[Reader-list] RE: Don’t Hold My Hand Longer Than You Need To (Shuddhabrata Sengupta)

[Lalit Ambardar]

Please do not misread.
‘Pan Islamism’ inspired terror has nothing to do with Muslims & Islam. It is only the extreme form of indoctrination based on distorted religious tenets that could lead to mayhem.
Regards
LA----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2008 23:59:13 +0600> From: naeem.mohaiemen at gmail.com> To: lalitambardar at hotmail.com> Subject: Re: [Reader-list] Don’t Hold My Hand Longer Than You Need To (Shuddhabrata Sengupta)> CC: reader-list at sarai.net> > What is "Islamic" or "pan Islamic" about these attacks? People born> into Muslim families, or taking on Muslim identities, and then> twisting that into their own twisted justification for gunning down> people? I don't recall any of that as a tenet of the faith I was born> in, raised in, and indoctrinated in through state school up to 12th> grade. I have many many arguments against what we were taught in> school, but gunning people down was not ever a part of even the most> backwards curriculum I had the misfortune to face.> > On Sat, Nov 29, 2008 at 11:50 PM, Lalit Ambardar> <lalitambardar at hotmail.com> wrote:> > Dear all,> >> > It is not difficult to miss the pain & anguish in Mr. Shuddhabrata> > Sengupta's statement. But he somehow manages to avoid any reference to the> > response that this latest pan Islamism inspired carnage in Mumbai deserves.> > Forget about the state, why should the civil society surrender to the> > menace? Equating terrorism with counter terrorism is dangerous. You might> > defer on anti terror measures but the need to counter terrorism should not> > be a matter of debate. If only the civil society had not chosen to remain> > silent over the foreign sponsored pan Islamic terrorism in Kashmir, it is> > quite possible that the Kashmiri masses would have been spared the ordeal> > that they have been going through for the past almost two decades now.> >> > Regards> >> > LA> >> >> Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2008 19:39:36 +0600> >> From: naeem.mohaiemen at gmail.com> >> To: reader-list at sarai.net> >> Subject: [Reader-list] Don't Hold My Hand Longer Than You Need To> >> (Shuddhabrata Sengupta)> >> >>> >> "Let's not light candles tonight as we have been taught to do by> >> television, lets not make a spectacle out of grief, let us not make> >> mourning a telegenic, slow motion filler between the smug, loose talk> >> of war and retribution on prime time where everyone gets to make a> >> cameo grab at patriotic grandeur."> >>> >>> >> 'Don't Hold My Hand Longer Than You Need To'> >> by Shuddhabrata Sengupta> >> http://kafila.org/2008/11/29/dont-hold-my-hand-longer-than-you-need-to/> >>> >> There is such a thing as an exhaustion of witnessing. Glued to the> >> television for long snatches of time over the last forty eight hours,> >> while I watched gun battles and firestorms in Bombay, the first thing> >> that i found failing was reason, the second thing that failed was> >> speech, the third thing that failed was the capacity to do anything> >> meaninful in the face of such disproportionate horror. I did nothing.> >> I was parched, I drank a lot of tea, and water. I nursed insomnia to> >> fitful, erratic snatches of sleep, populated by lucid dreams that> >> smelt of cordite.> >>> >> Now, as the paramedics go in to retrieve bodies and body parts, as the> >> calculus of loss and damage is ascertained, as the smoke lifts, as the> >> ashes cool in crematoria and hotels, and as the hoarse voices of the> >> television impresarios of the carnage begins to lower an octave or> >> two, can come the necessary task of making amends for silence. Let's> >> talk.> >>> >> We can begin a conversation. Terror calls for speeches and statements,> >> communiques and condemnations, the one thing it kills is conversation.> >> We must mumble, if necessary, because even that is preferable to the> >> ludicrous platitudes that emanate from the tube that pours news into> >> my veins Today, I prefer a stammer to a statement. I dddddarrre> >> nnnnnoooottt sssayy a thh-thh-thhousand things that run through my> >> wakefulness, my dreaming.> >>> >> In the video of a song that Aman posted here earlier, I see a woman> >> driving a taxi in the city that they used to call Bombay. The song> >> that runs through her silent head says 'don't hold my hand longer than> >> you need to'. I want to stay with that line. I want to hear it again> >> and again and again. I don't want to commiserate or to condemn, more> >> than is necessary. Yes, I condemn. But no, I won't have the> >> condemnation wrested out of me like a confession. The mathematics of> >> tragedy does not follow the laws of simple arithmetic. A rising body> >> count is neither more, nor less tragic than a single gratuitous,> >> meaningless death. 'Don't look at me longer than you need to'.> >>> >> You might say, commiseration is necessary. I'll say "lets not hold> >> hands longer than we need to". Let's not light candles tonight as we> >> have been taught to do by television, lets not make a spectacle out of> >> grief, let us not make mourning a telegenic, slow motion filler> >> between the smug, loose talk of war and retribution on prime time> >> where everyone gets to make a cameo grab at patriotic grandeur. Let us> >> not disrespect the dead and the bereaved by even pretending that we> >> can share in what they feel. I feel all sorts of things, I cannot say> >> 'martyr', 'coward', 'hero', 'villain' as easily as many can. I feel> >> that all these words are like the decorations on a coffin. I want to> >> see the body. The naked, injured, dead, body that asks for no> >> decoration, for nothing other than the dignity of a decent burial or> >> the comfort of a well stoked pyre. I want to speak of and to that> >> body. Those hundreds of bodies.