Showing posts with label Police. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Police. Show all posts

Thursday 24 May 2012

'The Administration Is Nothing But Common Sense'


The burnt tanker had been stationed at the Chauldhowa outpost since the day it was set on fire – on the evening of May 11. The Inspector In-Charge, Utpal Changmai, was known to be a kind, gentle officer who spoke to everyone with warmth. “But he unleashed such a terror on that night – we can't believe his kind words anymore,” echoed the voices of the people living close to the Subansiri bridge on NH 52. 

The Chauldhowa police outpost of the Lakhimpur police is stationed on the NH 52, much before the Subansiri bridge. It has a large open space ahead of its concrete office. About three CRPF personnel sat chatting on the base of the flag post. In another corner, the Indian Oil tanker stood; its front covered with a yellow sheet of plastic. Invisible to any passerby on the highway, a tempo stood next to the tanker. It contained a few oil drums. Few sweaty, red-thin men wearing just the gamcha below their waist were transferring the oil from the tanker to the drums. Few cops kept a vigil. Changmai waited near a vehicle as I introduced myself to him and requested to speak to him. He suggested that I speak to his senior, who was present there too.

I introduced myself to Imdad Ali, Additional Superintendent of Police (Security), Lakhimpur District, stating that I was doing a series of stories on large dams (not a lie this). He said that there was nothing much to speak of. “We have nothing to do with the dam, and we have no idea about it. We are here only to maintain law and order,” he said. After a few moments of pleading, Changmai, Ali, another officer and I were seated in an office painted green. It had no racks with dusty files, or photographs of freedom fighters. The only accessories were a locked steel cupboard and curtains on the windows and the door. From the window, I could watch better the oil transfer in action.

Ali interviewed me for five minutes, taking down every detail – name, exact address of my permanent residence, place of origin, publication I worked for, the date when I arrived in the region, the place where I was staying in the vicinity, the person with whom I was staying, how I arrived at the police outpost (vehicle and with whom), the places I had visited so far and my phone number. Finally I asked if I could not interview him back. He did not permit me to interview him on video; only the SP is permitted to speak to the media.

Priyanka (P): What have the investigations so far on the tanker that was set on fire?

Ali: We have arrested 14 persons so far.

P: I heard that it was 21. So it is 14 or 21?

A: It is 21.

P: But hasn't one more person been arrested today?

Changmai: Yes.

P: So that makes it 22.

A: Yes.

(This conversation took place on May 17. So far, 26 people have been arrested.)

P: So what exactly happened?

A: This happened on May 11, about 100 metres away from here, in Thekeraguri.

P: Did this happen inside the village or...?

A: We cannot give you so much details. You will have to go and see yourself. All these details are part of our investigation.

P: All I am asking if for the distance...

A: It happened 200 metres away from the highway.

P: Have the arrests yielded any information yet?

A: The arrested have been given jail custody. We have got some information, but the investigations are on. 

P: What did the vehicle contain?

A: It contained 12,000 litres of diesel. 

P: Was it headed to NHPC's dam site?

C: Yes.

P: And was it taking the route of the left turn from Ghagor?

A: No, it was headed to Gogamukh Chari-ali (junction of four roads, or the town square), from where it would have taken the left turn to Gerukamukh.

P: But there wasn't any blast when it was set on fire...?

A: Actually, fortunately, the whole tanker did not catch fire. Only the front cabin got damaged. So there was no blast.

P: And the fire brigade...?

A: The fire brigade was called and they immediately put off the fire.

P: And how long did it take for the fire brigade to arrive?

A: About 15-20 minutes.

P: But the nearest fire brigade is in North Lakhimpur town, which is 35 kms away....

A: Why do you need so much details about how much time did the fire brigade take to arrive? We called the fire brigade, it came and the fire was put off.

P: I am asking so because there is a factor of distance and time...

C: The fire brigade arrived in 25-30 minutes.

P: So first you said 15 minutes, then 20 minutes, then 25 minutes, and now 30 minutes...

