Showing posts with label Ghazala Wahab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghazala Wahab. Show all posts

Monday, December 3, 2012

Engaging Kashmir Youth

FORCE's Ghazala Wahab was invited by Indian Army's Srinagar-based 15 Corps to deliver a talk on how the Indian Army can engage with the Kashmiri youth. This was part of the seminar on youth empowerment. Here is Ghazala's paper:



This is a difficult subject primarily because of the limitations on both sides of the divide – the army and the Kashmiri youth.

The Army’s Limitations

One, Kashmir is a political problem and not a military problem. Hence, both the management of the problem and the resolution has to come from a political process. Whether we do it within the country or engage with our neighbour — that’s a different subject. The army can only play the role of a facilitator by keeping violence down; so that there is room for the political process. The more army expands its role, more vulnerable it will render itself to allegations of having vested interests.

 
Two, despite army’s exemplary (non-military) contribution to the state of J&K, through its ‘Winning Hearts and Mind’ programmes and Operation Sadbhavana, the army at the end of the day remains an instrument of State’s (read Union government) policy. As a result, the animosity towards the State (remember, Kashmir is a political problem stemming from the animosity towards the state) is channelled through its more visible instrument which is the army. So, anything that the army does is always viewed with a degree of cynicism and suspicion. Additionally, as army moves into non-military areas, more it hampers the political process, because this gives fodder to the perception that India holds Kashmir through force. The army must perforce be as invisible in populated areas as possible for a resolution to come about.


Three, the army primarily started the Sadbhavana programme to put into place an intelligence grid. Hence, one of the earliest relationships that it forged with the people was a transactional one. People usually do not forget these things, and in Kashmir especially, memories go very far. So whenever the army would start any process, irrespective of the nobility of its purpose, there will always be wariness, which will limit its scope and to a large extent prevent the army from reaching the people who can actually make a difference.


Kashmiri Youth’s Limitations

One, the Kashmiri youth is the product of their history. A Kashmiri youth or even a person in his early 20s was either born in or after 1989. These, nobody can deny, were the darkest years in Kashmir. Even if this person has not personally suffered, he or she has grown up seeing close family members, neighbours or friends suffer. Mostly, at the hands of the Indian security forces which, in popular perception, translates into the Indian Army. Now, even if this young man or woman wants to build his or her future, the shared history of his community is the burden he/she must bear. For them, to engage with the Indian Army for their own betterment would be a betrayal of the sacrifices made by their family, friends or neighbours. After all, a sense of martyrdom is not exclusive to the uniformed forces.


Two, Kashmiris, especially the youth, suffer from a persecution complex. And with some justification. They face regional and religious profiling in other parts of the country. Not only that, even within the state, they are made acutely conscious of their inferiority simply because the opposite side holds power. Hence, they feel psychologically compelled to acknowledge as superior even those who may be unequal to them in terms of education or social hierarchy. This puts a psychological pressure on them to huddle together among their own and view the others or the so-called superior force with fear if not loathing.


To give an example from yesterday, the state administration belatedly realised on Thursday afternoon that Friday was also the 8th day of Muharram. Anticipating trouble they ordered curfew to be imposed on Friday in six police station areas of Srinagar. But the schools were not informed, some of which were conducting examinations. I had an appointment across the Jhelum, where there was no curfew. As vehicles were not allowed, I took the lane behind my hotel to cross the river via the foot bridge. But J&K police and the CRP personnel had put up the barbed wires at the bridge to restrict movement. Standing on the right bank of Jhelum, I saw school girls and boys screaming their lungs out demanding to be allowed to cross as they had an examination. The men in uniform were screaming back, trying to frighten the school children with their lathis. I was beyond rage. Whose fault was it? If the curfew had to be imposed, why weren’t schools asked to close down? At that moment, I could completely identify with the impotent rage of the school children. How do you engage with them? A young girl at the barbed wire was trying to talk with one of the CRP personnel in fluent English. She foolishly believed that her education and knowledge of English had empowered her. But how long before she realises that education is not power in her state? A mere danda is.


A connective factor here is that years of strife have robbed Kashmiri youth of education and other avenues of growth. So, academically and in terms of human resource development they are far behind their counterparts in the rest of the country. This is the reason that one sees the spectacle of long queues of job aspirants — some as qualified as graduates — at the army’s recruitment rallies for PBORs. The problem with this is that when you study high enough to get through the college, your and your family’s expectations from you increase. You expect to get into a white collar job and not work with those who have just scraped through class 10 or 12th. You may accept the job for economic reasons, but disillusionment with the society and the education system fills you with bitterness. A bitter person is a dangerous person. He is full of angst, which can be directed towards anything or anybody.


Engaging with youth is easier said than done. And here is the challenge

Like most of South Asia, Kashmir is also facing a youth bulge. I believe almost 60 per cent of the state’s population is under-30. If you further dissect these age bracket, then the proportions of early and mid-teens are larger. This, all social scientists accept, is a dangerous age to be. The children, especially the boys have to deal with all sorts of adolescent issues, whether they are physical, emotional or psychological. They are impatient, short-tempered and easily persuaded. This is the age group which is most susceptible to exploitation because the hormones are raging and they need an adrenaline rush.


Sensible adults try and direct the hyper energies of the children into productive areas. Unfortunately, in Kashmir, a lot of parents may not be sensitive to this because of their own personal, political as well as economic traumas. Driving around the old parts of Srinagar, I have myself seen young boys idling along the road sides. They have nowhere to go. Their homes have just enough space for them to sleep quietly in one corner at night. In the day time they simply cannot stay at home because the space is required to perform several household functions. To my mind, this is the most volatile and vulnerable group. If engaged correctly, they can be a great force multiplier. If engaged in a cavalier manner, they can turn against you. And if ignored completely, they can become tools in somebody else’s hands.
 

With these inherent limitations, what can the Indian Army do?


The first question that comes to mind is why does army wants to engage with the Kashmiri youth when it is not its job. I would think that there could be two reasons to do this.

One, to improve army’s image among the youth; and


Two, to fulfil what could be called the Army’s Social Responsibility, something akin to Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR).


If this is correct then the way forward comprises two roads: the easy and the well-trodden. And the unpaved track which may or may not yield success.


The easy and the well-trodden road is what the army has been doing so far. Youth empowerment centres, computer classes, coaching classes for higher education, vocational training centres, sporting events etc in its areas of comfort. All these are hit and run programmes with no follow-up. Perhaps, no one even keeps a track of what happens to the students who participate in these centres or programmes. Sure, you cannot do this because you don’t have the man-power. In that case outsource these, or enter into some kinds of MoUs with local universities or respectable NGOs.

The unpaved track would be to engage with the urban youth, because these can be the potential opinion-changers. This may even lead to questioning of the so-called ‘Sentiment’ in the Valley. And the army does not have to show its overt presence in the Valley to do any of this. Here is my wish list:
 

  1. The army, through various organisational headquarters, can institute a number of scholarships in urban schools, colleges and Universities. While some of these can be named after local Kashmiri heroes, some can be named after even military heroes. These scholarships should enable the students to study in some of the better institutions in the rest of India. In fact, the students ought to be given the option of even opting for a military institution if they so desire. This way, they will be able to see the other side of the uniform.
  2. The army frequently takes group of students from smaller Kashmiri towns or villages on a ‘Bharat Darshan’ or sight-seeing tour. Similar tours could be conducted, again in urban areas, but this time not to see Taj Mahal and Rashtrapati Bhawan, but to military institutions like the NDA, IMA, INA or the AFA. The student profile should be mid- to late-teens so that such visits have an inspirational and aspirational value. In fact, instead of touch and go, a system could be instituted whereby the students spend a few days at these academies, maybe during a break or something when accommodation arrangements could be done. Or sponsor a group of youngsters during Passing Out Parades at different academies.
  3. Motivate, sponsor or build yourself, SSB training or coaching centres. 10 Kashmiri PBORs will not have the impact that one officer can have. Mentor and nurture the officer cadre drawn from Kashmir.
  4. Institute in collaboration with private players sporting academies or clubs. Everyone talks of Kashmiri’s passion for cricket. How come no Kashmiri finds himself in the national team? Especially today, when there is a test team, a one-day team, a T20 team and God knows how many more. I could be wrong, but I haven’t heard of a Kashmiri player even in IPL. Last year, the army organised a Kashmir Premier League tournament. When so much money was spent on that, why couldn’t you get senior cricketing heroes or officials from mainland India who could adjudge the best players and offer them scholarships to learn cricket from the best coaches in Delhi or Bombay. Ditto for football. In fact, engage with the South American footballer’s Academy in Srinagar (don’t remember if he is Brazilian or Argentinian). I believe he even takes kids abroad for youth tournaments.
 