> >>> >> In the strange and paradoxical solidarity of death in conflict, the> >> bodies of deceased assailants and their victims, become just that,> >> bodies. They were terrorists or hostages or rescuers, Hindus, Muslims,> >> Christians, Jews, Indians, Americans, British, Turks or Israelis till> >> they died, in death, their inertia brooks no name, no qualification,> >> their distinctions, barely meaningful while alive, died with them.> >> Now, they are gone. That is why, when someone dies, we say, "they are> >> no more".> >>> >> But we are. We are still claiming for ourselves a piece of the action.> >> Still bursting with pride and thirsting for grief. These are our worms> >> and ashes. These are the signs of our rigour mortis, the stench of our> >> daily, hourly decomposition. Some of us are calling for war. Some of> >> us are saluting. Some of us are speculating on the realignments in> >> international relations. Some of us are wondering what this means for> >> the investment climate. Some of us are mulling which quotation from> >> which scripture to hurl in which direction in order to prove which> >> religion teaches you to kill with greater ferocity. I have no comforts> >> to offer, none to hold on to. I have no war to fight, no stocks to> >> worry about, no holy or unholy books to throw.> >>> >> The truth is, all abstractions, all attempts to tell us that there is> >> something more valuable than life itself in the end, demand their> >> prices in blood. The difference between a terror attack and an act of> >> war is ultimately a question of degree. A man who kills another is a> >> murderer. A man who kills ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, hundred> >> is a terrorist. A man who sends thousands or millions to their deaths> >> is usually called a president or a prime minister or at least 'great> >> leader'. We hang one, shoot the second and build memorials to the> >> third. "Terrorism" is actually only a name for the dull mediocrity of> >> organized violence. In lesser or greater degrees it comes with less or> >> more honourable appellations. Homicide, Terrorism, War, Genocide. No> >> one sings songs to terrorism, but our brass bands do blare the music> >> of war. In the end its just a question of how many bodies there are in> >> the morgue.> >>> >> When you value a book, a map, a flag, a code, a memory of an injury or> >> a vision of heaven or hell more than you value the eating, drinking,> >> sleeping, walking, working, dreaming, shitting, pissing, fucking,> >> tired, old, young, wrinkled, bare, naked body of just another human> >> being you will in the end, pick up, or genuflect to those who pick a> >> gun, walk into a city, and begin a few days of mayhem.> >>> >> Ask the little terrorist in your own head, the next time you curse one> >> you see on TV, "what will it take for you to admit, that there is> >> really nothing more important than the ungainly, misshapen bag of> >> water that is a human body". Now ask the same question to the little> >> policeman in your head, and try and divine the difference between> >> their answers. I have tried all my life and I have failed to> >> understand the difference. Both say they shoot to avenge injustice, to> >> fight wrongs, to bring hope and peace into the world. I understand the> >> voice of the assassin, the bank robber, the psychopath and the injured> >> lover, for they shoot for no reason other than to do with the concrete> >> circumstances of their lives. They shoot for money, madness, love or> >> revenge - all human reasons. I am not condoning the murderer and the> >> assassin, but I can see that they take responsibility fo what they do,> >> and there is a strange honour in that, a perverse, twisted honour> >> perhaps, but honour nevertheless. But the terrorist and the> >> counter-terrorist shoot for supposedly altruistic reasons. They shoot> >> at you and me, for the sake of other yous and mes, sometimes even for> >> just ourselves. The voice of the terrorist and the voice of the> >> policeman sing the same song. "I will shoot you for a higher cause. A> >> higher cause, a higher cause." The cause varies, the bullets stay the> >> same. And I am always told, 'I am the cause, and that higher cause is> >> you'. No terrorist ever says that they shoot to perpetuate injustice.> >> In their eyes, they are the just. They say that they are the only ones> >> who are. Such certitude is the privilege only of those who shoot in> >> the name of things loftier than themselves, it could be a state or a> >> wannabe state, it could be a dream or a nightmare. Something, I don't> >> know what, tells me that I could be better friends with the madman,> >> the bank robber, the assasin and the jealous lover, push comes to> >> shove, I could even share their prison cell. But the terrorist and his> >> mirror leave me cold.> >>> >> All flags are shrouds. Every holy book is a sheaf of death> >> certificates. And the priest who sometimes wears the robes of a> >> politician is the undertaker. The terrorist is only the shadow of the> >> hangman.> >>> >> Take your comforts while you can. Do not let the drought of the real> >> make an arid desert out of your soul where the flags of many states> >> and insurgencies can flutter their shadows. Switch off the television.> >> Blow out the candles. Turn out the light. Pour yourself a cup of tea,> >> a glass of wine, a beaker of water. Drink. Stay awake through the long> >> night ahead. Squeezed as we are, between terrorists and hangmen, there> >> is lots to do, and not much time. Or, as the song that Aman posted> >> (the one that I talked about earlier said) - 'Lets do the things> >> that we normally do'.> >> _________________________________________> >> reader-list: an open discussion list on media and the city.> >> Critiques & Collaborations> >> To subscribe: send an email to reader-list-request at sarai.net with> >> subscribe in the subject header.> >> To unsubscribe: https://mail.sarai.net/mailman/listinfo/reader-list> >> List archive: &lt;https://mail.sarai.net/pipermail/reader-list/>> >> >> > ________________________________> > Give the world a slice of your life. Get a Live.in id Check it out!
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