A: You seem to want too many details!

P: are you looking for more people?

C: (nods his head downwards to indicate a 'yes')

A: These are things we cannot reveal as our investigations are on.

P: I have also heard that a small boy was beaten...

A: No we did not beat a boy. Actually, when the tanker had caught fire, we had to demolish a camp that had been set up. Some of the organisations called for 48-hours' bandh in Lakhimpur and Dhemaji. These organisations used some teenagers to pelt stones at passing vehicles. On the next day, May 12, we caught him and brought him to the police station. His guardians were called and they took him home.

P: Who were his guardians?

A: His parents could not come. His maternal and paternal uncles came to take him.

P: But don't you think that the sections under which the arrested people have been charged are very stringent ones?

A: When A FIR is filed, the details of it are understood and based on those ingredients a case is made. If we find during the course of the investigation that some sections need to be added, we do so with the help of the chief judicial magistrate. 

P: But why did you say earlier that this has got nothing to do with the anti-dam movement? 

A: The police is here only to maintain law and order. We are not interested with the dam.... if anyone goes against the law, we look only into that.

P: Okay, in that case, I shall speak to the SP, if it is difficult for you to give me too many details.

A: Yes, please do so.

P: So now the oil is being transferred...?

A: There are actually four companies working on the dam site with NHPC – L&T, Soma, Alstom and Texmaco. This tanker was headed to L&T as it is working on the powerhouse. So this tanker is being offloaded now and the oil will be sent there.


P: But after the strong movement in December last year, which led to the creation of the camp in Ghagor, what kind of agreement was arrived for, for letting materials reach the dam site?

A: We don't know all the things that NHPC needs, and we are not concerned with that. Whenever they needed any essential materials we would provide them that. Most unfortunately this time this has happened. So now we have received orders from our higher-ups that there should not be an illegal gatherings or camps because Section 144 (unlawful assembly) of the CrPC has been imposed here.

P: Since when has Section 144 been imposed here?

A: Whenever Section 144 is imposed, it is lifted after 3 months. About 15-20 days ago, Section 144 was again imposed here. 

P: But was Section 144 imposed here earlier too? On what basis...?

A: Yes, this happens sometimes. It was imposed here earlier too. This is decided by the District Magistrate, and not the police.

P: So was it imposed again before or after Bihu (Bihu is officially celebrated on April 14, but its festivities and gatherings are still going on in some places)

A: I do not remember the exact date but...

C: It was after Bihu.

P: And Home guards have been recruited too here...?

A: Actually home guards are not recruited here now. They were recruited earlier.

P: But SPOs...?

A: Well, SPOs have recently been.... (didn't complete the sentence). Actually home guards stationed at different police stations have been gathered together. Some of them receive a salary of Rs 4,500. But because we have received outside forces, now the home guards are being utilised for other work. But this is an internal matter of the district and we can deploy the home guards however the need arises.

P: But haven't there been any recruitment for SPOs too lately?

A: I cannot say much on that. Only my SP can give you answers to that.... Do you have any more questions?

P: Not really, as you are directing me to the SP for my questions!

P: So for how long will Section 144 be imposed here? 

A: For about 3 months.... until June.

P: So this means that you would have to patrol throughout the highway and in and around Gogamukh too...

A: Well, we cannot arrest people in a restaurant or in the market place or private institutions. But there were many people at the camp and they would pelt stones at the passing vehicles. Because of such incidents Section 144 has been imposed. Now if 7 journalists come to meet us, then Section 144 cannot be imposed. But those people were pelting stones on the SP's vehicle! But if there are ill persons taken by a vehicle because they cannot walk, or if there are women or children as pillion riders on a two-wheeler, then of course it is not imposed. The administration is nothing but common sense. 

P: But those who have been arrested were under such circumstances....

A: No. People have been arrested after due investigation! A person is arrested when he is found to be connected to a particular case. 

P: ...but then there were women who were arrested, who were manhandled by the male police personnel...

A: Look, there will always be allegations, like they are visible everywhere....

