Crossroads

Should we as a nation be scared of the future which appears gloomy right now or is there light at the end of the tunnel? That is a moot question, which majority of middle class India seems to be occupied with. We have had our fill of the “bak bak brigade” of Arnab, Rajdeep and Barkha and their ilk, their endless pointless and meaningless discussions do not interest us any longer. We are staring insolvency in the face a nation but our leaders(?) continue to squander our hard earned money and freedom on issues which even a no brainer can fathom as recipes for disaster. But politics is all about power at any and every cost, so if the nation goes bankrupt so be it, in fact suits the politicians even better to return to the “mai baap” days handing out doles.

The fourth estate and the so called pillar of democracy never cease to amaze me by their deliberate distortion of facts, pandering to their masters and in cahoots with their brethren. Gujarat 2002 is a pogrom but Delhi 84 is a riot, how does one define a pogrom, may I ask, where one community or the govt resorts to annihilation of another community, but wasn’t that the case in 84 when there was not a single case of retaliation by any Sikh, where as in Gujarat we all know there were killings of both communities although majority was Muslims. But then even if is known, it is a case of my riot is better than yours. But how long shall we harp on the same issue, and if we have to do that why not go back to 69 Ahmadabad or even further back at the time of partition. So let the ghosts be buried, I know the secular brigade will again be up in arms, but it is for the media to inform the public about facts and not what lies these politicians spread around. In fact, it is the single biggest failure of our media, where there are no informed debates. We have the same lot of spokespersons from political parties and also from the military brass as also former bureaucrats who are on their regular pay roll for typical sound bites. No wonder even the TRPs are nose diving and advertising drying up. So please innovate, we have almost 8-10 months to go for elections I am sure UPA won’t risk calling for an early election as they would like to milk even the last drop while they can, who knows, what circa 2014 will bring, especially with this Modi fellow, the outsider, a pretender, who might just romp home....

Frankly I wouldn’t mind even a Mayawati as the PM, but there should be a change we can’t have another five years of disaster in the form of our worthy incumbent and his puppeteers.

I know we have sinned and thus the suffering of this last decade but now the time has come for deliverance, our penance must bring fruits. I only hope so.......

Symptoms or the Disease

Symptoms or the Disease

Ram Singh, one of the five main accused in the infamous Delhi Gang Rape case committed suicide as reported in the electronic media today. While many of us would have felt a sort of satisfaction at this gory end of such a heartless individual, there are many who would feel, he actually deserved to be hanged and he should not have succeeded in his attempt. Knowing our judicial system there would be a few who may feel, he may have even finally avoided the noose, so good that we have got rid of such a monster. The issue has again brought to fore, the “bak bak” brigades on the idiot box, who would wax eloquent on the issue and go on and on with all the rehearsed dramatics to go with it. They all miss the core issue though, treating the symptom rather than the disease itself. Have fool proof laws, scrupulously implement them, police reforms, awareness campaigns like “Dilli meri hai” and so on, yes all these are measures which will help but will our mindset change. That is the core issue, the objectification of women in every walk of life is what needs to be addressed.

The mindset of most common Indians suffers from the same medieval beliefs where women were subjugated and dominated. Even today we have not evolved from that stage, women empowerment is only being paid lip service. While middle class India is justifiably horrified at such unfortunate incidents, merely being horrified will not help. We each one of us must introspect, look within, how do we treat the women in our own sphere. Merely decking them up with jewellery or permitting (mind you it is permission!) them to dress up in a trendy fashion is not being liberated.

Remember these crimes are committed everywhere in the world, even in the so called first world countries, where women enjoy a much better status than here in India.