These are random ideas. The main question that remains, however, is that, is this really the army’s job? I’d say no. It is the state government’s job, followed by the Union government. But because the people of the state have suffered so much in the last two decades, maybe they can use as much help in rebuilding their broken lives as they can get. After all, they cannot remain slaves of history forever. But because of the inherent limitations of the army, I feel the best bet for the army would be to work as much through the private sector as possible. You can generate ideas and offer security. Let the private players be the executors of those ideas. This way you can probably reach out to a much larger section, than you would be able to if you were to do this on your own. Sure, credit would be hard to come by; but if it is change that you are looking for, that would be the price for it.

 

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

General J.J. Singh plays it safe in his memoirs

By Ghazala Wahab



General Joginder Jaswant Singh has been bit of an oddity in the Indian military. While most Indian soldiers, irrespective of rank and service have been chary of the media, treating it as a necessary evil to be endured when completely unavoidable, Gen. JJ Singh, affectionately called Gen. JJ, has always courted the media fearlessly and with great enthusiasm.

As Chief of Army Staff (COAS) [and before that, as General Officer Commanding-in-Chief (GOC-in-C), Western Command], he seemed to believe that publicity was publicity — it was neither good nor bad. This is the reason that when even ordinary officers went into spasms of anxiety at the whiff of a ‘negative’ report, Gen. Singh remained unflappable. He had a penchant for issuing statements at the drop of the hat and making headlines every alternate day. That led the grand old man of Indian journalism Khushwant Singh, to write that if he didn’t stop talking, he’d end up being a source of more ‘Sardar’ jokes. So rattled was the government of the day (used to mute chiefs), by his garrulousness, that apparently, he was asked to talk less with the media.

Gen. Singh might have tried to curb his instincts. But how do you hide a flamboyant personality? When he wasn’t speaking to the press, he was being photographed at glamorous events like polo tournaments, with Page 3 regulars. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say he fashioned himself as something of a star. Someone who’d walk into a room and immediately draw attention to himself, whether intentionally or unintentionally. But there was never any doubt that he wanted to be projected in a certain way. Within a couple of weeks of taking over as COAS, this correspondent was granted an interview with the General and his wife, becoming the first guest of the first couple in the Army House. Not only did they speak extensively about themselves, about Gen. Singh’s achievements, his war wound (in Kashmir), about adopting children and so on — post interview, his office even supplied family photographs for the story. It appeared in the March 2005 issue of FORCE. He was a refreshing change from his predecessor, who did away with even the traditional Army Day press conferences during his tenure. But then, there is something called too much of a good thing. Some would say Gen. JJ Singh spoke enough for his successors too — they all remained squeamish about the media. Except Gen. V.K. Singh, who went ballistic towards the end of his tenure.

Gen. Singh is currently the Governor of Arunachal Pradesh. For someone as irrepressible as him, it was only to be expected that he’d write his memoirs and present them with the same panache he presented himself. His autobiography A Soldier’s General, published by Harper Collins, has already been released three-times over. It was released in Delhi on June 9, by the Marshal of the Indian Air Force Arjan Singh; in Mumbai on June 23, by the Governor of Maharashtra K. Sankaranarayanan; and in London on June 25, by a British member of parliament Paul Uppal and the Shaheed Nanak Singh Foundation.

Talking to the press at one of the release functions, Gen. JJ Singh said that his book was simply a narration of his life, of events as he saw them. “There is nothing controversial in my book,” he insisted with a broad smile. Weeks before the book was released, one of his former aides cautioned that one should not expect too much from the book. “It is light-reading,” he said, suggesting it would neither be contemporary history nor a quick guide to national security.

Indeed, the autobiography is an accurate reflection of Gen. Singh’s personality, putting him not only at the centre of the book but at the centre of every event in it. In that respect, both the book and the author have been extremely faithful to one another. It’s another matter that Khushwant Singh, whose advice Gen. Singh sought before embarking on this literary journey — recently wrote that he’d advised the former chief not to praise himself too much. People get put-off by that, he’d said. But the General obviously didn’t take that hint.

Gen. JJ has an explanation for that. Addressing guests at the book release function in London (a video of the speech has been uploaded on YouTube), he said that he laboured hard over the format of the book. He realised that if he was to tell his story, it would automatically read like self-praise. But there was to be no escape. “Maybe, this is the reason why so many army chiefs do not write their autobiography,” he told the audience.

If so many Indian military chiefs have desisted from writing their autobiographies, then the reason has to be more than just reluctance to praise oneself. To my mind, there are three reasons why an autobiography should be written. One, the author is such a brilliant writer that he/she has the capability of turning even the mundane into a work of literature. Two, the author’s life has been unusually eventful, he/she has been witness to history in the making and has something useful to say. Three, the author has had a very close/personal association with the powerful and the rich (mainly the former) to enable him/her to write a kiss-and-tell tale. These three conditions eliminate the need for putting oneself at the centre of the book, even if it is an autobiography because one would write as a spectator, seeing things as they happened.

While reading Gen Singh’s autobiography, I wondered if it is really difficult not to succumb to the temptation of writing things like ‘I did this’. And ‘I told so and so that...’ The immediate reference that occurred to me, was of his predecessor four times removed, Gen. Shankar Roychowdhury, COAS from November 1994 to September 1997. His autobiography, called Officially at Peace, was published by the Penguin imprint Viking, in 2002. The book starts with Gen. Roychowdhury becoming the chief. He divides chapters on the basis of issues as he saw them. And not in a chronologically linear manner. Critical of the political leadership (he worked with four prime ministers starting with Narasimha Rao and finishing with I.K. Gujral) — which he always found indifferent to national security issues, Gen. Roychowdhury appears in the book primarily as a narrator. There are hardly any personal details, because he assumed readers wouldn’t really be interested. His autobiography reads like contemporary history, putting in perspective the Indian Army’s state in the mid-Nineties, its roles across theatres, state of war-preparedness (or lack of it) and the blanket blindness over nuclear issues. He narrates in great detail his meetings with various ministers, politicians and bureaucrats at various levels. His recounting of his first meeting with the minister of state for defence (whom he does not name) upon becoming the chief and his subsequent meeting with finance minister Manmohan Singh, pleading for more funds for army modernization, are both funny and eye-opening. Ironically, Gen. Roychowdhury is not a highly decorated officer. Like Gen. K Sundarji, he only has a Param Vishisht Seva Medal (PVSM) to his name. But this is not a review of his book.

Gen. JJ seems to have been hemmed-in by two self-imposed restrictions. First, he starts with the conviction that his has been an unusually remarkable life. For him, the fact that he is a third generation military officer and the first Sikh to become the chief, itself makes for an interesting story. Hence, this narration takes care of the first section, without any attempts at giving a perspective to the prevailing circumstances then. Or insights into the politico-social conditions. Or why being the first Army chief of Sikh descent, was a big deal. While Operation Blue Star finds no mention, the 1984 anti-Sikh carnage is dismissed in a paragraph — saying no violence took place in Jammu where he was posted.

Given that his grandfather was a sepoy in the British Indian Army (deployed in France during World War I) and his father was commissioned in the Royal Indian Army Service Corps before Independence, a more thoughtful narration could have added so much more depth to the book. His grandfather was injured in France and returned home because of his debility. Did it ever cross his mind whose war he was fighting, or for what reason? How did the growing pitch of the freedom struggle affect him? Were he and/or the people in his village, aware of it or not? Did he have any patriotic dilemma regarding loyalties? His father joined the service in 1943, at a time when the freedom struggle had reached a crescendo. What were his reasons for the choice he made? The idea is not to judge them for their choices. But to understand a narrative different from what one reads in history books.

Later on, the partition of the Indian military in 1947, after which his father came to the Indian Army, deserved more than platitudes like: ‘It was a time of great stress for my parents... The effect was traumatic as well as tragic in many cases, particularly for those soldiers and their families who happened to suddenly find themselves living in the wrong country.’ Taking the easy way out, he fills his narration by quoting from different sources, often fictional. For example, to give the readers a sense of India’s Partition, he quotes from Khushwant Singh’s ‘Train to Pakistan’. Or to establish that his ancestors probably (he is not certain) were Aryans, he quotes from a glossary on tribes and castes of Punjab and the Frontier provinces. To think that he had such rich ready-made material at home, (both his parents and his wife’s parents migrated from what became Pakistan) — borrowing narrative is nothing but intellectual laziness.

