SMS seems to be sufficing.

But Why the apathy? 'Coz they look a little different or because they have a different dialect? But if facial structures or dialects are where we draw a line, then why the double standards, in not extending the same discriminatory logic, in case of a North Indian or a South Indian? Oh but wait a minute, we do discriminate between a North Indian and a South Indian too! A North Indian meets a certain unfriendly airs in the depths of South India while a South Indian may be made a butt of several jokes up North, but why should the East Indian, be made to suffer the same jibes and taunts, irrespective of whether he is in the North or the South? Because they don't have the bargaining power to make some noise? Because, unlike the Jats in Haryana, they don't have the luxury of threatening the supply of milk to Delhi?

There are several layers to the aforesaid apathy, namely;
1. Government Apathy
2. Public Apathy
3. Media Apathy

These three apathies are so interlinked, that there just is no way to unravel them. The government primarily doesn't care 'coz whatever happens in NE stays in NE 'coz the media doesn't go there. The government doesn't care because NE has so little power when it comes to the central power equations.

The public doesn't care because the entire education system (read government) treats NE as a black hole, the media doesn't talk about it and governments don't generally hype it up. Try to remember, what have our text books ever told us about our North Eastern States? Why is that, we only faintly remember the names of the states and the state capitals and that Cherrapunji, the wettest place is somewhere there?

The media can always let go of pretending to be an altruist entity and claim, that like any successful business enterprise, they simply follow the demand and supply curve, so if a sick molestation can be sensationalized into a front page news, they can send hordes of TV cameras into Assam, but when it comes to covering the perpetual violence and sectarian strife, that's been on for decades, the media moghuls just don't care, perhaps 'coz we don't care. The media does its fiduciary duty, at times, when the violence spikes, but pretty soon, some other scam comes up somewhere or some other girl is molested/beaten by a group of cultural vigilantes, again in Mangalore and that seems to block all airwaves 'coz that 'affects' us more.

The happenings in NE, as far as the natural consciousness is concerned, is more or less, like what happens in Sudan or any other war stricken country. We know that something horrible is going on there, people are perhaps dying and when it comes up, we play the sad humanitarian act by being grave and sombre for a bit and beyond that we neither care nor want to know.

The hard truth, dear North Easterners is, we like you on paper, we like it 'coz you look really good on our diversity propaganda, your scenic locales sure make those 'Incredible India' ads glitter, we like it because your states swells up the number of states we have under one flag and makes the numbers look good, we like it because we seldom have any problems from your states(most probably, 'coz the media doesn't care, 'coz we don't care), you seldom try to hog the limelight from our states and when our state leaders, do no work for our states, we look at your development numbers/figures and console ourselves, that we didn't finish last. The hard truth is, your 7 states are conveniently  located. There are two bullies in the neighborhood and you are bang in the middle. You are our very own buffer zone. In medieval times, forts had deep moats around them, Now we just have you. No point developing the roads in your states, we don't want the mighty Chinese PLA army tanks, to have smoother access towards Delhi.

You see, development is never free. You need to have a bargaining chip. With the 7 states, so culturally and lingually different, each one fighting the neighbors for borders, what you don't realize is that the 7 of you together can perhaps demand more from the union. Hype up the China card and things can perhaps work out. But that is not very likely to happen. Which leaves everyone happy, everyone except you, that is.

Too bad for you guys, if only we could have been born 500 miles either east or west of where you were born, you would perhaps be in a place where people would have given a shit!

Last Words...

At 4am every day, The ghosts of the past come to haunt me, it doesn't matter if I am up or asleep. They invariably manage to find a way to sneak in. Dealing with them , while awake is still easier. I distract myself, take couple of swirls of cheap liquor and drags of cheaper cigarettes and bury myself into writing. That numbs me. That helps me cope. And, this ,my friend, is why I don't sleep. Not that I can't. And now you know why I walk around like a zombie all day, looking like a pale shadow of who you once knew me as.

