Down the memory hole of terrorism

Four days after the third anniversary of the terror attacks on Mumbai, six suspected Indian Mujahideen operatives, including a Pakistani national, were arrested from across the country for their alleged involvement in several blast cases, including in Delhi. With these arrests, investigators claimed to have solved several blast cases, including the German Bakery case in Pune, the Chinnaswamy Stadium blast in Bangalore and the Jama Masjid shooting case. But that’s hardly any consolation to the victims of terrorism — the injured as well as the kin of those killed — as they struggle through their forever changed lives. Snehlata Choudhary is one of them. A 26/11 widow, she’s at her wits end to decide what’s worse – losing her husband or doing the rounds of the Secretariat in the hope of getting a promised petrol pump dealership. Her husband Murlidhar Chowdhary was a Railway Protection Force jawan posted at Mumbai CST and died a martyr in the carnage. “Time has not healed my wounds. It still feels like yesterday when I called my husband to inquire what was delaying him. His colleague answered the phone to tell me he had been killed,” Snehlata remembers. Thirty-seven year old Rakesh Chavan, a private security guard who was shot at by a terrorist while accompanying NSG commandos as they cleared the Taj Hotel, regrets he can’t play cricket anymore because of the limp in his leg. He still harbours the hope that he would be reabsorbed in the Taj Hotel security detail in recognition of his services rendered. In Orissa’s Balasore, Satyananda Behera of Chalisimedha village sits idle. He has no choice; he can’t even stand. Satyananda is the only victim from Orissa who received bullet injuries during the 26/11 attacks. He then was working at a small restaurant near the Victoria Terminus (VT) railway station and had a regular income, most of which he sent home. A handicapped Satyananda now struggles hard to eke out a living and manage his four-member family. Despite the tall claims of the Centre and the Maharashtra government he is yet to get the full compensation amount and a job assured to him. “I had received a letter from the Home Ministry to get a compensation of `3 lakh. But so far I have got only `50,000 each from the Railway Ministry and Maharashtra government. A job in the railway department is still a distant dream,” he says.Not far away, in the satellite town of Navi Mumbai, Ganpat Anap keeps a brand new shirt in its original package in remembrance of his son Atul who died of injuries sustained in Pune’s German Bakery blast of February 13, 2010. For Anap, a former World Bank consultant, the shirt that his son purchased on the same day is one of the cherished memories of his son. “After making the purchase, Atul rang at about 2.30 in the afternoon and told me about the shirt,” says Anap. Atul, a telecom engineer, a brilliant student and accomplished sportsperson, was loved by all. “We retrieved their car that was parked near German Bakery and I found the shirt he had bought for me,” says Anap. Further north, in Varanasi, 25-year-old Darakhta Anjum continues to grieve the loss of her husband Kamaruzzama in the Varanasi blasts of November 23, 2007 which killed nine per sons. “I can only wail against my fate,” says Anjum. She tried picking up the threads of her life that was shattered by the blast, getting married again. It did not work, and she’s back with her father now. Except for monetary compensation from the state and Central governments, none of the promises made to Anjum have been kept. “The state government had announced that Anjum would get a house in Varanasi. But later on, they put a condition that if Anjum would remarry the house would not be given,” says Anees, Anjum’s father, who has retired from a Class IV government job. In the deep south, memories of Coimbatore’s serial blasts that killed 46 and injured 200 at 11 locations across the city on February 14, 1998 may have gone cold, but for the unfortunate victims the nightmare doesn’t end. K Ganesh miraculously survived a powerful explosion that went off hardly 20m from him in the textile shop where he was working as a salesman. He carries the memories of the blast in more than just his mind. Doctors have been unable to completely remove the hundreds of iron nails that pierced his body. “They took out a bowl full of iron nails from my body soon after the incident. But they told me it is impossible to remove all of them,” says Ganesh. He has to gobble nearly six tablets everyday to kill the pain and to make sure the infection does not spread. “I don’t even remember how many times my body has been operated upon since the blasts,” says Ganesh.In Hyderabad, where 42 persons died in two near-simultaneous blasts on August 25, 2007, Asadullah Khan breaks down as he remembers the death of his son Akramullah. Minutes before he fell victim to the blast at Gokul Chat Bhandar, 21-year-old Akramullah had called his mother Jilani Begum to know if she wanted something from the eatery. Akram was accompanying two of his five sisters as they bought books. He left them in an auto to step into the shop, only to die. Akram was devoted to his family and as his father was suffering from high blood pressure, he managed the house. “He was a gem,” says Asadullah. 

By Ganesh N, Subhash Mishra, J Santhosh, Hemant Kumar Rout, Vikram Sharma and Mouli Mareedu.

moulimareedu@gmail.com