Friday, October 19, 2012

Getting a lesson

CHAPTER 2
As disclosed earlier, the lessons came in plenty, pointing to the hows and
whys of the existing social order. A few days on, somewhere in the month of
February 2003,  I decided to visit a widow home in an area called Juhapura.
The locality can easily be described as one of the biggest Muslim ghettos of
the world. In Gujarat a lay man or a newcomer like me would describe the
place as Juhapura which was initially built as Sankalit Nagar. But how does
a Hindu living in Ahmedabad describe it ? Well, the reply to the question is
MINI PAKISTAN.
Don’t be shocked if you happen to pass the locality during the visit to the
city and the taxi driver puts on the brakes to exclaim,’’  Sahib, this  is
mini Pakistan!’’ the sentence will be followed by the choicest of abuses
reserved for describing the Muslims.
Well, I happened to take an auto to the locality from the exclusive Hindu
colony where I resided. I told the auto driver to take me to Juhapura and he
readily proceeded. The shock came when he stopped at the tip of a road and
asked me that he had arrived at the destination. I told him,’’ I have to go
the widow home behind Memon hall.’’
He said,’’ This is the BORDER  of Juhapura (as if I was about to cross the
LoC) and I will not go inside the locality. You can cross the road and then
hire an auto driven by a Muslim and reach your destination.’’
I had no choice but to do what he told me. I crossed over and found that I
would have to walk about 25 metres before I could get an auto. As I walked
this virtual no man’s land, my eyes wandered to an engraving of Hindu God
Hanuman installed beside the road below which was written HIGHWAY HANUMAN.
Visiting the widow home was another eye opener. I was told that some of the
riot victims of 2002 riots were residing there. The staff there was very
co-operative and rational in thought. The place is being run by one
Mehrunissa Mansuri, fondly called Mehru Apa and I have no qualms in saying
that she has done commendable work.
It so happened that two psychiatrists by the name of Sibasis and Jaikumar
who were involved in social cause of rehabilitation were on a routine visit
to attend to the children of victims who had seen killings at their tender
age. An interesting case that they discussed with me was of a seven year old
who was suffering from tuberculosis. It was a demonstration of what violence
can do to the psyche of a child.
The two psychiatrists, after small chit chat, had asked the boy to make a
drawing. The boy enthusiastically started off on a white paper but after
drawing a line he seemed to have been lost somewhere. All one could see was
a blankness engulfing his face.
After a few minutes life returned to his face and he quipped to me, who was
a stranger for him till then,’’ You know my Abbu had a big gun !’’  This was
enough to invite a shrill voice from another room. The voice belonged to his
mother and she said,’’ That is why he was sliced in front of you into three
pieces.’’
Recovering from the shock, I was told that the boy’s father used to sell
toys and amongst those toys was a gun, a favourite of his son!!!

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