The promise of future gives me hope, helps me to keep some of my sanity intact, amidst these chaotic thoughts. It prevents me from giving up and sleeping that last sweet sleep of oblivion .There is hope on the horizon but what if it turns out to be a mirage. The mind says it is, the heart believes otherwise. The Heart comforts. That is what it always does. That is perhaps its role in the grand scheme.

Torn between the past and the future lies the present, always at a war between the rational and the emotional. They say, time is the best healer. Maybe it is. but what of the pain today. They say, whatever happens , happens for the best. Blank words, designed to look wise, failing pretty short of any help whatsoever.

I look in the mirror, A stranger stares back. Lifeless eyes fix me with their gaze. That is not me, that just cannot be. I take a step back, stumble and the photo frame on the bed side table takes a fall, the glass shatters. With labored breath, I bend down to pick up the remains. Very gently, I extricate the photo it once held. Yes, that is me. The boyish grin, the non nonchalant attitude, the mirth in the eyes, the charm, all that was once me. How did this guy transform into the one, staring at me from the mirror right now !

As I ponder for a moment on the existential quest, I look down and see shards of glass strewn across the floor. I pick one up, the biggest of the lot. This should do. It has to. I hold it in my hand, look at the razor sharp edge and feel a sense of comfort. I have played this scene so many times in the last few months, I know exactly how every scene , every act is going to unfold. But I don't want it to end as quick. I guess, a little part of me, the masochist part wants me to prolong this moment.

I look around as if to survey the scene. The peg on the table stares back at me invitingly. One more peg is not going to hurt, I think and down it in one mighty gulp. The alcohol sears through my throat, burning all the way down . I feel it and am so glad I can still feel something after all. I light up a cigarette and somewhere inside a sense of sadness builds up knowing this is going to be my last cigarette. The cigarette, my ever faithful friend , never cribbed, never left my side, helped me celebrate so many moments of happiness and let me cope with the infinite sadness, whenever, wherever it faced me.

As I puff away all the way to the golden drag, A little voice chides me for prolonging the drama. Very mechanically, very swiftly, without any tinge of remorse or that of anticipation, the right hand slashes across the left wrist and almost immediately the warmth of the gushing blood engulfs me. It should have hurt, surprisingly it doesn't. I look at the accumulating pool of red around me, and wonder, with a chuckle, how much of it is actually alcohol.

Somewhere from a different era, comes the voice of my Biology teacher teaching us about adrenaline and its effects. Considering how calm I m at this moment, I wonder if I should give him a call and ask him, whatever happened to that damned adrenaline in my system. But no point waking an old man at 4 in the morning with such a pointless question.

The blood loss is making me go cold and I can already feel the shivers and chills on their way. Every feeling is a good feeling now. They say, when you are in the last moments of your life, your entire life flashes before you and you focus more on the things, you didn't do than the ones that you have accomplished. Now that I m there, I see profound wisdom in these words as I lay thinking, "damn, I should have done my Laundry!!". Profound words of wisdom causing profound regret.

My vision gets clouded with brief spells of darkness interspersed by sudden moments of clarity. The thoughts no longer come in brief phrases but in disjointed words. Aah, words, my most loyal companion all along, from the marijuana induced high, on a lighthouse lit beach, in the interiors of Karnataka, to the binge drinking sessions on NH-8, the Delhi Gurgaon Highway, the one true thing I have always relied on, was words, Always in my head, always playfully daring me to turn them into meaningful phrases and beautiful verses. Perhaps the only thing I m going to miss leaving behind.

I can feel the numbness spreading now, the light flickers and for the first time, in a long long time, my head is finally bereft of all the myriad thoughts. As I close my eyes, probably to never open it again, the last thought that does a quick sortie, is the sense of relief of finally going to a sleep sans all demons. I can finally sleep like a baby, without a care in the world, completely oblivious of the chaos and the trauma all around me.

This is Nirvana, this is Utopia and I m finally free, I m finally here.The last breath escapes my cold lips.

I smile as I die.