P: ...of course there can be allegations, but there could be eye-witnesses too...

A: ...but whom do you term 'eye-witness'? Just because someone says that he saw something, can I trust him as an eye-witness? Eye-witness is that which one sees with his own eye! There are always allegations when something has to be done. There are allegations that police go and watch women who are bathing by the river! These are all baseless things. And there will always be allegations that there were mo women police personnel. But now it is actually very common that there will definitely be women police personnel around. The media is always ready to tarnish the image of the police....

P: ….no sir, I do respect the police because I too have to work and communicate with the police on a regular basis. But all that I am asking is from the point of view of this case. 

A: Look, we are transferred to different places throughout our lives in the police force. We too have women at home. So we cannot ill-treat women while we are at work. So saying that we 'manhandled' the women is wrong. The instances of one or two policemen cannot be generalised....

P: ...I am not generalising. If I did so, I would be wary of coming to a police station or would have men coming with me for my protection. I am asking facts pertaining to the case at hand. And when I said 'manhandling', I meant the instance when women were dragged by male police personnel by their hair. 

A: Then you should ask like that. 

C: I am very happy that you have clarified yourself too. Which is why I ask you honestly, did you or any person face any trouble here? Have they or their vehicles been stopped midway on the road? Did people face any harassment here before this incident took place?

P: Sir, I haven't been here before the incident. So all I now see around are armed personnel. It is an obvious fact that people will be curious or maybe even fearful when they see a road full of police personnel. It is not always a positive environment. So I am aware that there was indeed such an aura here before too, based on whatever people have told me. 

A: Look, in November 2011, a pressure shaft was being transported to NHPC by road. People tried to block it, and then they later began to block the highway and disallow any materials from being transported to NHPC. Then they formed the camp at Ghagor, yet we would apply just bailable charges, if we arrested them. This time the same thing happened; they blocked the highway and the tanker was burnt. Nowadays, if there is a highway blockade anywhere, the message goes right up to the Centre. Blocking the highway does cause a lot of inconvenience to people – old people, pregnant women, people going to the market. You won't see this kind of highway blockade anywhere but this has become prevalent here because in doing so, the message goes to the Centre directly. Once the highway is blocked, some senior politicians do arrive and then the groups can highlight their demands. So now we have orders to ensure that the highway is free, and whenever there is any disturbance there will surely be police around.

P: One last question, and a very personal one – what do you and the police cadre think about the movement and the reason for which the movement is taking place? 

A: Look, we are just policemen. As per the Assam Police Act of 2007 and the Police Act our duty is just detection and prevention of crime. We are not concerned about anything other than law and order....

P: ... but this is one Assamese asking another Assamese what he feels about the dam project.

A: Look, the project is being done by the higher-ups. There are different views among people – those who feel that the dam should be built, and those who feel that it should not. We do not go into such details.

P: All I am asking you is, what you feel about the dam, under the given rumours that it will devastate the whole of Assam and that it would not generate just about 10 per cent electricity for Assam....

A: I am wearing my police uniform now, so I cannot tell you what I feel. I can tell you this if you come to my residence, when I am not a policeman. 

P: Okay, I will look forward to that then! Thank you for your time.

++++

The jail in North Lakhimpur town is a short tiny building in white and brown on the street. One could easily mistake it for yet another beautiful Assamese home which had been modernised to some extent. A small concrete structure, akin to the bus stands in villages which had a good seating area, was where families and friends waited to meet their loves ones who were behind bars. In the waiting area were Gagan Bora's wife along with her two children. She had come neatly dressed, with a large dollop of vermilion decorating her little head. Along with her were Debo Nath's parents; Debo Nath's mother would be seeing her son the first time after 6 days. Also present were some relatives of Dipen Mudoi, and friends of other prisoners.


A simple list of the prisoners was all that was needed to meet them. One had to wait outside the grilled-door to see if the prisoner was being brought. Minutes later, Debo Nath, Gagan Bora, Dipen Mudoi and Prodeep Gogoi walked to the nearby window. It had a fine grill, but porous enough to lightly touch your loved one's hand. But there were paan-chewing non-talking guards in civilian clothes who accompanied each of the prisoners. They would bend forward if our questions were inaudible to them.