The second restriction is his choice of not writing anything ‘controversial’. As a result, he says nothing at all in his book. This is a huge let-down, considering he served in important positions during crucial times. During the Kargil conflict, he was Additional Director General of Military Operations (ADGMO). During Operation Parakram (when India nearly went to war with Pakistan on two occasions) he was Commander 1 Corps, one of the Indian Army’s strike corps. He subsequently went on to command the Indian Army’s prestigious Western Command, before becoming Army Chief. Yet, he writes about all these events quoting from press reports. As if he wasn’t privy to anything himself. His chapter on becoming Chairman, Chiefs of Staff Committee (CSC) takes the cake. To describe India’s nuclear weapons’ capabilities across domains, he quotes from Wikipedia!

All this begs two questions. Who exactly did he write this book for? Is it for young soldiers, scholars of defence, general readers or merely for his extended family? Because there is nothing in the book, that is not already available in the public domain. Even details about incidents like the time he was shot near the Line of Control (LOC), or was nearly ambushed in Baramullah, frequently appeared in the media when he was the chief. Even I have written about these incidents way back in 2005!

Perhaps, nobody told Gen. JJ that writing a book isn’t like making a statement to the press. Unlike a media report, a book has a shelf life, hopefully longer than the life of the author. A book remains a reference point for the future; even those who didn’t know you learn about you through your book. Hence, I believe an autobiography should be very carefully thought through. Not only in terms of what you reveal in it but also what kind of image you convey through it. ‘Controversial’ is hardly the adjective one would use for an autobiography — it can be candid or cagey.

This raises the second question. What exactly is the purpose of this book? It is true that to some extent that the very act of writing an autobiography, smacks of self-aggrandisement. But surely it is up to the author to determine how high he wants to raise the bar. Whether he wants to gloss over crucial issues or take them head on. Instead of filling up the chapter on Kargil (during which he was the ADGMO) with press reports, he could have pointed out weaknesses in the Indian side, that led to the conflict. He could have discussed if it was a politico-military disconnect, that led to a severe loss of lives in the early days. Is it possible that Mumbai’s 26/11 happened because very few lessons were learnt from Kargil?

What feathers would Gen. JJ Singh have ruffled, if he had addressed allegations of human rights violations against the Indian Army? Instead of dismissing them by saying that ‘no violations occurred during my tenure.’ After all, the fact that violations have happened, is not a state secret. On the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), he says we should be open to the idea of incorporating humane modifications in it. But he stops short of suggesting what these could be.

And where he does dwell upon the much-bandied concept of the iron fist and the velvet glove, he draws parallels between the Indian Army’s operations in Kashmir and the United States/ North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. Is he by any chance suggesting that Kashmir is our Afghanistan? Is the Indian Army, God forbid, an occupation force in Kashmir?

His penchant for drawing parallels, leads him to draw one between himself and Pakistan’s Army Chief and subsequently its President, Gen. Pervez Musharraf. The chapter Musharraf and I is the most embarrassing one in the book. The sad part is, it was completely avoidable — both Gen. JJ Singh and his tenure as chief, had nothing to do with Musharraf at all. The two didn’t even meet. Comparisons can never be fair. I would have been horrified if somebody was to compare me with anyone in the world. And here, Gen. JJ sets himself up for a comparison, concluding that he was a better chief. Musharraf’s tenure as Pakistan Army chief will be judged by his army. His tenure as President of that country (during which, in addition to getting Major Non-Nato Ally status for his country, he got the US to give nearly USD 20 billion as aid) would be judged by his country. Forget Gen. JJ, Musharraf in his autobiography does not refer to any Indian military officer; he only talks of the heads of the state. Even if Gen. Singh believed there were favourable grounds for comparison, this alone should have dissuaded him.

The only place where Gen. JJ Singh sparkles and goes beyond his chosen circle of comfort, is writing about Arunachal Pradesh, where he is currently Governor. Perhaps, it is his fondness for the place and its people. Or simply nostalgia (he served here as a young officer). But he writes about his tenure there with affection and sincerity. Had he marshalled this sentiment throughout the book, it would certainly have been a collector’s item.

A Soldier’s General: An Autobiography

General J.J. Singh

HarperCollins, Pg 356, Rs 799

The Meadow suggests the unthinkable

By Ghazala Wahab

In the end it didn’t matter who killed the five foreign trekkers in the Kashmiri paradise. What matters is that those who could have saved them chose not to do so for reasons that can only be termed diabolical. This is the single most shocking conclusion of the 450-page, painstakingly researched and meticulously detailed book, The Meadow, written by Adrian Levy and Cathy Scott-Clark.
In the summer of 1995, six foreign trekkers — two Americans (Don Hutchings and John Childs), two British (Keith Mangan and Paul Wells), one Norwegian (Hans Christian Ostro) and one German (Dirk Hasert) — were kidnapped near Pahalgam in Kashmir in a span of a few days by an unknown group called al Faran. For a few days, the story made the front pages of the Indian newspapers speculating the identity of al Faran but also because within four days of the kidnapping, John Childs escaped. Thereafter, the kidnapping once again made news when Han Christian’s mutilated body was discovered more than a month later. Then, it fell off the radar. Sporadic reports appeared once in a while about the kidnappers’ demands till those too dried up and the four men disappeared from public memory.
I remembered the kidnapping incident when I started reporting on Kashmir nearly nine years ago. But I could not recall what eventually happened to Don Hutchings, Keith Mangan, Paul Wells and Dirk Hasert. During one of my visits to the state a few years ago, I asked a few people, journalists included, about the aftermath of the kidnapping. Were the hostages killed? Were they released in a secret compact? The answer was a shrug. People had no memory of what had happened to them. I was not the only one who had forgotten what had happened to them. It seems, except for the families of the four hostages, the world had forgotten too. ‘Until Now’, write the authors in the prologue.
Adrian Levy and Cathy Scott-Clark have not merely chronicled the kidnapping; they have attempted to tell the story of six unfortunate souls caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, along with that of their families. Woven from intensive interactions with the family members and also from the notes most of them wrote before and during their confinement, The Meadow — racy, though sometimes overwritten — builds up to the kidnapping almost like a thriller, introducing each character gradually before arriving at the denouement through multiple sources. Reading the book, one gets to know each hostage intimately, developing a fondness for them, fervently hoping for a happy ending.
But in the Kashmir of the Nineties, there were no happy endings. The happiest were the tragic endings because at least there was closure; the surviving members could mourn and bury their dead. For the rest, as for the family members of the four, life was reduced to following up with indifferent officials about the fate of the loved ones; with hope sometimes, but mostly with despair.
At some point during the incarceration, the hostages lived in Warwan Valley, east of which was Kargil. On clear days, they could see the majestic Nun-Kun massif, which are the highest Himalayan peaks in Kashmir. The shorter of the two peaks, Kun, means ‘what is’, while Nun means ‘what appears to be’. Ironically, the story of the four, as told by Levy and Scott-Clark constantly hovers between what was and what appeared to be.
Even by most Indian accounts, Nineties were the darkest Kashmiri years. Nothing was in black and white, everything being the colour of blood. Taken completely by surprise, by the uprising of 1989 and the rapid support it found among the people, the Indian government was desperate to convey to the world that what was happening in Kashmir was not an insurgency but acts of terrorism perpetuated by Pakistan. In its desperation and also to wrest physical control over the territories where militants (both Kashmiris and foreign) had a free run, accountability and humanity were given a go by. The orders from the top were to get rid of the militants/terrorists and their supporters by all means. Since the desperate government had given a long rope to the security forces, they in turn outsourced the dirty job to mercenaries (renegade militants) with one brief: Each kill will be rewarded in hard cash. In just a few years, Kashmir was in the grip of a different kind of terror unleashed by the renegades, hordes of whom built palatial houses for themselves on the bodies of those they had killed for money. It was immaterial who the dead were, as long as they were dead.
It was in these times that the legend of the unknown gunmen first came about and persists even today. The legend was useful. It hid in its fold the ugliness of both the law-breakers and the law-enforcers because in the Nineties there was a thin line dividing the two. The only difference between them was the flag under which they operated. Countless Kashmiris have been killed by unknown gunmen and the legend continues.
In this dangerous land, the trekkers arrived in the summer of 1995. There were no advisories to refer to, and the desperate tourism office of Srinagar painted a rosy picture. All trekkers were told at different times that trekking in and around Pahalgam was perfectly safe. Kicked about the ensuing adventure, the tourists ignored the fortified valley and the overwhelming presence of the security forces. The landscape was too beautiful, the people too hospitable; till they were betrayed by both.
Al Faran was less of a group and more of an operation mounted by ISI’s Harkat-ul-Ansar to secure the release of Masood Azhar and his compatriots lodged in Indian prisons. According to the book, the middle-level Kashmir police officers were able to figure that out within a few days of the kidnapping. Without any directions from the government of India, as J&K was under the Governor’s rule then, J&K police crime branch under inspector general Rajinder Tickoo ordered the creation of a secret investigative team, Squad, to figure out the kidnappings. A superintendent of police, Mushtaq Mohammed Sadiq headed the Squad. However, within weeks of the Squad getting to work, Tickoo found himself in the middle of the kidnapping fracas in the most unexpected manner. Summoned by the military advisor to the Governor, Lt Gen. D.D. Saklani (retd), Tickoo was asked to receive a phone call made by the kidnappers’ source. Tickoo’s brief was to talk and give away nothing.
Meanwhile, the Squad moved very fast, spreading its investigators among the local population, even infiltrating the Gujjar villages where the hostages were being held. Its reports to the headquarters gave painstaking details about the location and the conditions of the hostages, as well as the number of kidnappers, their duty hours, their relations with the victims and so on. The Squad was not the only one keeping a track of the kidnap party. Military reconnaissance helicopters also frequently hovered over the area where the hostages were kept for several months. The pictures it took were so close and sharp that even beads of perspiration could be seen on the faces of the hostages playing volley ball with their captors.
Yet, all requests of the Squad for a rescue operation went unanswered. Tickoo was also directed by Gen. Saklani to drag the conversation as the government of India was in no mood for negotiations. ‘There’d be no prisoner exchange,’ Saklani had made it clear. With no room for manoeuvre and no intentions of mounting a rescue operation, people like Tickoo and Sadiq improvised as they went along trying to ensure that the hostages were not harmed.
Since nobody in the government has spoken to the writers, except retired spooks who ran the unintelligible government of India policy in Kashmir, Chevy and Scott-Clark can only guesstimate what was going on. The first priority of Prime Minister Narasimha Rao’s government was the safe conclusion of the Amarnath Pilgrimage. The entire security machinery, from Rashtriya Rifles to the state police and the Paramilitary were deployed along the pilgrimage route. Despite this, the fact that the foreigners were kidnapped from the same location just days before the pilgrimage baffles the writers. Once John Childs escaped after spending four days in captivity, the kidnappers returned to the valley where trekkers were camped and were able to kidnap two more in broad daylight. The impregnable security cordon neither deterred them nor prevented the kidnapping.
Not surprisingly, the writers wonder if the kidnapping was allowed to happen, a belief reinforced by the fact that every time Tickoo reached some kind of a breakthrough in his secret negotiations with the kidnappers, eventually coming to the point when the kidnappers were ready to trade the hostages for a mere Rs 10 million, the contents of the negotiations were leaked to the press and the talks collapsed. In frustration, Tickoo went away on a long leave.
Desperate, the kidnappers approached Syed Ali Shah Geelani-headed Hurriyat Conference to broker a face-saving solution. He refused to get involved. As winters approached, the kidnappers’ desperation increased and they finally abandoned the hostages in December and fled. By Squad’s account, the hostages were handed over to the renegades (who reported to the local RR unit) and the notorious STF combine. As the kidnappers made their way out of the valley where the hostages were left behind, all of them were killed by the RR. Still, no effort was made to rescue the hostages.
While the Squad’ sources informed it that the hostages were killed on December 24 by the renegades/STF on the orders of their handlers (was it the RR, IB or both, the question is left tantalisingly dangling in the air) in the spring of 1996, the army produced a man called Naseer who it claimed was one of the handlers of the kidnappers. The man confessed that the hostages were killed by the kidnappers in the second week of December and even claimed to know where they were buried. A grand expedition was launched in which diplomats from the four Missions were invited apart from many others, to locate the graves but to no avail. Finally, the search was abandoned. In the following weeks the state police and the newly-elected state government discredited Naseer. The families were again told that hostages were alive. And that’s where the tale hangs.
Were the foreigners treated as sacrificial lambs in the unholy game of one-upmanship? Did the Indian government allow the killing of the foreigners to put an international spotlight on Pakistan as the sponsor of terrorism in India? After all, India has always traded prisoners for hostages. It did so before this incident, it did so after this incident and continues to do so even now. Like the unknown gunmen, these questions are also part of the murkiness that rules in Kashmir; the answers being too gross to countenance.
There are two ways a book like The Meadow can be treated: junk it as far-fetched, or read it to reflect on how we allowed short-term politics to brutalise and dehumanise our people and those who were meant to protect them. If a uniformed person does not flinch killing an innocent, he is a danger even to the institution he represents.
The Meadow
Adrian Levy and Cathy Scott-Clark
Penguin Books
Rs 499, Pg 490