So how do we clean the stables, is the moot question. The answer lies in the right education and value system. Please recall the movie “Damini”, the 90s movie where the whole family of the accused was trying to save him, even at the cost of declaring their daughter-in-law insane. Her husband also permitted himself to be coerced into being a party to their evil design. More recently, “No one killed Jessica” also followed the same pattern. It is not fiction, these stem from our very strong family values, good thing otherwise, but in these circumstances, it is the major weakness. “My family right or wrong” is the age old dictum we swear by. Bitti Mohanty case where the ex DGP Odisha himself has been accused of helping his son jump parole and live under a false identity. The lawmakers and the bigwigs are not affected, most of them enjoy Z class security or have their own bodyguards. So we will continue to feel remorse when we hear of such cases, hoping and praying that our family members do not end up as victims.

Treat the disease, we must inculcate the right value system in our children. But how do we spread this awareness in those households where they are still convinced that women are actually second class citizens and need to be kept under the thumb. This has to be a revolution not the bra burning women’s lib variety but home grown with spiritual and moral education through schools colleges, NGOs, electronic and print media all have to play a stellar role to eradicate this monstrosity from our lives. 

Why are we so emotional by nature?

Why are we so emotional by nature? Is it because our “EQ”, as it is referred to these days, is genetically in the lower strata or is it something else? God only knows! But every time we go for a movie and especially when it happens to be “Tare Zamin Par”, it is a rarity to find a single dry eyed person. Ladies of course take the cake here with unashamed tears rolling down; very often you can hear them sobbing even. In the sixties and seventies, a tear jerker was a surefire formula to get the ladies trooping in, especially in the matinee shows. Thankfully those days are long past! But we Indians are governed by the heart, more than the mind; this is a universally accepted fact. Normally it is the feminine gender which is associated with sentimentality and the “the species from Mars” is supposed to be pragmatists with the mind ruling over the softer heart. But here these emotions can actually have rather exaggerated and disproportionate reactions, as was recently on display in the controversy “down under”. Yes we probably ended up on the wrong side of the stick; in fact some of it was quite blatant, but nationwide protests calling for the heads of all and sundry. From Kashmir to Kanyakumari, people cutting across political, regional, language divides were competing with one another in proving their brand of patriotism. Yes isn’t it a treat to see the likes of Arun Jaitley, Farooq Abdullah, Lalu Yadav and Sharad Pawar singing in the same breath, how I wish , the same could be true for something more meaningful such as the Nuclear Deal or may be even the reservation imbroglio. But we haven’t really looked into our unreasonable emotional responses. There could be a number of issues, one of course comes from our colonial hangover, any discrimination brings out the satygrahi in each one of us. We feel victimized, sometime genuine sometimes just conjured up. Or it could be the stage of development of the society, the developing world perceived to be the underdogs and thus the charged environ. But then we have always been proud of our rather rich spiritual legacy and we lose no opportunity to flaunt it in the face of the decadent and debauched west. If we are the true inheritors of that legacy, shouldn’t we be concentrating on larger issues rather than precipitating a crisis which was about to acquire diplomatic overtones. Protest yes, taking a stand by all means, but here the focus of the team should on its performance, the resolve should be to give it to them on the field in equal measure, which on paper we have always been capable. Or maybe, we have suddenly become aware of our newly acquired financial muscle, we know can arm twist, brow beat the ICC into submission, secure in the knowledge that financial capital of world cricket is Mumbai. I will leave the readers to guess and make up their minds, because obviously there are no right answers here!!