But there was good news from each of the men who had been arrested after the tanker was set on fire near Ghagor on NH 52 – they were all doing well, except for the spicy food which was inedible for most. One complained of torn mosquito nets; another of no access to newspapers. But over all, they all were doing well. Prodeep Gogoi smiled despite his aching hand from the fracture and his face still had bruises. “Are they beating you here?” was a constant question for all the men. Instantly, the guards would bend forward and look towards the prisoner, either hoping to memorise every word of the reply or ensuring that no cryptic words are leaked out. When the replies would be “No, we are doing well” or “No, we are not beaten here”, the guards would relax their posture. But all of the prisoners accused of burning the tanker – farmers, shop owners, students – affirmed that they were tortured when they were first arrested. Some of them suffered kicks in the stomachs, some of them were punched on their faces.

A blurred future... Prodeep Gogoi (left) and Dipen Mudoi (right)

It was imperative to try meet Bharat Sahu. He was with Prodeep Gogoi's son Rupankar when they were apprehended by the cops on the night of May 11, around the same time that the tanker was set on fire. While Rupankar had a narrow escape from being arrested, Sahu was left behind. The news spread the next day that he had been admitted to the Civil Hospital in North Lakhimpur town, owing to the injuries he suffered at the hands of the armed personnel – police and CRPF. But what seemed more intriguing was the fact that none of the people wanting to meet him were successful in doing so. They would be told by the cops in the jail that he did not want to meet anyone.

But this day he had appeared before us, and seemed excited upon seeing one activist he had known for long during the days and nights at the protest camp. He had a litany of complaints – he was punched in his left ear while in police custody but had received no cure; one of his fingers was probably fractured and there were no medicines for it; he was kicked in his stomach and back and they ached; he was still limping from being beaten by the batons on May 11. His left ankle appeared bent inwards. He hated the food; he wondered why nobody had visited him so far. 

“But baidew (elder sister), do give us any material we could read, about our rights inside the jail. We will do andolan here itself!” he asserted, even as the guard look disinterested.

“Why don't you write an application to the jailer for appropriate medical treatment?” the activist suggested.

“They won't provide me with pen and paper!” he retorted back.

We requested to meet the jailer. 

++++

Bhanu Bhuyan (20), Kalpana Gogoi (20) and Nitumoni Gogoi (23) were brought in next to meet their visitors. Petite girls with smooth skin and soft voices, they had been arrested from the camp at Ghagor on the night of May 11. 

They said that were doing fine but had a few basic needs:

- the undergarments provided to them were the size meant for a child
- there was no bathing soap or toothbrush or toothpaste
- the sarees provided to them from the jail were dirty
- they had been wearing the same clothes they had been wearing since the time of their arrest 
- they wanted peanuts and other lentils that they could eat, instead of the spicy food

Their mobile phones had been taken away by the police during the commotion when they were beaten and arrested. All three of them hail from remote villages of Kaziranga of Golaghat district. Hardly anyone in their village had mobile phones; they could not remember the phone numbers of those who carried a phone. This simply meant that their parents had not heard from them or seen them or learnt about their arrests, even at least a week after their arrest. The deploring case girls, in a way, represent the state of the numerous political prisoners across the country – 'lost' for their families, trapped in a political battle, hungry for life.

++++

After the girls were sent back to their cells, we were able to meet the jailer, S Baishya, through the same window as we had met the prisoners. We suggested that Bharat be provided pen and paper to write an application since he feels that he is not being treated well. But the jailer ranted how prisoners always lie and they are always taken care of.

Crouching tiger... Bharat Sahu

We complained that prisoners were not provided newspapers to read; the jailer said that they could not ensure 300 prisoners to read just the 4 newspapers the jail was provided.