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Flying the F-16



By Ghazala Wahab


When the call from the doctor didn’t come it was clear that clinically I have been declared fit to fly Lockheed Martin’s flagship fighter F-16. The only thing left to do now was adequate psyching up to take the pressure off. So, when a colleague expressed envy at ‘my chance of the lifetime’ to fly the fighter during Aero India 2011, I shrugged. After all, despite the choice of words, I wouldn’t really be flying, I reasoned. I would be a mere passenger. “All you know,” I joked frequently over the next few days, “I would doze off in the backseat.” This was a good strategy. It settled my nerves and gave me an air of nonchalance.


On the third day of Aero India, at three in the afternoon, I sauntered inside the Lockheed Martin stand with the feeling of semi-detachment. My flight was scheduled to take-off at five in the evening and touch down at 6.18pm. There was much bonhomie at the Lockheed stand, a bit of locker-room spirit, cheers and some back-slapping. Without much fuss, I was ushered into the small room with the flight simulator for preliminary familiarisation.


Jeff Paulk, tasked for the job, was the person I had met a year ago in Delhi. With him at the helm, I had done simulator flying for fun at that time. However, now there was purposefulness in his manner. “We have done this before,” he said in a business-like voice. “I hope you remember some of this,” he continued helping me clamber onto the simulator. My smile, which I am told by many is reasonably winsome, didn’t help as Jeff expected an answer. Sure, the simulator looked extremely familiar, but what’s with remembering commands after a year!


Anyhow, he gave me a quick rundown of the layout of the cockpit: stick on my right, throttle on my left, multi-function displays in the front. “You better pay attention,” he said. “You would be doing some amount of flying.” He can’t be serious. A few minutes of cockpit familiarisation and I would be trusted with a fighter? He thought it was a lame joke and continued explaining various aspects of the flight, target acquisition, dropping bombs, dog-fight, ground-mapping and so on. “There will be a lot of commands that will be with you,” he warned, even as he urged me to push forward the throttle. Talk of pressure. With much trepidation, I clutched the throttle and pushed. Full after-burners and the fighter took-off. I regained some of my composure. After all, what is the worst that can happen inside a simulator? But Jeff had other ideas. No sooner had I started to enjoy simulated cruising, he drew my attention to an unfriendly aircraft close by. I also had to take care of some targets on the ground.


I blinked at the series of buttons in front of me and looked at Jeff nervously. He rapidly issued instructions, most of which I pretended to understand. It didn’t help that my photographer was busy taking pictures reinforcing the idea that I was on a picnic. Since I could not shoot the enemy aircraft, I shot at my photographer instead. Subdued, he retired to one corner as I awaited further annihilation. Finally, it was over and Jeff smiled. “You did not do so badly,” he pronounced pushing me out of the room. “You will be fine,” he said as we walked towards the golf cart that was to take us to the flight line. “Everyone comes back from the flight smiling,” he said. I felt better.


My relief, however, was short-lived. The crew room at the flight line was a friendly place. There were several Lockheed Martin executives and former USAF pilots lounging around. Jeff quickly introduced me to the pilot in whose hands my life was going to be entrusted: Jim ‘Benson’ Hedges. Nothing to do with cigarettes, he assured me. With a surname like ‘Hedges’, it was only natural that he would end up with ‘Benson’ as his call sign. Jim Hedges quit the USAF a few years ago and now works with Lockheed as chief of F-16 Block 60 Pilot Training Development based in Abu Dhabi, UAE. He basically instructs the Arab pilots on F-16 Block 60. Since the F-16IN Super Viper, which the Lockheed is offering to the Indian Air Force is based on the Block 60, Jim hopes to shift base to India if F-16 is selected.


Jim was warm and particular about putting me at ease. “You can call me either Jim or Benson,” he said with an engaging smile. “Let me tell you, I am not just a pilot, I am a photographer too and I will be taking my camera with me on the flight,” he said glancing at the FORCE photographers who had by now got into a competitive mood as to who will take how many photos. But nothing dissuaded determined photographers and they stood their ground; which was more than what I was doing. Despite the general bonhomie and efforts at making me feel comfortable, I could sense pressure mounting. And it was not in my mind alone.