KALA PANI

Kala Pani, the image conjured is of freedom fighters and the yoke of colonialism and our pride in the hard fought and won freedom. The archipelago is mesmerising in their appearance especially from the air craft windows. All our dreams associated with the Caribbean or Mauritius or even Seychelles seem to come alive. The pristine beauty of the islands, each one of them surrounded by the Bay of Bengal waters which have many hues of colour which even photographs cannot capture nor my words describe. The thick tropical forest cover just adds to the breathtaking beauty. The virgin beaches remind one of “Keela vee”, those of us who were addicted to the Phantom comics of Lee Falk and Barry would recall, these were the golden beaches of Denkali.
Gettingo back to tourism, our first encounter with the islands was through Ms Rao, the firebrand guide cum one woman army of Ross Islands. She was the queen and the animals and birds were her loyal subjects at her beck and call. It was a treat to watch her in action, she would call them by their names which she had given them lovingly, the deers would rush on hearing her call the birds would come trooping and even the ducks would leave everything aside to be by her side. What a picture it was, as though straight from Avatar the movie. She is a living encyclopaedia of the islands, born and brought up there and has her facts on her fingertips. We saw the islands through her commentary of the massive earthquake of 1940s which almost submerged the island resulting in massive damage and loss of land to the voracious sea. The ruins of British era, the living barracks of the troops and officers, we found ourselves amidst them, imagined ourselves witnessing those days in front of our own eyes. The next destination which is a must in every tourist itinery is the Cellular Jail, its very name is enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine, history is replete with the gory accounts of torture in this jail to which the freedom fighters were subjected to. Whether it was Veer Savarkar or the pathan Ali, an unsung hero, each one has a unique folklore about him. Each one had just one dream, that of a free India, which was then just an idea, without any geographical boundaries, just the idea of India. They were all possessed with just one burning desire of getting rid of their colonial masters. It was this spirit which kept them alive here against all odds. They defied the laws of nature and withstood inhuman tortures, lived through it yet not shedding a tear no sign of weakness was betrayed. Our salute to these martyrs! The visit here is a pilgrimage which is a must for each and every Indian. It would remind us of our own responsibilities of ensuring this hard fought freedom is preserved at all costs. We were really humbled having gone through the precincts of the hallowed premises. We were also lucky to have got the opportunity to visit the Havelock Island and the near virgin Radha Beach. Oh for those serene surroundings, the clear waters and naturally we bathed in those supernatural environs, where nature has bestowed its very best. Some of us, of course went scouting about, as there were many firangs there too, but then pot bellied torsos were obviously not HOT enough, and they continued idling away in their two pieces oblivious of our fun n frolic. A friend discovered a kewda flower, which has a heavenly aroma and another one decided to test the waters literally swimming almost to the high seas, the others were content with the shallow waters, playing almost like little children with the waves trying to ride them. The only active volcano of India is at Barren Island , I can bet most of us would not know this, but we were fortunate as we not only know this fact but also got to overfly the same. The volcano was belching out smoke and the molten lava was clearly visible, thanks to digital cameras we all got our slice of this sight, a once in a lifetime opportunity! A visit was also organised to Carnic, the IAF base which suffered maximum damage during the Tsunami. In fact the exploits of the station commander and the pilots of this base have become part of folklore. With his lungi when he received the AOC in C, he became the first person anywhere in the world to have the privilege of receiving a visiting dignitary in that unique attire. But hats off to them at their untiring efforts to bring succour to the islanders at the cost of their own safety and comfort. One of the pilots had no knowledge of his own family members but he continued his sorties in the best traditions of the services. Two days are hardly adequate for and island archipelago and naturally we missed out on quite a few places, the corals for one and may be trip to the native “jarawa” inhabited island. If I say it was a memorable trip, it would be an understatement. This trip has been etched deep in our memories and shall be cherished forever.