We complained that Bharat was not given pen and paper to write an application; the jailer said that he could just talk openly since writing paraphernalia was not permitted for jail inmates.

We complained that Bharat's finger had possibly been fractured; the jailer said that he had been taken for an X-Ray the previous day.

They brought in Bharat as well as the jail doctor, to verify the 'allegations'. Bharat was not the same boy we had met minutes ago. What we saw was a scared child with only a murmur, who replied in the affirmative to everything that he was being asked pertaining to his treatment. The jail officials spoke to him lovingly; he didn't for once turn to look at us screaming that he was being threatened. We left the jail, requesting the jailer to provide writing paraphernalia in the least; the jailer retorted that even we could possibly be lawyers, we ought to understand the law better since it not have assert that inmates could deserve this.

As Bharat walked passed us, we murmured that he should not feel threatened. He limped away with his head hanging downwards.

++++

The mystery about who torched the tanker continues.

The jail custody of the arrested men and women has been extended. 

In all, 24 are in jail under the charges of criminal conspiracy, unlawful assembly, extortion, mischief with damage to property and mischief with fire. 

At least one truck owner alleged that his truck was being used by the police to transport construction materials to the dam site, when as the police claimed it needed the truck to transport some people.

It is intriguing that the age of several young boys who were arrested has been registered as 18.

People living in close vicinity to NH52 allege that ever since the incident on May 11, many more trucks have been plying on the highway, supposedly taking construction materials to the dam site.

KMSS leader Akhil Gogoi continues his fourth day of fast in Guwahati to protest against the construction of large dams in Northeast India.

Wednesday 23 May 2012

Inside Tomorrow's Mayhem


May 17 had been declared a day of statewide shutdown by a coalition of non-Bodo groups. However, it was imperative to meet Rajni Phukan who worked for Suma Enterprise Ltd. Soma, along with three other companies – L&T, Alstom and Texmaco – had been contracted by NHPC for the construction of the 2,000 MW Lower Subansiri hydro power project. Phukan and 462 others had offered to resign from their job at Suma the previous day. It was most likely that they would be able to clear their dues the same day, which meant that an possible entry into the project site could not be possible after that date. Besides, he was all-supportive of the movement against the big dam, and he nonchalantly proclaimed that he needed the job, and perhaps the dam too, for his own survival.

There were a handful vehicles on NH 52. The few that plied were stared for long after they disappeared from sight by police and CRPF personnel. That day, the green and blue hue of the highway was replaced with the khaki colour. Little boys carrying unusually large gunny bags were stopped – strangely, never are little boys taking big bags ever stopped on 'normal' days. Perhaps it is easy to digest child labour on a normal day, than to believe the innocence of the same child with the large bag on the day of a statewide shutdown.


The three petrol pumps on the highway across a 10km-stretch were half open. Long bamboos were put in place at the entrance of the petrol pumps, to notify that they would be doing no business. To prevent my guide for a day, a young student, from exposing himself unnecessarily before the large contingent of CRPF personnel, we avoided taking the route via Ghagor, past the erstwhile checkpost and protest camp. We took another route and the approximate 20 km ride was breathtaking. The distant mountains of Arunchal Pradesh surrounded us on three sides, as bamboo branches bent forward to provide us shade and coolness.

Tomorrow's children on Twitter will tweet
"Our forefathers sang that the woods were lovely, dark and deep..."

This stretch of road too was heavily guarded. After some distance, a godown was visible, and large rings could be seen. There were at least 50 of them parked there on someone's arable land. These rings were part of the construction material of the dam at Gerukamukh. Finally, we reached the NHPC gate. It was a mammoth iron structure, with the mountains in its background.

Waiting to be taken to the place where it won't rust....

Rajni Phukan was waiting for us, along with Jibon Bora, the Secretary of Soma Workers' Union. Both of them have been working on dam construction sites for the last 17 years, beginning with the construction of the Ranganadi dam in Lakhimpur. Phukan said, “After the resistance movement in December 2011, there has been almost no work here. No construction materials are reaching here. The company slowly stopped giving us our Sunday pay and the overtime pay. We understand that the completion of the project seems bleak in the given scenario, which is why we have decided to quit the job.” About 2 months ago, about 500 workers with L&T also went home; Phukan told me that there are just a handful left at NHPC. 

