Several Bombs Explode in Jaipur

In a span of 12 minutes, a series of bombs exploded in crowded market areas and near a Hanuman Temple in Jaipur on Tuesday night, killing 60 and injuring 150. Reports vary as to whether six or seven bombs exploded; one was defused prior to detonation.

NDTV:

A senior police officer said that the blasts were of high intensity. The bombs were reported to have been planted on cycles. Four of the blasts took place within a radius of one kilometer.

Bloomberg:

The medium-intensity bombs may have been placed on bicycles about 500 meters (1,640 feet) from each other, police officials said. The bombings are India’s worst since 65 people died when a train to Pakistan was attacked in February 2007.

While no one has claimed responsibility for the attacks, sources at the Indian Home Ministry said that Bangladesh-based Harkut-ul-Jehadi Islami is suspected to be behind the explosions.

My thoughts are with those who are in Jaipur.

Got me.

I came across this on *Pardon My Hindi tonight and couldn’t resist the opportunity to share it.

We’re off to Yosemite tomorrow for a night amongst waterfalls, breathtaking beauty, and bears. Look for more on that soon. And fear not: I am still processing and channeling India. I’ve got lots to fill you in on!

Bonfires of Color

Some aspect of the Indian gene pool must contain a tendency towards pyromania. It’s the simplest explanation I can think of for the fact that every national holiday or festival I attended during my (now suspended) time in India involved burning or blowing up something or the other. Behold.

Diwali: fireworks and bonfires.
New Year’s Eve: ditto.
Lohri: check.
Holi (This one had me fooled — I just expected color. What did we get? You got it.): more bonfires.

I was in Udaipur for this last one, and had been advised to remain indoors because it was “very dangerous.” Apparently there’s something about throwing colored powder on people, many of whom are strangers, that often triggers another inexplicable trait specific to groups of Indian men: public misconduct on occasions of public festivity. In a typically Indian fashion, I couldn’t get many other details out of my friends and relatives as to what made going out on Holi dangerous. All I could gather from snippets and sweeping generalizations was that people get drunk or otherwise enter some altered state of mind and become prone to misconduct and deviant behavior. This was enough to convince me to take the day off from visiting sights and wandering through the streets. Given some of the stories I heard from others who either hadn’t been so advised, I had made the right decision.

Nevertheless, we did venture out on the night of Holi. (The festival is celebrated over two days, the second of which is apparently the one designated not for the faint of heart.) Wandering through the streets of the old city, we came upon an — you guessed it — enormous bonfire and party of sorts in the square at the bottom of the steps of the Jagdish Temple . I recorded bits of it for your viewing pleasure. Look out for a cameo by KA.

Breaking the Silence

I haven’t shared a word in over a month (except for the post that doesn’t count because I just uploaded it a little while ago even though was actually half written three weeks ago). But ending my silence has been surprisingly difficult because the past month has been the most active of the five months I’ve spent in India. The issue hasn’t been finding the time to write posts; it’s been the challenge of absorbing and distilling everything.

Over the next few weeks, I hope to catch up with my own thoughts, which include the sights and sounds of a journey from WISCOMP’s symposium in a Delhi hotel to the gates of the India-Pakistan border, with a few puddle-jumping stops around the country in between.

Please forgive me for slacking, and please check back soon!

Finding Happiness on My Autorickshaw Commute

I rushed out the door on my way to work, obscenely late, as usual. (Stop it. I can hear your snickering through the internet void.) As I emerged from the gate, an autorickshaw driver who had already taken me to work a few times waved at me wildly, encouraging me to walk past the other three such drivers who were trying to get my attention and beeline straight for his rickety wheels. I complied. He was fast, less rude than most, and seemed to take the quickest route through the least congested parts of south Delhi. I hopped in, and he looked at his watch and remarked that I was later than usual. I grunted. As if I hadn’t noticed. We sped off, weaving and honking our way through other weavers and honkers. As we approached one turn, I braced myself, gripping the railing of the rickshaw with one hand and my stuff with the other. I had learned on previous days that this road was traumatically bumpy, with potholes and craters the entire length of two city blocks. It didn’t help that most rickshaw drivers didn’t feel the need to slow down to accommodate the conditions. But today there was an excessive amount of traffic on the approach. When I realized that the clog was due to steamrollers and other construction equipment working its way down the offending block, my heart sang. I know it sounds a bit extreme, but literally — the sense that I had been in this town and traveling a certain route long enough to figure out which parts of it drove me nuts and then to see it through a positive change (in Delhi no less) raised my spirits for long enough to temporarily forget that the traffic jam meant I was going to arrive at work sometime after lunch. The recognition that roads do get better, one block at a time, in at least some parts of the city, was a bonus. And to top it all off, for the first time in four months and a result of this strange and fleeting connection I had created with Delhi public services on my way to work, I felt like I actually lived here.