UNQUOTABLE QUOTES OF OUR POLITICIANS

“Ram was a bad husband!”, “Rahul Gandhi is like a groom’s mount”, “Kejriwal’s expose’ are like those of Rakhi Sawant, both lack substance”, these are some unquotable quotes of our worthy politicians. I have just picked up the latest gems, of course there are even more priceless ones which have been uttered by these so called leaders. I have often wondered, as to why does the media give these worthless mutterings so much of coverage. Is it just to stoke a controversy to remain in circulation, as these sound bites are the only means by which some of these men remain in news, or is it because we are so stupidly sensitive that we take an offence where at best it is an individual’s opinion, which he/ she is entitled to. We are at a liberty to just ignore them, as most of them don’t even merit any attention at all. There are major issues of concern which media refuses to take to their logical conclusion, but are content following these banal accusations and the brouhaha which follows. Our politicians of course suffer from the foot in the mouth disease since long and there are many instances, which we all are aware, but then selective amnesia and the so called, “quote out of context”, or simply the “twist in the statements” is adequate to get them off the hook. We know the libel laws in this country are as good as nonexistent and one can get away with any nonsense and this acts as an insurance. We are an argumentative race, that is widely acknowledged and to that extent, our scientists, artists and even bureaucrats are not far behind. Girish Karnad was in the news recently for having run down Sir Vidia first and then committed the sacrilege of criticising the highly revered Gurudev Ravindranath Tagore’s capabilities as a playwright. Mind you he had words of praise for his poetry though and may be that is why there is no fatwa on his head as yet, else Didi, by now would have launched a massive agitation supported by the bhadralok. Whether Ram was a good or bad husband is a matter of an individual’s perception and in a nation where we are aware that religious sensitivities are always on a short fuse, one ought to be cautious and follow the adage “discretion is the better part of valour”. But these provocateurs would lose their relevance if they exercise this caution and it is obviously on purpose. One would love to ask him whether he is prepared to be an agnostic in a political outfit which swears by this mythological hero. The political discourse has touched the nadir with comparisons with mosquitoes and their breeds, we wonder whether we will ever get the benefit of an intellectually stimulating debate?

VISIT TO THE DENTIST

A visit to the dentists’ is a dreaded affair for most, naturally so, like death and taxes the third certainty of life is the dentists’ chair. I have often wondered whether the electric chair would be as dreadful, may be less, because you do it just once as against the dentists’ where you are doomed to suffer ‘death through thousand cuts’. The pain itself is just one part of the problem, the agony commences with the culprit tooth giving first signals, which we try and ignore for as long as we can, little realising the inevitability of the event. Finally when we can no longer eat a morsel without crying out in pain, we drag ourselves to the executioner, hoping for a miracle. The looks of the waiting patients narrates the same anguish and resigned to their fate demeanour, obviously highly demoralising and de-motivating and one is tempted to scoot. It is the tooth which ties you down to await your turn for this torture chamber. While awaiting your turn, your life flashes before you, how as a child your mother tried so hard to instil good dental hygiene practises and how you managed to hoodwink her, alas, if only you had paid heed to those words of wisdom. But that was not to be! Toothpaste was too sweet to be wasted on the teeth and was naturally sucked away. Later in life the common refrain was ‘tigers don’t ever brush their teeth’ so why should you? O God save me this last time, from now on Brush, floss.......... and every other precaution will be taken. These resolves are oft repeated like those of addicts who quit smoking every day, so forgotten the moment the ache subsides and we get back to our bad old ways.. 

 The earliest memories of tooth care are of the advertisements, first the radio and then on cinema. Binaca geetmala was the standard fair every Wednesday, the Top 10 Hindi songs of the week, with Amin Sayani as the host of the show, Radio jockey of yester years. In fact Binaca had another sales gimmick to entice the kids, they used to have a miniature toy animal in the tooth paste packet, a hit with the kids. Then Vicco Vajradanti couple biting into the proverbial apple and the grand pa breaking a walnut with his strong and intact original teeth. My mother was a stickler, like most mothers are, she would not let me touch the glass of milk till I had brushed my teeth, even at the cost of antagonising my grandparents. She was of course wiser, having had her molars removed at an early age. I was a brat and would naturally throw a fit and look at my granny to come to my rescue, but to no avail. I was unceremoniously dumped in front of the wash basin with a tooth brush in hand for the dreadful ritual. A quick google revealed that there are almost 300 odd books in English alone trying to convince the kids into believing in the myth of good dentists. It is a takeoff from the ‘Tooth Fairy’ days when gullible kids were made to believe that the fairies were well meaning and their visits were never empty handed. We never entertained the fairies though because our milk teeth gave way to the permanent ones after we joined the school. Toothpaste in school was to put to many innovative uses, for sticking of posters, the nightly adventures where the tubes were utilised for nurturing our artistic talents on unsuspecting sleeping beauties, painting their faces. Thankfully this activity was restricted to end of term or mid-term periods. The teeth were subjected to greater torture and pain during boxing practises and the eventual bouts, when we ended up losing a few. 