After a brief banter, Jim handed me over to Ricky, who was to help with fighter pilot’s gear, overalls, boots, ‘G’-suit, helmet, oxygen mask and the works. Ricky was almost paternal in his demeanour and he set about his job in a very concerned manner. Once I was kitted in and ready to go, Ricky gestured me towards the closest chair. Very patiently, he started to explain things that can go wrong during the flight and various rescue routines. “There could be a problem with the aircraft on the runway itself,” he said sombrely, “the engine could be on fire and you would have to abort the flight. If this happens, you will hear Jim’s voice in your headphones, saying egress, egress, egress. On the third call, remember the 2-1-2 routine,” he said matter-of-factly. The routine basically involved unhooking two shoulder plugs, one seat belt and two side hooks, all of which collectively pin you down to your seat.


Jim, who was passing through, piped in with his advice. “I’ll probably be able to unhook myself faster so I will be able to help you,” he said, adding, “Nevertheless, you will have to leap onto the fuel tank and jump off the aircraft.” Jump? Without the ladder? “Of course,” he said. “There will be no time for the ladder. And you will have to get off the runway as fast as you can. More pilots have been hurt by the rushing fire-tankers than jumping off the aircraft.” Having made his point, Jim carried on as Ricky gave me a sympathetic look.


Patting my knee, he continued. “There can be an emergency during the flight where you will be required to eject. You will hear Jim’s voice saying eject, eject, eject. On the third call, the canopy will fly open and before you can even blink, you will be in the air, merrily cruising towards the ground with your parachute.” Jim returned. “However, your worse nightmare would be a bird-hit that knocks me off,” Jim said. “You’ll know it because you will see feathers all over the cockpit.” Sure, I wouldn’t have noticed that we were going to crash. “In such a situation, you will have to eject us both. Once you are in the aircraft you will notice the ejection cord between your legs.”


Ricky patted both my knees. “Whatever happens, you must remember the most important thing,” he said gently. “You must have fun.” Yeah, between emergencies on the ground and emergencies in the air, I will certainly have fun. Time for the ‘G’ suit, Ricky announced and produced a contraption that looked more like a manacle. It fitted snugly around my waist, thighs and calves with a loop at the back to provide seat in case I return to earth on a parachute. Walking with the ‘G’ suit was odd, forget about the added weight. By now I had internalised all the emergencies routines and was actually looking forward to the flight. Or maybe I wanted to get it over with fast.


Walking towards the aircraft, I asked Jim, “Is it necessary to fly for an hour and 18 minutes?” “We can do less if you want,” he said quickly. As I weighed my answer, he added, “I have kept an hour and 18 minutes for you. Let me know how you feel during the flight and we will decide then.” Ricky accompanied us to the aircraft, primarily to ensure that I was fitted in snugly. I was given tiny ear muffs to ward off the noise over which I pushed down the helmet which plastered my hair to my scalp. Then came the oxygen mask which pressed so hard against my cheek bones that I had to constantly hold it down. Watching me do this, Ricky got anxious. “Are you claustrophobic, he enquired. “Not at all,” I said firmly putting the mask back, cheekbones be damned.


“Though you won’t be flying at altitudes where you will require oxygen,” Ricky explained, “you need to wear the mask to speak with Jim during the flight because the mouth-piece is fitted in inside.” By this time Jim had settled down in the front seat and we quickly went over all the commands and instructions once again.


As we waited for the ATC clearance, Jim ran me through the stuff we were going to do in the air. There would be some basic manoeuvres, like rolls and loops, target acquisition and so on. Jim also assured me that he will create a few emergencies for me to respond to. For instance, at some stage during the flight he will pretend to be a rookie pilot who has got disoriented after a couple of loops. He will allow the aircraft to free fall and call out to me for help. All I’ll have to do is remove my hand from the stick and push a button called PARS on the right-hand side panel. PARS stands for Pilot Activated Recovery System, and according to Jim is unique to F-16 Block 60.


However, the most important aspect of this flight was going to be the AESA radar. Jim said, “The F-16 Block 60 is the only fighter in the MMRCA competition that has operational AESA radar. This is the reason we have brought the leased the aircraft from the UAE Air Force with the AESA radar. No other aircraft at Aero India is flying with AESA radar.” Hence, a good portion of the flight would focus on demonstrating the capabilities of Northrop Grumman’s APG-80 AESA radar.


Finally, we got the green signal, the canopy closed and we started to taxi. As Jim kept up the chatter it took him a few minutes to realise that he could not hear me. Take-off was aborted, canopy was raised and Ricky came running with a new mask. This one worked and we resumed taxiing. However, having lost a few minutes, we missed our take-off window and had to wait for a couple of landings and a take-off before we could take off. While we were waiting, Jim got IAF’s An-32 on the radar screen much before we could see it in the sky against the setting sun. We kept tracking the aircraft on the MFD till it landed. Jim said that we could lock on to the aircraft much before it became aware of our presence.


After a wait of nearly 20 minutes we were cleared to fly. As the fighter accelerated on the runway and I was pinned against by back-rest, Jim asked me to arm my seat which basically means making it ejection-ready by hooking it onto the parachute. No sooner had I pushed the lever, F-16 left the ground in one smooth swoop. Whoops! I nearly screamed looking down the glass cockpit. Sweeping at an angle, the aircraft continued to rise with the sun behind us. Jim first rolled to the right and without giving me a chance to recover rolled to the left. It was exhilarating. When I told Jim that it was fun, he urged me to wield the stick and do the barrel roll on my own. “And keep your eyes on the central display,” he said. “That is where you track the ‘G’s”. The stick operates almost on suggestions. A gentle tug to the right and the aircraft started to roll. “Faster, faster,” yelled Jim. “Now pull the stick,” he said and the aircraft went nose up in air. On the central display, the figures went from 2G to 3G. I felt my g-suit inflate a bit pushing against my stomach and thighs, blood draining from my hands momentarily, but it was over quickly.


“How do you feel?” asked Jim. I was alright. Encouraged, Jim said that I seemed ready for 5G. I didn’t want to commit myself to 5G, so I let Jim interpret my silence. He interpreted it as an affirmative. And once again we went nose up. The G-suit inflated, pushing the air out of my lungs. I remembered what Ricky told me about breathing. I clenched my thighs and abdomen and started to suck in and push the air out fiercely. Goggle-eyed I stared at the MFD: 2G... 3G... 4G... 5G... “We have done five,” I screamed in the mouthpiece. ...6G “Are we doing more than five?” I screamed again. My hands barely had any sensation. Equally suddenly the fighter nose-dived straight towards the ground.


We had completed the loop. Before I could savour the sensation of having done over 5G, Jim’s voice crackled, “I am disoriented, you will have to set the aircraft right. You know what to do, don’t you.” Oh yes, I smiled to myself as I caught sight of the PARS button. But my hand refused to go there. My body cannot give up on me just when my spirit was soaring. Using my left hand to give the right one a shove, I pushed the PARS button just in time. In one swing movement, the fighter rose again till it was flying parallel to the ground.


We were now flying directly towards the sun; though the sun-visor on the helmet protected the eyes, the visibility was pretty hazy. Jim turned the radar on. Among various other things, APG-80 AESA radar can perform three functions simultaneously: it can search and acquire air to air targets, it can acquire air to ground targets and it can map the terrain at the same time. Jim tracked one aircraft and zoomed in for my benefit. At the same time, on the other screen I could see a cluster of buildings in which Jim searched for the purported target. The third screen was mapping the terrain, comprising a hillock and what looked like mines.


I had practised target acquisition and bomb-dropping in the simulator but doing this while in the air gave a completely different meaning to fighter flying. It was a good thing we were flying without weapons. After a few more twists and turns we dived again to land. Just as quickly as we had taken off we landed. Despite the speed, there was no thud. It was the gentlest ever touch-down. Putting the seat back in the safe mode, I finally took off the oxygen mask and the helmet. The canopy opened and I was happy to feel the cool evening breeze on my face. The sun had set, leaving a red stain in the sky.


In the fading lights of the day, Jim and I walked towards the crew room. “I believe,” he said, “the F-16 that we are offering to India is the best for its needs.” I wanted to sit down for a moment, maybe rest awhile. Jim nodded. “You must be feeling tired,” he said gently. “It happens when you fly for the first time. I smiled at him. He was ready for another flight.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

IN GADDAFI'S LAND

By Ghazala Wahab


The Libyan supreme commander Col Muammar Gaddafi has turned out to be more obdurate than what the world imagined. Perhaps, there should have been no surprise in this. Gaddafi, who has ruled Libya with a messianic fervour, believes that he is God’s chosen one; which is why he rules without holding any office. Offices, with their attendant powers and responsibilities are for the ordinary, not for the one who rules by divine sanction. Hence, anyone who opposes Gaddafi opposes the will of God and must be silenced with whichever means possible.