Yes, All Good Things Must Come to an End…

…but this really exceeded normal speeds of demise! My tenure with an NGO I previously mentioned connecting with came to an abrupt end a week ago. But fear not, I quickly immersed myself into a new project.

Women in Security, Conflict Management and Peace (WISCOMP) facilitates gender sensitive-training, research and praxis in the areas of Conflict Transformation, Security and Peacebulding in South Asia. It was established in 1999 as part of the efforts of the Foundation for Universal Responsibility of His Holiness The Dalai Lama to build a culture of coexistence and nonviolence. Over the next several weeks, I will be assisting the team of women at WISCOMP in hosting an international symposium on Dialogue Processes here in New Delhi. But before I get all poetic and curse this new project, I’ll stop writing while I’m still ahead and enjoying my new job. (I guess living in India for a few months has made me superstitious!)

Top 10: Things KA Misses

He said these were in no particular order, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the first item would top the list under any and all circumstances.

Chicken wings
Water pressure
Reliable customer service
Clean air
Interesting conversation (I’m trying really, really hard not to take this personally. If I fail, he’ll wake up with a black eye.)
Proper value system (My attempt to argue that this was judgmental was met with a shrug.)
Drinking from the tap
Orderly driving
Quality stuff
Unexaggerated statements

Top 10: Things I Miss

In no particular order:

An international wine selection
Central heating
Gender equality
Tacos
Safe public transportation
Humility
Letting down my guard
Pubs
Specificity
My girlfriends

Cultural Regression, Political Warfare, and an Assault on St. Valentine

Since February 3rd, when Raj Thakeray, leader of the right wing party Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), started making inflammatory statements faulting migrants from North India for not learning the local language or adopting local customs, youth in Mumbai have gone on a rampage. Perceiving migrant workers as stealing their jobs, depressing wages, and corrupting their culture, these party activists threatened migrant workers and attacked taxi drivers, street vendors, and other properties and businesses. As a result of the national outcry, Mumbai police eventually arrested Thackeray and his co-discriminationist Abu Asim Azmi, but not before one bystander — most embarrassingly to the politicians, a Maharashtrian — died in the rioting. Behind the scenes of the violence, as usual, lies a political power grab between Thackeray and his cousin over who is the true heir of Bal Thackeray’s political legacy.

Detailing the clash of politics, culture and religion, the International Herald Tribune points out the increasing incidence of communal tension, social censorship, and narrow-minded sectarianism around India. Citing examples such as the self-imposed exile of renowned Indian painter M. F. Husain (who offended many by painting nude depictions of Hindu goddesses), death threats to Salman Rushdie, the banning of the Da Vinci code, and effective religious zoning (whereby entire neighborhoods have been declared vegetarian, rendering them essentially off-limits to Muslims), the IHT highlights a disturbing regressive trend in social and religious thought in India. Case in point: Delhi protesters yesterday blocked roads, chanting “Down with Valentine.”

Oddly, the underlying out-with-the-migrant-workers theme based on the accusation that some “other,” whether domestic or from abroad, is to blame for the lack of jobs, as well as the perceived corruption of culture is eerily familiar. Does Samuel Huntington consult on the side for the Hindu right-wingers? Maybe his books aren’t bringing in enough cash.

(IHT link courtesy of GM — thanks!)

Indian Media, Its Lack of Faith in the Intellect of Its Readership, and the Fate of Some Cold and Unfortunate Indian Soldiers

The first two sentences of this article by one Manu Pubby on the front page of today’s Indian Express speaks volumes:

If fighting heavily armed insurgents and battling the extreme cold were not enough, army troops posted in Jammu and Kashmir are facing another challenge that is making life even tougher.

Thousands of soldiers posted along the Line of Control (LoC) and in the Kashmir Valley have been issued faulty, ill-fitting winter jackets that are hampering free movement of the arms—essential for quick reaction to threats.

Thank you so much, Manu. Because if you hadn’t pointed it out to me, I would never have realized that free movement of the arms is essential to a soldier’s duties.

Even more shocking news comes later in the report:

Sources say that the Directorate [General of Quality Assurance] is still to institute an inquiry. “It is the DGQA’s job to ensure that equipment delivered for troops is fault-free but it seems that this time it has passed on the blame to the Ordnance Factory Board (OFB),” an official said.

Unbelievable. Who has ever heard of a government body, and an Indian government body at that, passing the blame for a failure on to someone else?

Manu also points out that “Lt Gen G Sridharan, Director General Quality Assurance, could not be reached on the phone and a detailed questionnaire sent to him was not answered.” He failed to explain that this was due to hampered movement of Lt Gen G Sridharan’s arms, since he had swiped a few of the un-quality-assured jackets for himself. It’s damn cold in Delhi these days, too.