So I landed up at the jawsmiths’ or should we call him a tooth yanker, more appropriate (!); a few days back, thought it was routine, some food particle stuck needed to be removed, but the dentist had other ideas, first, he knocked on it so hard that it almost got uprooted and then asked me to get an x-ray done, which itself was a painful exercise with a tube poking at you from an angle and the x-ray film pressed between your teeth. Now I was totally at the mercy of the dentist, having diagnosed a cavity, he went on to drill and scratch and with a suction tube inserted into the open mouth, no respite to even spit out and close the mouth for a second. I was convinced that mere open mouth with tongs inserted for couple of hours will qualify as fourth degree torture(!) “My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance, Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines!” So aptly summed up by Robert Burns. Yet another troubled soul went on to create “Aunty Toothache”, deciding to address the devil as an aunt, hoping that would somehow soothe the pain.“Aunty Toothache” by Hans Christian Andersen is a parable about friendship and art. In the story, teeth serve as symbols of friendship, and losing a tooth foreshadows the death of a friend. 

Tooth pain accompanies, and is compared with, the pain of attempting to produce art. The story of tooth is the story of life and honestly it would give ‘Life of Pi’ a run for its money if there was a story on its life too. Teeth are preserved for posterity, we know Budhha’s teeth at least are, according to Sri Lankan legends, when the Lord Buddha died in BC 543, his body was cremated in a sandalwood pyre at Kusinagara in India and his left canine tooth was retrieved from the funeral pyre. Even I preserved the molars for a while, hoping that someday, that piece of my anatomy would also be exalted as a “relic”, till I realised I was after all a mere mortal. 

But to get back to the dentist, the Chinese had a way with dentistry as a science. In good old days, they were the ones who would relieve you of your tooth aches, extract them and even provide dentures. In India the goldsmiths were popular and the teeth were a measure of prosperity, with the glint of the canines reflecting whether it was a gold or silver tooth. I wish though we could invoke the bible and avenge our loss, “And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. -Bible (Old Testament) Exodus 21:23^4.

UN PEACE KEEPING IN COTE D'IVOIRE

                                