We took a stroll around the campus of the headquarters of the Lower Subansiri hydro power project. A large gate notifies that it was a Kendriya Vidyalaya high school; all spic and span with no students yet. A signboard showed us the way to a shopping complex, bank, residential quarters, etc. The gate to Soma Enterprises Ltd was manned by aging guards; Bora said that all the construction materials were stored there. There was a high wall and a barbed fence over it, yet the top curve of the large rings (like the ones seen previously on the way) were visible.


A well-screened entry into the fortress amid the hills... 

The administrative staff at the NHPC office were local boys and girls. But the reigns were in the hands of experts who were not from the region. Phukan facilitated me to meet the Geophysics Chief of the project, S Murugappan. A kind man who offered coffee in the tea state, he refused to go on record with our long conversation. He said that only recently it had been decided that nobody except for the Executive Director, could speak to the media. Even so, the permissions had to be taken from NHPC's main office in Faridabad. “But since you have come all the way, I will explain some things to you. Just do not note down anything,” he said. He tried his best to explain how the project was technically sound, how it was to be the largest dam in Asia, how dams in other countries had withstood the test of time, how the Bhakra-Nangal dam was “temple of modern India” like it had been quoted by Nehru. He loaded me with enough brochures that screamed out the projects of NHPC. Then he let his public relations manager Mr Toppo give me a tour of the project site, for me to understand what he was talking about and how the dam was “indeed a much-needed project”.

(To understand the social and ecological threats to the North East through a series of hydropower projects, do read this detailed report: Damming Northeast India) 

Gone are the grains from the hands.
Welcome, electricity!
(In the campus of Lower Subansiri hydro power project headquarters)

We got onto Murugappan's vehicle. We stopped at a site after climbing uphill for a while. From the barbed fences, one could see a large stone crusher in the distance below, on the other bank of the river. The crusher mill was connected to a site close to where we stood, by conveyor belts. These belts took the stones way up far and high. “Can you see that patch of green in the far right? That was what NHPC has planted as part of our forestation (sic),” said Toppo with a bright smile. “You are not from any NGO na?” he asked suddenly. I denied the allegation and say that I am only an independent journalist. Toppo himself began his public relations career with two NGOs, and then he found the jobs were not promising enough. He joined NHPC 2 years ago and it took him 6 months to understand the project well, to be able to conduct such guided tours for journalists.

A few minutes later, as we continued going uphill on a winding partly-cemented road (which was once a thick forest) parts of the dam construction were visible. A CISF checkpost stopped us, ad then let us o on seeing Toppo. The concrete construction looked huge already, amid the bushes on the periphery on the road we were traversing on. And then, the mighty Subansiri river could be seen. In the distant were the cascading mountains in different shades of distance. From among their feet, the river snaked out. And then we reached the viewing point of the dam.


What a scarily large structure it was! We were on one side of the mountain, and below us was the gushing river. At our eye level was the other side of the mountain, and between us was a tall red crane. Below, a platform had been created and the few men there looked smaller than ants. Turning right, and after some explanation from Toppo, I understood that a tunnel had been created, into which the river was flowing. Of course its width was nothing as compared to the width between where we stood and the mountain on the other side (which is the actual width of the river). On the left, from a corner, the river appeared to rush out – that was the exit point. Toppo explained that below our feet was the tunnel through which the river had been diverted.

There she flows - with her path diverted, her forest home concreted....


“The dam is supposed to come up to where we are standing – full 116 metres tall. But then, everything is in the mind. Even fear. If I tell people that this fence is safe, they still walk carefully as though they will fall. How will this fall? This is strong iron! Similarly, people have decided to sta scared about the dam. They want to think that there will be an earthquake and this dam will break. That is just not possible!” Toppo laughs.

