Sugar Daddy

Some of us are more famous for being directionally challenged, than successfully letting go of ‘things’ from their handbag. In my case, the famousness extends to both, in no particular order. As some may generously describe there is a higher permutation for the earthen plates to realign till the destination finds me v/s me seeking out the destination.

Landmarks, they say, are an easy trick. So I go by landmarks. Large neon signs, the smell of a bakery round the corner, a hut at the curb. But it’s not always that easy I discovered late one night, when the neon sign was out of order rendering the hut into darkness, as it stood still next to a lonely bakery out of business!

But life’s not always that harsh. I have found solace in one such landmark that has claimed to challenge the earthen plates and has not moved for the last 20 yrs. A sugarcane cart. A 5 ft man has been selling sugarcane juice from his manually operated cart for as long as the last 20 yrs. As a lone warrior he talks about how he’s been around long enough to experience the changing topography, depleting ozone layer, increase of methane in the atmosphere and other such decade defining events.
The first thing that caught my fancy about this arrangement was not his expertise on life but the fact that in today’s technologically advanced era he still uses a manual juice extraction machine. An electronically operated one would churn out twice the amount for the time it takes him to swing a whole 360 degrees on his handle for 1 cane.

After getting past my initial expression of ‘are you for real?!!’ I was deeply moved by what I thought was an attempt to save the environment. I felt sorry for the situation and did the unthinkable (no! not buy him a machine. Though the thought did cross my mind once, and then I moved on very quickly). Feeling pressured to bond, as I quietly sipped on my tall glass in his company I launched upon him my array of questions.

Very soon all my suggestions were being scoffed upon and run down into the rising dust. “Your fingers never come back” was the reason for his decade long association with an obsolete machine. “the electronic on machine sucks your hand in, if you get too close” . If not love for environment its love for the limbs, equally important. Suggestion number two: “maybe you should try taking the afternoons off, it’s so hot, you stand without a shade and still serve into the wee PM’s.”
“best business in the afternoon, when the schools and colleges get off” . Strike two!
“Ok what about the monsoons?” I wondered. That’s when a blue print of a shed and ‘yearly plan B’ came into swing. Was I not listening when he said he’s been around! Actually it was more of a relief to not hear the words ‘shut shop’, cause I’d be lost without him.

Not that there is a left or a right turn situated on the plain he stands. And not that I can easily tell a left from a right without being given two tries, but the close proximity of his cart to home, makes me feel a little..well..less lost, a little familiar with my surrounding.
Day in and day out as I leave or return to my humble abode, there is a strange security in seeing him around. I subconsciously find myself looking out for him to gauge how much further away from home I ‘m. The sight of his cart seems to inject the last dose of adenosine triphosphate when a much prescribed 10 mins evening walk begins to break me. He’s become synonymous with ‘being home’.

Death to Death

Every page of last week’s newspaper has the word Qasab mentioned at least twice. He’s the current ‘hottest’ on every news channel. 526 days after 26/11 it has been announced, Qasab would be hanged for murder, conspiracy to commit murder, waging war against the nation, indulging in terrorist activities and criminal conspiracy.
“He shall be hanged by neck till he’s dead” this sentence may not even have lived an echo in the court room as hungry journo’s representing a tornado rushed to get their ‘exclusive’.
26/11 the date has been etched in the memory of millions. For many the scars run deeper. Superficial signs may cover a cut nerve that for some may never heal. Though many lived for judgment day, the verdict somehow didn’t dry the cold sweat. Judge Tahilyani may go home feeling lighter today or Prosecutor Ujjwal Nikam may flash a victorius salute in his newly acquired shades for the jubilant occasion. Politically staged pictures of muslims (and ironically muslims only) have graced today’s pages celebrating the verdict. But this by no means should be considered a closure.

Amidst all the limelight and nick names given to him, if anything, I feel everything that Ajmal Qasab stands for must be rejoicing that he’s achieved what Lalit Modi is to T20, what SRK is to entertainment. He’s achieved a synonym to the word ‘fear'. It was tearful reading the testimonies of many whose wounds were scrapped again for meaner newspaper bytes on the upshot of the verdict.
Young kids who've lost their parents are now only shadows of their yester years. Many others want their losses avenged. Some have forgiven. The candles may still be burning, but they’re all unanimous in admitting Ajmals hanging is not going to bring back the dead. It may only bring momentary solace to the ones left behind, but that much they deserve. Hanging him seems to be the best option in the interest of state security and the tax payers. Hang him by all means, but by doing so let’s not jump to proclaim victory over terrorism.

Lets not forget, Qasab was only a pawn, the real masterminds 'terror' itself is watching and debating our reaction from some dark corner, somewhere. Will India consider 26/11 a closed chapter half an hour after Qasab has been declared dead? Will the govt continue the hunt for the bigger masterminds? If no proof has been collected so far, with Qasab gone, will the possibility of loose answers meet a dead end?
Maybe too far fetched, but, why cant we keep him alive secretly and declare him dead to the world otherwise? If we can house aliens in some remote laboratories in the U.S, than why can't Qasab the largest inhuman form be drugged, sedated, tranquillized, used, abused and broken just as long as we can juice the last bit of information out of him.

“He believed he was morally justified in committing the offence”.

For him this is the final calling of the 70 odd virgins who await him in Jannat. His suffering does not seem enough for the hundred others who will soon be waging a jehad to avenge the sacrifice of their brother Ajmal Qasab. This by no means is a closure for them, nor should we mistake it to be one for us.