 Every time that I glanced at the ribbons of an officer and noticed that he had the UN ribbon(s), I admit I was green with envy and felt that this was one opportunity which had passed me by. The reasons were obvious, apart from greenbacks, which make you financially sound; it was almost like the proverbial “psc”, which everyone wants adorned in his service profile. A UN assignment was yet another indication that the officer has “made it” in service parlance. Of course we all gave the oft repeated reasons for wanting to be part of this rich experience, working in an international environment, interacting with officers from other advanced and developing countries, meet enemies (!) and friends! But well all that is bullshit; the real reason is “A Few Dollars More” naturally. So after a rather hectic and taxing assignment as AQMG in a Division HQ in High Altitude Area, when I received the call for interview for the UN assignment, to say that I was overjoyed would be an understatement, it was a dream come true, an event which I had waited for quite desperately. So although it meant separation from the family for another year, absolutely no cribs! That is how life is when it suits you, it doesn’t matter, had I been posted to a field area from there I would have cribbed like mad, after all “cribbing is our birthright”. So to cut the long story short I was successful in the interview and lo and behold I was waiting having finished the formalities in a jiffy despite the intolerable heat and humidity of Delhi. It was then we were told that we have to await the “PTA” the travel authorization from the UN, merely getting selected for the mission is not adequate, and there were many stalwarts who had been waiting their turn for as long as three-four months. This was a real dampener and the soaring spirits were replaced by nagging doubts. There were stories of officers having returned from the airport even. The worst fear was how would I face everyone and how do I explain all these uncertainties to people back home, they would feel I was fibbing and there must be some other reason obviously. So the next few days were rather tense waiting with baited breath for the “PTA”. Well I was destined to be there in Cote d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast for us Anglophones). So on 06 Aug set foot on the African soil and to tell you the truth I felt as though I was Mahatma Gandhi reincarnate, that is may be this is my “karma bhumi” and may be my hour of glory has just arrived and may be we can really bring peace to this war ravaged country. Naiveté naturally, the first shocks came in when the first twenty days were spent twiddling our thumbs, seeing the staff and the officers working (?), I felt as though we were back home and this was just another Govt department, where everyone had all the time in the world except when it came for actual work. The whole atmosphere was so relaxed and the guilt that one felt at earning our MSA (mission subsistence allowance) without actually working for it was quickly put to rest by the veterans, well this is how the “Casque Blue (UN in local parlance)” work, so no sweat, learn to take it easy, relax… Finally it was time to move on for actual deployment with the Military Observer Team at Ferkessedougou, a town in the Northern Part of the country under the control of the rebels. There were the natural apprehensions, Abidjan the capital was hardly what one had expected in Africa, it was like an island in this morass called Africa, untouched, life seemed to just normal like any other metro in the world, so it will be the real African experience now. But confident that these issues will get resolved by themselves when we get on with the actual job. But what was the job like, we were told in a rather grandiose manner that “we were the eyes and ears of the Force Commander”, it was only later we realised that no one is actually interested in what we do really. More about that later. 

On 23 Aug I went on board the UN flight to take me to Bouake, the second largest town of Ivory Coast, where my team members were to receive me and drive me onto Ferke later. The flight was uneventful except that the pilots seemed to be a little lost and were actually trying to identify the Yammousoukro airport, it was supposed to be the capital of the country. On arrival at Bouake the team members were present to pick me up. The first taste of real Africa awaited me literally, for lunch we decided to go to a local restaurant, well the place did not really inspire my confidence but I did not have a choice. First the waiter (?) came with a bucket with water and some detergent and we were expected to wash our hands in the same bucket, I managed to mutter under my breath that my hands were clean, rather than participate in the en masse washing of hands in the same bucket (may be there are no wash basins here!).Then the more difficult question was posed as to what would I eat and bravely I said anything except beef or pork would be ok with me. They said the menu of the day was “AGOOTI”,which was supposed to be bush meat, but much against my character of being adventurous in gastronomic activities I decided to be cautious and was relieved to see the dish appearing a little later in the plates of my friends (it looked like a large rat!). I stuck to chicken, always a safe bet anywhere. After the meal after what seemed like a lifetime we arrived at Ferke where the Team members were waiting for us. They seemed to be ok, here I will confess to another apprehension which I nursed while I was at Abidjan, the photographs of the team members were displayed in the office and the Ferke team seemed to be straight from the “Internationally Most Wanted”, each one looking more ferocious than the other. I was not sure as to how would I be able to relate to these people who did not understand much of English either. But having met them I felt may be I will be able to establish a rapport with them in due course of time. 

During the next six months I realized they were the finest officers to have as Military Observers in the team. The better looking were the ones who were shammers par excellence. It came as a shock that the team had actually yet to commence patrolling in the AOR, the excuse was that they had no fuel. So first thing was to get the patrols to commence in right earnestness. Now the problem was that except for the two bilingual officers the others were just passengers. The bilingual ones were also handicapped as their English was barely passable and therefore one wasn’t sure as to what we were trying to convey was actually being done. The problem got compounded when some of the locals did not understand French also and one of the locals became an interpreter for that as well. So the chain was something like this I would speak in English, which would be translated in French, which would further be translated in the local dialect and ditto for the response. In this long chain, God only knows what we managed to communicate, or were we like two deaf people talking ? But our visits did achieve some purpose firstly, the presence of UN was felt by the locals, secondly, we started to understand the psyche of the locals, the rebels, the politicians, and the NGOs. 