The main dam below had been constructed in large 'slabs' and would be built upwards in a sloping manner. The stone crusher mill was visible at a distant; the conveyor belts leading to the crane would transport a cooled and solidified mixture of sand and cement. “This is a very unique crane. Can you see the spirals and the long extensions? The crane moves around in a circular way so that materials can be transported easily to any particular portion on the dam below,” Toppo said.



He also showed me the gates to 8 tunnels through which water would flow. Those tunnels were connected to a power grid far on the left, on the opposite side of the mountain. The water will travel up there, and through a tunnel, fall into the pressure shafts. That is the powerhouse where electricity will be generated,” he explained. I could tiny tubes in the distant where water could possibly flow into, to the turbines.

The 'powerhouse'

I stood in awe, listening to the marvels of the possibilities of human engineering and watching the grey concrete looking alien amid the lush greens. Faint sounds of machines were interspersed with the call of wild birds. We spent about half hour in that location. “I will now take you to the powerhouse,” Toppo said. The car passed through a bridge called 'Progoti Setu' (Progress Bridge) and we were now on the side of the powerhouse. Almost every large iron machine was in yellow – the colour symbolising L&T. Toppo took us inside to the place where the pressure shafts were assembled, which is a part of the turbine at large. A similar pressure shaft was mistaken as turbine when it had to be transported from North Lakhimpur to Gerukamukh in December 2011. It was protesting this transportation that the agitation took shape, which led to the creation of the checkpost and protest camp at Ghagor. For 4.5 months, it had been a successful protest act – to prevent the materials from reaching their destination.
 Inside the 'powerhouse'


“People are ignorant. They thought that the pressure shaft was a turbine an they have been making unnecessary noise about it,” said Toppo. The 4 storeys of the powerhouse was full of huge machines but no men operating them. “They men had to be asked to leave when there was no work taking place. We only now have the security guards,” said Toppo. The security guards were old, nearly-stooping Assamese men. Their tiffin boxes waited in a corner, to be opened at ease until we left the premise.

A little below, there were 2 large spiral casings; 6 more were to be assembled and fitted in a line series. Into the distant was the mountain. I realise that these large spirals were that what I had thought of as 'tiny tubes' while on the other bank of the river. “The water coming from the river will fall through a height of 80-90 metres, and they will enter these casings. They will hit the runners and then hit the pressure shafts. You can see those chamber-like things there – the water will hit there. And on top of this structure will be the transformer,” Toppo said.



We drove back to the office. Before I could thank Murgappan for the site tour, he asked me, “So tell me, how did you feel?”

++++

This is what you will see now....


This is what you may not get to see tomorrow....


Sunday 23 January 2011

Not One to Wage War


On 24 December, Dr Binayak Sen was sentenced to a life term on charges of waging war against the State, sedition, and for colluding with Maoists. I saw a very different man on my last visit to his house

I had called him a day in advance to check if anyone from his family would be in Raipur the next day. I knew his younger daughter Aparajita would be in Mumbai till the Christmas college vacation. “We three are in Raipur. We would love to see you,” Dr Binayak Sen had said, with a certain higher-pitch emphasis on ‘love’. I arrived in Raipur the next morning at 7 am, and hesitated to go to the Sens’ residence at such an early hour while the sun was still struggling to make itself visible through the fog. But the cold winds had attacked my spine through the night on the bus from Jashpur, and I desperately needed some warmth. On my way to the Sens’ on a cycle rickshaw, watching the capital city of Chhattisgarh straining to usher in the new day, I found myself cutting back and forth to memories of my acquaintance with the Sen family. I had first met Dr Sen’s elder daughter Pranhita—a 25-year-old budding filmmaker—in May 2009 to interview her. The interview was published, and my relationship with the Sens had dropped root. It had strengthened in the past 18 months.

I rang the bell and waited. A minute later, there stood the man at the door, in his vest and pyjamas, looking confused. Soon realising it wasn’t the milkman, he hurried to unlock the bolts. He waited for me to drop the bag off my shoulders, and then wrapped his arms around me in a long embrace. After the cold night, I was home and warm.