In this spring of freedom, the biggest dictators have bowed down to the domestic will coupled with international pressure. Sure, they did not go easily. Both Zine El Abidine of Tunisia and Hosni Mubarak of Egypt tried to suppress the uprising in the initial days. And those who did not go have made promises of civil liberties and better life to their people, whether they will be kept or not is another story. But none deployed the air force or heavy armoury against their own people, except of course Gaddafi.

But I shouldn’t have been surprised. In 1996, I had an opportunity to visit Libya. One dubious Delhi-based non-government organisation put together a delegation comprising relatives and friends to give a peace award to Gaddafi. To give this delegation a degree of credibility and professionalism, a few journalists were invited to jump on the bandwagon. Clearly, both the award and the delegation were sponsored by Libya. I presume, most respectable journalists would have declined to become part of this racket. Hence, my editor asked me, a newcomer to the profession, to go on this five-day jamboree, during which we were supposed to meet Gaddafi. Because of the sanctions, no international flights were allowed into Libya. Hence, from India we flew to Paris, spent the night there, took a flight to Tunis City in Tunisia the following day, yet another flight to the beach town of Djerba and finally from Djerba we drove to Libya at night.

Even in darkness, we knew the moment we crossed into Libya. Giant posters of Gaddafi, lit up at night welcomed us at the border where our passports were confiscated by the border security. Since we reached our hotel in Tripoli in the early hours, we were encouraged to sleep in. Later that day, an escort team came to show us around Tripoli. The first stop was the war museum, the old Presidential palace which was bombed 10 years ago by the US. Each broken column and shrapnel was preserved. It was a fascinating walk till we reached what used to be the private quarters of Qaddafi. In the middle of the room was a baby cot, complete with duvet and mosquito net.

“This is where His Excellency’s adopted daughter Hanna was asleep when the American bomb killed her,” said the escort in hushed tone, in obvious deference to dead. Wasn’t it strange, I asked him, when everyone, Gaddafi and each of his children had the opportunity to run away before the bombing (they were warned about the impending bombing either by the Italian or the Maltese government), how come no one remembered to pick up the infant? The escort ignored the question and we moved into the next room. I whispered to my accompanist, “Obviously, the girl was not picked up because she was an adopted child and good propaganda material.” He looked at me with horror. The escort was looking directly at us.

That evening I had visitors in my room: Our day escort came with a woman who he introduced as his wife. “You are an enthusiastic journalist. I am sure you want to know more about Libya. You can ask us anything.” His ‘wife’ did not speak a word of English. She gave a sort of oral presentation in rapid Arabic, which the escort duly translated. There was no room for any questions. In any case, neither of us knew what the other was saying and had to depend completely on the escort. After a few minutes, I realised that I was being tutored on how great the supreme commander is and what sacrifices he has made for the people of Libya. Before leaving he gave me a copy of the ‘Green Book’, Gaddafi’s gospel, with the instructions that I must read it before I ask more questions.

We were supposed to meet Gaddafi the next day, but he suddenly decided to retreat to his desert camp for a few days. We were told by our escort that we should use this time to get to know Libya better. In any case, there wasn’t much to do. There was no television, no international calling in our rooms and we were not allowed to go out of the hotel on our own. In the day time we used to do sight-seeing and in the evening, I was singled out for further education. Every evening our escort used to bring a different person to my room to give me a lecture on Libya. One evening, he brought along a poet who was declared the national poet of Libya by the supreme commander himself. Needless to say, his collection of work included several paeans to Gaddafi.

After five days, I was tired and homesick. I requested the head of the delegation if I could return to India. He first tried to persuade me to stay on, but when I told him that I was missing my family far too much as I had not been able to even talk with them, he assured me that he would do his best to help me. That evening nobody came to my room. But after midnight, somebody knocked on my door. There were two men, looking reasonably menacing. They warned me that if I insist on returning before the completion of the tour they would put me on a ship to Malta. I was truly shaken up. As part of the delegation was an elderly journalist, who knew the Indian ambassador in Tripoli. Next morning, at breakfast I narrated the incident to him. He promised to get a word across to the Indian ambassador. The biggest hurdle was that we did not have our passports. That night, there were knocks on my door again. The following morning the escort came to see me. He told me to reconsider my decision, failing which he shrugged, “Very well,” he said. “This is a free country. If you want to go we cannot stop you.” I got my passport back during the day and was told to prepare to leave the next morning. I slept fitfully that night.

It was still dark when I was woken up by forceful thumping on my door. It was the escort who came to accompany me till Djerba. As I came down with my luggage, I realised that I would be alone with him and the chauffeur all through the journey. All sorts of dreadful possibilities raced through my mind as we drove in silence for a few hours. Finally, just as the day broke, we reached Djerba airport. The escort gave me my return tickets and drove off. Finally, I could breathe again.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

In the Name of God


It is an unlikely headquarters for an organisation that transcends continents and enjoys membership of nearly a billion devout in places as diverse as Brazil and South Korea. The white mosque, called Masjid Banglewali, which towers over the surrounding buildings in the neighbourhood of the famed Nizamuddin Dargah and overlooks the Urs Mahal, the erstwhile abode of the revered Sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya in New Delhi is the international headquarters of Tablighi Jamaat, roughly translated as the group for the propagation of Islam in its truest spirit. The address couldn’t have been more ironic.
The 13th century Sufi Nizamuddin Auliya was and is revered by men, women and children of all religious persuasions who throng his tomb. Such divinity was associated with him that even noblemen and women, including a Mughal Princess, sought to be buried close to him to benefit from the holiness permeating the area. To be located in such a neighbourhood is ironic for the Tablighi Jamaat because the Jamaatis do not believe in Sufism and refuse to accept the divinity accorded to the sufi saints. Moreover, the entire neighbourhood of Nizamuddin West is redolent with all things that are anathema to the Tablighis but were the staple of the Sufis: devotional music, flowers, road side eateries and a general air of celebration of life. But ironies, such as these, are lost in the busy lanes (that criss-cross the headquarters) housing small shops selling a range of goods from raw meat, fruits and flowers to colourful caps and audio cassettes featuring songs and qawwalis associated with Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, mainly composed by his most-devoted disciple Amir Khusro. All kinds of people swarm the lanes — locals, tourists and the visitors to the dargah. Yet, members of the Tabligh stand out because of their thick moustache-less beards, skull caps and white pyjamas, which ends just short of the ankles. For Tablighis all over the world, this is a uniform, a kind of an identification badge that sets them apart from the rest of the non-Tablighi world.

The Elusive Amir
Zuhar, the Friday afternoon prayer, is a busy time at Masjid Banglewali. Apart from the locals, Tablighis from all over India come here. The mosque is important, not only because it is the headquarters but also because Maulana Saad, the descendent of the founder of the Tablighi movement, Maulana Muhammed Ilyas Kandhalwi, and the current head resides here. Even though Maulana Saad is no longer called the Amir, the position was abolished after the death of Maulana Inamul Hasan a few years back, for most Tablighis praying at the mosque at least once in a lifetime and listening to the discourses of Maulana Saad holds a special place. Hence, on most Fridays, apart from the locals, many outsiders also come to the mosque for the afternoon prayer. Manzar Alam, a shopkeeper from Amroha, a small town in Uttar Pradesh, comes as regularly to Delhi to pray at the mosque as possible. “We live in bad times,” he says stepping out of the mosque, his face bend slightly with his eyes boring in the ground. Under the Tabligh’s regulation, he cannot look at any adult woman who is neither his first blood relation nor his wife. “There aren’t many holy men around to inspire one to stay on the path of righteousness. I come here because I find Maulana Sahib’s presence very illuminating. His bayaan (sermon) fills me with a sense of lightness,” he says. In his forties, Alam continues in this vein for a few more minutes occasionally playing with his beard, when he suddenly sees light. Turning away, he refuses to talk any further. “I am sorry, but you are making me commit a sin,” he explains hurriedly. “When the veil was made mandatory for women, even their voices were silenced. Hearing the voice of an unrelated woman is as much a sin as looking at her unveiled face.” Saying this he storms back into the mosque.
Looking completely conspicuous despite modest clothes complete with a headscarf, I skulk around the mosque looking for someone who could help facilitate an audience with Maulana Saad, who being the senior most member of the Shura, the governing council, and a descendent of the founder has assumed some kind of a leadership role. Since his sermon is going on, I am advised to go to his living quarters to confabulate with his wife. A teenaged Tablighi with barely-there beard, who probably has still not learnt that it is a sin to escort an unrelated woman into a lane helps me reach his residence behind the mosque but we are stopped by a burly, bearded Tablighi. Perhaps, out of the novelty of meeting a woman reporter or maybe because of the goodness of his heart, the teenager persuades the burly man to go inside and request the lady (Maulana Saad’s wife) to see me. Grumpily, the burly man goes in and comes back with a curt, “She does not want to see any press reporters.” But may I just come inside and wait for the Maulana to return from the mosque so that she can conduct a three-way conversation between us as the Maulana would not hear my voice, I plead. The teenager joins me in pleading with him. But the burly bearded man remains unmoved. Since his faith does not allow him to physically push me away, he remains at the gate, blocking the way with his eyes boring into the ground. “I have committed enough sin by talking to you. Please go away now. The Maulana does not like talking to the press,” he says, moving towards shutting the gate. The teenager shrugs helplessly and leaves. Turning back, I stumble inside a bookshop selling books on Islam just opposite the mosque. The shelves are lined with books in English, Hindi and Urdu on such subjects as Islamic jurisprudence, role and rights of women in Islam, Muslims’ relationship with Jews and Christians (the other people of the book), Islamic banking and so on. Right next to the door is a shelf full of books on Tablighi Jamaat and the teachings for Maulana Ilyas in a number of languages, including French, German and Spanish. I pick up an English language version. The shopkeeper says, “These translations are very popular among foreign Jamaatis who come here.” How often do they come here? “Very often,” he says, “Sometimes, once a month.” Where do they stay? “Inside the mosque. It is very huge and can accommodate a large number.”