After a while the villagers eagerly awaited the patrols as we actually managed to get a few projects for development approved and going. We also managed to convey some of the local problems to the local administration and they in their limited capacity and capability tried to help. We worked from our residence itself as that was the de-facto office also, one computer, one satellite phone and we were expected to remain in touch with the FHQ at Abidjan, a Herculean task, as most of the time we were out of the network. So after a lot of running around we managed to get things sorted out, telephones, fax, more computers and last but not the least a good office accommodation as well. But by the time all this came about it was time to bid “adios” to Ferke. At Ferke life was peaceful except during the crisis in Nov which was precipitated by Govt forces when they launched air attacks on the Rebel towns of Korhogo and Bouake. Ferke was next in line, but fortunately for us, the LICORNE (the French Forces in Cote d’Ivoire) decided to step in and destroyed the Ivorian Air Force. My luck seemed to have finally run out, when I received my posting orders for “The Wild West”, a town named DUEKOUE, which in local parlance meant “Sleeping Elephant”. But, the town was anything but “sleeping”, in fact after Abidjan, it was the politically most active and violent town. An extract form my diary would probably explain my premonitions better, “Duekoue “The sleeping elephant”, well the town is really a sleepy looking typical African town, the people seem to be in a timeless warp permanently, not concerned about the events around. Life simply goes on with Nightclubs blaring music (cacophony?), the hustle and bustle at the market place is the same. But the population displays a different type of fatigued, resigned to their fate kind of emotion, as though they have no hope really. That is unsettling and worrying as I am sure this will result in the simmering discontent finding a vent, which will be highly destructive and consume everything in its wake. But this place is a political hotbed, gun-toting militias fuelling the deep inter-ethnic divide and the brutal violence can make even the toughest men winch.” Thankfully, since this was the oldest Observer Team site, it was more organized administratively. The first crisis erupted immediately on my arrival there, a sudden spate in killings of innocent civilians in the “Confidence Zone”, the buffer zone manned by the UN troops. The “Zone of Confidence” was actually quite the opposite literally, “Zone of No Confidence”, would have been a very appropriate nomenclature for it. This spurt in killings resulted in calling for a strike by local transport union, which infuriated the “Young Patriots”, the local goons, who retaliated violently targeting the rival community personnel. Déjà vu, did you say, yes so what, this is an everyday happening in our part of the world also. 

There were occasions when unarmed we “Blue Helmets” would face a very hostile crowd trying to reason out with their leaders. The brutality which a human being is capable of inflicting upon his fellow beings is ghastly to say the least. Over the next few days, one got used to witnessing this vicious gory cycle of violence, where charred bodies of innocent infants also did not deter these goons. So the next six months were spent literally trying to act as an honest peace-broker between the belligerents, and we acquitted ourselves well, as the Force Commander, Maj Gen Abdoulaye Fall singled out the Team for its outstanding contribution in the cause for peacekeeping. The days were tough, challenging no doubt but, there was a sense of fulfilment, a job done with utmost sincerity , despite provocations we managed to retain our sense of reason and in the bargain made friends with the locals as well. This was further amplified by a grand send off not only by the team members but also by the local administration and fellow UN civilian staff and foreign contingents. So ended this rather unusual period in my life, and yes the greenbacks were no longer relevant, I was definitely richer in experience, probably more evolved personally. Professionally I think the biggest plus was refining the art of man-management, handling a team of 14 officers from all over the globe speaking four-five different languages, but working as a very homogeneous unit despite their heterogeneity.