Dr Sen’s wife Ilina walked into the room and the warmth was superfluous. I apologised for arriving at such an early hour. “I was up at 5.30 am, and made tea for Ilina,” Dr Sen said, while Ilina looked at him lovingly. “Tea or coffee?” Dr Sen asked. I said anything would do. “But give me some indication which of the anything you want,” he requested.

Sipping coffee, we began to talk of the government’s undue attention on the family—Ilina had been called an ISI agent in the Raipur sessions court the previous week, during the course of Dr Sen’s trial. The family had been through much in the past three years; controversies seemed to litter their path like glass marbles. I joked only Rajinikanth could intervene, given his unusual powers to sway opinion. “Isn’t he the Tamil actor?” asked Ilina. Dr Sen and I exchanged a look of disbelief and laughed aloud.

Pranhita was up by now and soon we got into a girly banter. She wanted to see how much my hair had grown. I loosened my bun, exclaiming, “Now, there I look like a woman!” Dr Sen, who was making breakfast next door, peeped in as I let my hair dance. Pranhita and I screeched like adolescent schoolgirls caught talking about boys.

Sometime later, I spoke to Ilina about getting my bus ticket to Nagpur. Dr Sen, meanwhile, was dressed in his jeans and kurta, ready to go to court. The good doctor’s relationship with the courts and cops began in 2007, when he was arrested on charges of being a Maoist sympathiser. Now, as he paced about the house, he looked confused: “Who will buy the ticket? How will Ashwin buy it if he has to be with me in court? But he can’t buy it later at noon; tickets might not be available then, and it is already 10.30.” Ilina interjected to allay his doubts. He turned to me, “Won’t it be cold on the bus?” I assured him I would be fine. It was finally decided that Ashwin, a law student who has been helping the family with minute details of the case, would buy the ticket on the way to court.

We had a lunch of Bengali fish curry and rice grown on their own farm on the outskirts of the city, while watching an animation film on TV. The discussion among us women (with their dogs Safia and Dottle playing earnest listeners) veered to reality shows on TV, and the palpable surge in India of a generation devoid of soul.

Dr Sen returned from the court and got into a discussion with Ilina and another guest about the case. Meanwhile, I poked around the many bookshelves that house everything from Victorian to Bengali literature, to medical journals, to all manner of human rights reports. I remembered what Pranhita had told me when we first met in 2009, a few days before her father would be released on bail: “The Chhattisgarh police took my sister’s algebra notebook; they suspected it might contain Maoist code!”

The sun had set and the dogs were trying to find a comfortable warm corner. I prepared tea for Dr Sen and Ilina, while they began to arrange the papers for the court the next day. “You are staying tonight, right?” Dr Sen asked me suddenly. I managed a smile and shook my head. Ilina was on the internet, looking for citations to be used from a decades-old case. Fifteen minutes and a few phone calls later, she’d found what was needed. Dr Sen left the TV remote—he was trying to fight sleep while watching news updates on the latest developments in the 2G scam—and ran to see what Ilina had found. As I stood over and watched, Dr Sen put his hand on Ilina’s shoulder and said with a proud beam on his face, “Among other nice things, my wife is also an internet expert.”

Dinner followed, and I began to gather my stuff to catch the night bus. Ilina noticed I was sticking my nose into a book whenever I could, and asked me to just take it with me. Mother and daughter decided to drop me to the bus stand. “Bye, Baba. Take care of yourself,” I said, and he embraced me in a ring of safety and love, for one long moment. “When do I see you next?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Come back soon or I will fall asleep and won’t be able to open the door,” he shouted out to Ilina as she descended the staircase. I looked back to see him one last time, not knowing that ten days later, he would be made to walk into jail once again. “They will be back in just ten minutes. Please don’t fall asleep,” I said. “I was just joking,” he chuckled.I hugged Ilina Ma and Pranhita as I walked towards the bus. The gush of cold wind was unbearable.