Early Start
It was a good thing that I did not get discouraged by the brief encounter outside Masjid Banglewali. Over the next few days, in places as diverse as Moradabad, Agra, Aligarh and Mumbai, I discovered Jamaatis of various hues and devotion. And not all unwilling to talk to a woman. Though many people discover religion in old age after having lived a full life, the most committed Tablighis are those who start early. According to Salim Khan, a Moradabad-based exporter and an occasional Tablighi, “The Tablighi members watch out for young boys who have finished their board examinations. It is not difficult to find out from the neighbourhood mosque as to which boys have taken the examination that year. Once the holidays begin, they start frequenting those houses, urging the fathers to send their young sons to the mosque. Since it is such an innocuous request and since most Muslims in any case pray at the neighbourhood mosque at least once a week, the youngsters do come too. Gradually, for want of anything else, they listen to the sermons as well.” However, the real initiation happens when the youngsters are persuaded to accompany a travelling party of Tablighis on a proselytising mission.
For Salim Khan, the initiation happened at the age of 15 and almost had an air of adventure. “It was the first time in my life that I was travelling outside Moradabad without my parents. A few of my friends also came along, so it was like an excursion. We visited villages, bathe at the tube-wells and ate sugarcanes in the fields.” The group went to a small place called Joya close to Amroha for a three-day proselytising trip. During such trips, the Jamaatis stay at the local mosques, do all their chores, like washing, cooking and cleaning themselves and whenever there is time from all this and praying they visit the houses of the local Muslims inviting (dawa) them to come to the mosque for some sermons. Probably because of his enthusiasm, Khan did not find the trip strenuous, though the elders in the group usually ensure that the boys are on their toes most of the time.
An ordinary day of the travelling proselytiser starts at 3am for a special prayer session called Tahajjud, after which those who want are allowed to go back to sleep while the rest continue to pray. Finally, everyone is required to get up by five in the morning for Fajr, the first prayer of the day. This is followed by a religious discourse or taalim for about 20 minutes. Then yet another prayer after sunrise called Ishraq after which breakfast is served. For the next one hour, the Tablighis are free to either rest or go out in the neighbourhood with a guide or rahbar to invite people to the mosque. More rest follows for an hour and a half, which doubles up as personal time. At 10, a group meeting is held to discuss the plans for the next 24 hours. Called mashwara or deliberation, here all members of the visiting Jamaat are free to give their suggestions about how best to rope in more and more local people. After the meeting, it is back to taalim for two hours which culminates in lunch just before the Zuhar prayer immediately after noon. Since many local people also come to the mosque for the afternoon prayers, they are requested to stay back for a 20 minute bayaan or sermon session with the Amir of the travelling Jamaat. Some rest followed by more taalim at 3pm both through religious books and a Tablighi Jamaat primer called the ‘Six Numbers’ which was evolved by Maulana Ilyas and fine-tuned by Maulana Zakaria Kandhalwi in his book Fazail-e-Amal. This lists six principals which all Tablighi members must adhere to. Borrowed from the basic principals of Islam in general, in the hands of the Tablighis, they acquire a missionary objective. The six principals are:
1. Kalimah, which is an article of faith for all Muslims exhorting that there is no God but Allah and Prophet Muhammad is His messenger.
2. Salaat refers to five compulsory prayers or namaz in a day: Fajr, Zuhar, Asar, Maghrib and Isha.
3. Ilm and Zikr literally mean knowledge and preaching of Islam. Zikr usually happens in the mosque after the namaz when a senior member of the Tabligh sermonises the assembled congregation.
4. Ikram-i-Muslim enumerates the responsibilities of Muslims towards co-religionists.
5. Ikhlas-i-Niyat refers to reforming oneself so that one leads a pious life in the service of Allah without any personal desires and ambitions.
6. Tafrigh-i-Waqt involves devoting time and efforts not only to leading a life of piety but also in inviting and encouraging others to do the same by travelling not only within the country but outside as well.
This session continues for over an hour after which the Jamaatis just have time to have a quick tea before the Asar prayer which is again followed by a bayaan and neighbourhood visits inviting people to come to the mosque to listen to the sermons during the next prayer Maghrib. More bayaan continues for nearly an hour with the locals who heed the call and come to the mosque. Post dinner, there is Isha namaz after which the group breaks off and goes on individual proselytising rounds in the area focussing on whom they think did not attend the bayaan. By 10 it is lights out as the next day would again begin at three.
Clearly, life in the Jamaat hardly leaves one with time for anything else. But then as Atiq Sheikh, a Mumbai-based member of the Jamaat says, “Jamaat recharges your religious batteries. As long as you are praying you are not sinning. So if you are a committed Tablighi you have less opportunity to sin.” If only the post 9/11 world had this simplistic view of the Tablighi Jamaat.

New Fears
Though most analysts who have studied the Tablighi movement maintain that it is a benign and a quietist organisation, in the last few year members of the Jamaat have come under suspicion in different countries for different reasons. The trademark Jamaat dress code — ankle-exposing lower garment, moustache-less beard and a skull cap — that sets them apart now often causes suspicion. Last year, a Jamaat from Moradabad travelling to Brazil was detained at Delhi’s international airport. The airlines, Al Italia, which they were taking to the Brasilian capital via Rome, refused to board them. Though it did not specify why, but probably the appearance of the Jamaat members and the refusal of other passengers to board the same aircraft played a role. Their tickets were cancelled and though they were refunded on the spot, the Jamaatis had to wait in Delhi for a couple of days before they could take the South African airlines. This was not an isolated case. Following the bomb blasts on the local trains in Mumbai in July 2006, the Indian investigating agencies working on the Bangladeshi terrorist angle detained a group of bearded Muslims from Mumbai in Assam on the suspicion of being terrorists. After a few days of detention and interrogation they were allowed to leave as no evidence linked them to the blast. They were members of a Tablighi Jamaat from Mumbai who had gone to Assam on a proselytising mission. Similarly, when the Pakistani cricket coach Bob Woolmer was found dead in mysterious circumstances in his hotel room during the last Cricket World Cup, the most popular conspiracy theory being circulated was that a member of the Tablighi Jamaat may have killed him as Woolmer was not happy about the Jamaat’s influence over the Pakistani cricket team. Nearly half of Pakistani cricket team, including captain Inzamam-ul-Haq are members of Tablighi Jamaat and take prayer breaks even during play. It is another matter that subsequently it turned out that Woolmer was not murdered after all. But the controversy once again put the Tabligh under spotlight with speculations about their links with such terrorist groups as al Qaeda, Jaish-e-Mohammed and Lashkar-e-Taiyyaba.
Outside Asia also, members of the Tablighi Jamaat have frequently come under cloud. In the last few years, individual terrorists indicted in the US such as Richard Reid (shoe bomber), Jose Padilla (dirty bomber) and Lyman Harris who tried to blow the Brooklyn Bridge were all found to have been members of the Tablighi Jamaat at some stage. In Europe and North Africa, a large number of terrorists arrested for the Casablanca blasts of 2003 were also found to have had connections with the local chapters of the Tabligh. Yusef Fikri, the leader of the Moroccan terrorist organisation At-Takfir wal-Hijrah, who was sentenced to death for his role in the Casablanca attack by the Moroccan authorities, was also a member of Tablighi Jamaat. Basing their assessments on such examples, some analysts tend to portray Tabligh as a sinister organisation, a breeding ground for terrorists, whose ultimate objective in the words of French Tablighi expert Marc Gaborieau is nothing short of a ‘planned conquest of the world’ in the spirit of jihad. To support their arguments and to further their conspiracy theories, such analysts give the example of conversions to Islam taking place in the US. According to rough estimates, some 30,000 African-Americans convert to Islam in the US prisons every year. Writing in Middle East Quarterly in 2005, Alex Alexiev said that, “As a result of Tablighi and Wahhabi proselytising, African Americans comprise between 30 and 40 per cent of the American Muslim community, and perhaps 85 per cent of all American Muslim converts. Much of this success is due to a successful proselytising drive in the penitentiary system. Prison officials say that by the mid-1990s, between 10 and 20 per cent of the nation’s 1.5 million inmates identified themselves as Muslims.”

