Ever
since I saw the attack on the airbase at Pathankot on television, I’ve been
thinking.
Whenever
I think, I remember Shri Husband’s words: “Thinking tires you. Go and do
something worthwhile instead.”
So I do my
thinking secretly.
First
thought: I wonder how many of my village neighbours know where Pathankot is. Or
Punjab, for that matter. Never mind them, they’re bumpkins; even some of my
college-attended acquaintances won’t be able to point it out on a map. Fewer
will know which Indian states share an international border with another
country. Honestly, even I have difficulty in naming all our states, but I can do
it (without googling), after some stumbling. Trouble is, Bai Goanna says, my mind
is filled with names of the latest restaurants around, how to make money by
selling plots/homes to those with cash to spare, which bike/car to buy with the
money thus ‘earned’ and whether broken beer-bottles chucked along the road
indicate prosperous tourism. Strangely enough, one or two persons I met were
able to tell me the air-fares to and from Pathankot. Where interests go, to
each his/her own, I say.
Second
thought: after watching senior television-reporters hyper-ventilating questions
beginning with ‘why’, people might believe that dealing with hidden terrorists’
bullets is like playing table-tennis. ‘Ping’ – that was my bullet, ‘pong’ that
was yours, my turn now, and so on. In the absence of referees and rules, ethics
and luck, death happens. Makes attractive headlines. Debilitating injuries,
quite often a fate far worse than death both for survivors and their families,
are never mentioned.
Third: how the
infiltration into a military ‘camp’ happened was figured out by tweet-comments.
The dissection and de-briefing was done through ‘the media’ (as we call our
television network) and the government and public told who did what, when,
where, why etc. Think of any family-murder covered by private national
television-channels, and you’ll know what I mean. Culprits are interrogated,
investigations made, loopholes found and judgements passed by tv-channel-staff,
before cameras. (In between advertisements, of course, which sell insurance,
toothpastes and packaged holidays.)The police, the courts and the elected
representatives… all learn from The Screen what’s happening around them and in
their midst. That’s how they find out what the nation wants to know.
I made the
mistake of saying this aloud.
Shri Husband
started off his lecture-baazi. His immediate reaction was: “I wonder whether
any news-channel discusses neuro-surgeries through telephonic feedback and
tells the medical team inside the operation theatre just what to do to the
patient whilst s/he is under the scalpel, all anaesthetized. Or at least keep
discussing her/his condition while the procedure is being done.”
A moment
punctured by inhaling a breath, and he carried on: “Reporters seem to learn in
fifteen minutes what professionals take decades to get expertise in.
Remarkable.”
Couldn’t make
out whether he was serious. I’m obtuse at times.
Following his
words, I tried to recall what I see/
hear on the news-channels. Or what I don’t. For instance, I haven’t
heard anyone yell into a lapel-mike ‘the nation wants to know why Indians are
using so much plastic and choking whatever sewage-disposal systems we have’ or
‘…why our students prefer to raise funds for building places of worship instead
of demanding better schools/colleges’. Actually, I’ve never heard any channel
ask the citizens of India what they do responsibly. Can you imagine the
government saying that it wants to know how you’ve supported your local primary
health centre or dealt with wastage of water? Can you imagine any television
channel asking anyone at all ‘how did you help yourself’ instead of asking
‘what did the government do for you’?
I digress.
Closer home, I
figured security is an important concern. I don’t want to die violently at the
hands of a criminal. The guards at our malls/ shopping-centres/ supermarkets/
theatres/ banks are trained to open doors and help with heavy luggage. They
even double-up as peons. (A peon is a professional no office can do without.
Always male, this multi-purpose human being is keeper of secrets, carrier of
files/ pen-drives, bearer of chai-nashta… more about him some other time.)
Where was I? Ah, the security guards: they have uniforms and, sometimes,
beepers. They let you in after asking you whether you’re carrying a
water-bottle or anything to eat. If you say ‘yes’, they request you to keep the
stuff on the table/floor near the door. After the program or your work is over,
you can collect it. Remarkably, you will get your stuff back. I have. Always.
The women-guards don’t touch you. If they do, like at the airports, it tickles.
Another word
for a security guard, especially in gated communities, is ‘watchman’. Again,
always male (feminists please note), always multi-tasking as gate-opener,
message-keeper and deliveries receiver.
Shri Husband
progressed to phase-2 of lecture-baazi: “Security also includes inoculations
against tuberculosis, prevention of diseases like rabies, tackling fire-hazards
like loose electricity wires above cotton-cloth wedding pandals, learning
skills that will get one a job…”
Bai Goanna,
brave woman, interrupted him mid-sentence with a loud ‘Abba!! Enough!’.
“We were
talking about Pathankot and national security,” she said, bringing the
conversation on-track.
Shri Husband
hates to have the second last word. He re-interrupted: “Those guys at the
border, in those horrid wintry conditions, at deadly altitudes, surviving cruel
winds are facing bullets so we can sit here comfortably to crib about and
analyse what we see on television.” And out he walked.
Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in
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