Early Days
While such assessments are exaggerated and portray Tablighi Jamaat as a sinister body, the fact is that the nature of the organisation itself does nothing to allay these suspicions. Founded by Maulana Muhammed Ilyas Kandhalwi in the 1920s in India, the primary objective of the Tablighi Jamaat was to reform Islam, not in a progressive but a regressive way. In the early 20th century, Muslims in India were extremely backward, economically, socially and politically. The modernising movement of Sir Sayyid Ahmed, the founder of the Aligarh Muslim University, was encouraging Muslims to take to English education so that they could compete for government jobs. He and other liberals created a class of Muslims who were less conservative and more Westernised in their lifestyle. A majority of these Muslims had embraced secular values and were more inclined towards social mobility than ritualistic religion. All this deeply troubled Maulana Ilyas. In one of his early discourses, he said, “The evil and harm that goes with ‘Molvi Fadil’ examinations (MA, PhD etc degrees) offered by the government is not fully realised by us. These examinations are given so that the candidates may get certificates in order to find employment in English schools... There can be no greater injustice to religious education that the fact that those who are equipped with it, ultimately become instruments in serving the interest of the enemies of Islam.”
To save the souls of the fellow Muslims, Maulana Ilyas started the Tabligh movement. According to him, merely following the tenets of Islam, like prayer, fasting, charity and pilgrimage was not enough. Propagation of Islam was even more important and the glory of the religion would not be possible unless spread through personal examples. His emphasis was on anti-modern and a regressive form of Islam. He emphasised only on religious education shunning modern subjects and preached complete segregation of sexes. The Tabligh focussed only on religious obligations of individual Muslims, ignoring the social responsibilities, thereby not undertaking any social or charitable work. A Deobandi by belief, Maulana Ilyas’ inspiration was Wahhabism of Saudi Arabia, which laid down a strict code of conduct for both men and women. But unlike Deobandis, he also envisaged a proselytising role for the Muslims, which by extension had controversial overtones. However, to enable the movement to grow it was important that it did not attract any controversies; hence Tabligh tried to remain completely apolitical in its approach. The only visible mark of the Jamaat was the dress code. Says Saifullah, an Agra-based Jamaati who became a Tablighi member three years ago, “What is wrong in having a visible identity, don’t the Sikhs have it too? Moreover, we are not blindly aping rock stars and film stars. We are only trying to copy the style of our Prophet.”
Right from the beginning, Tabligh tried to remain a secretive organisation, sometimes giving the impression of being almost amorphous. Yet, it had a proper structure, which over the years has been replicated in all the chapters of Tablighs throughout the world. At the top is the Amir or president, who heads the seven-member Shura (governing council) based in the international headquarters at New Delhi. The Tablighs are subsequently broken into regions, countries, districts, cities and localities, with each having its own shura and amir. There is substantial delegation of power and individual shuras generate their own resources and take their own decisions. The headquarters in Delhi is more of an inspirational rather than an executive body. However, according to Khan, from time to time the headquarters in Delhi summons amirs from different regions to review the progress of the movement. Regions which register poor performance get additional focus from the head office. This explains why Jamaats from all over the world visit Delhi periodically.
During the lifetime of Maulana Ilyas, the Tablighi Jamaat strengthened within India and parts of South Asia. However, once his son Maulana Yusuf took over as the second Amir in 1946, the group expanded its reach. With the Partition of India, a chapter was established in Pakistan and through the collective efforts of Jamaats in India and Pakistan the group started reaching out to Southwest and Southeast Asia, Africa, Europe, and North America, initially working through the India Diaspora but subsequently through conversions as well. While Dewsbury in UK became the centre of activities for Europe, Al-Falah mosque in Queens, New York became the hub for the Americas. While the leadership of the Tabligh remained in the family of Maulana Ilyas, the office of the Amir was abolished after the death of Maulana Inamul Hasan, which is why the present incumbent Maulana Saad is not called the Amir.
At the most basic level, that of a city, the Jamaat is dominated by the elder members, buzurgwan, who form the shura. They appoint the Amir from among themselves on a rotation basis for that city who takes decisions by consensus. This body decides the travel (for proselytising) plans of the Jamaat and organises funds to support the travel. Each travelling member is required to meet his own expenses. The travelling or the chilla can be for three days, 40 days or four months. Only those Jamaatis who have travelled for four months at a stretch within the country, leaving their homes and businesses are eligible to travel abroad. However, these are not rigid rules, and those who can pay for their passage and stay and perhaps sponsor some fellow Tablighi as well can travel abroad for propagation of Islam. Summing up the thinking of a Jamaati, Usman Khan, Aligarh-based trader who has been committed to the Tabligh for the last 15 years and goes on a four months’ chilla every year says, “When you join the Tabligh you leave all your worries to Allah. He takes care of your family and work. When I travel with the Jamaat, I never worry about my wife and children because I entrust them to Allah.”

Areas of Concern
When the war on terror started, a large number of Islamic organisations, even those which have a passing allegiance with the Deobandi or the Wahhabi school of thought came under scrutiny, courtesy al Qaeda and its offshoots like Lashkar-e-Taiyyaba and Jaish-e-Mohammed. Tabligh has evolved from the Deobandi school and propagates a very exclusive and conservative form of Islam which by its very idea suggests intolerance for other religions. Maulana Ilyas’ worldview comprised Muslims and enemies of Islam, and by definition enemy suggests conflict. Moreover, Tabligh preaches non-participation in social and political activities, which make Jamaatis misfits and almost outsiders in the society. An escapist vision of religion and fantasies of an Islamic utopia renders hardcore Jamaatis unemployable and hence easy fodder for anti-social activities.
Though Tabligh does not preach sedition, visions of an Islamic world or Islamic domination of the world frequently figure in their discourses. In response to a question on why Muslims were not granted leadership of the world, Maulana Ilyas had said, “When we do not fulfil the commandments of Allah and refrain from the forbidden in our personal lives over which we have full control… then how is it possible that we be entrusted with the governing of this world. It is only through the decision of Allah that the believers may be granted government on the earth so that they may seek His pleasure and establish His laws in the world.” (Malfoozaat: Discourses of Maulana Ilyas) Establishing a Muslim empire is a recurring theme throughout Tablighi preachings. Notwithstanding the historical inaccuracies, Saifullah says, “Three hundred years ago Muslims ruled the world, but then they started wavering from the path of Allah and lost power. If we strictly adhere to the right path, inshallah we will rule the world again.” Tablighi Jamaats do not propagate Jihad-e-Asghar (the struggle waged with sword), only Jihad-e-Akbar (the greater Jihad that one wages with oneself to lead a more upright and pious life), but their intense indoctrination which often starts at a very young age robs the person of individual thinking and the capacity for logical reasoning. By repeatedly emphasising on the superiority of Islam as opposed to other religions and by strict gender segregation, the Tabligh intensifies the intolerance level of the individuals. Gilles Kepel in his book The War for Muslim Minds: Islam and the West, writes, “The intense indoctrination preached by the sheikhists reduces their flock’s capacity for personal reasoning, which makes these followers easy prey for a clever jihadists’ preacher.” Moreover, since committed Jamaatis travel with the groups for four months at a stretch, they clearly cannot hold regular jobs, which to some extent speak of their and their family’s economic security thereby adding to their overall vulnerability.
However, the biggest cause of concern is its slightly nebulous organisational structure which makes it vulnerable to exploitation by vested interests. According to Salim Khan, Tabligh has no mechanism for background checks of its members. Since it is entirely a voluntary project, members come and go as they wish. Besides, during chillas, anybody can come and attend the bayaan at the mosque. In fact, the annual Tablighi Jamaat congregation at Raiwind in Pakistan has become some kind of a fishing pond for terrorist groups like Jaish and Lashkar. At the 2006 congregation which was attended by nearly a million people, members of Jaish and Lashkar not only mingled with the Jamaatis freely but also addressed quite a few sessions. It is not certain how many members they managed to rope in for terrorist activities, but it is not difficult to imagine how people brought up on a staple of Islamic superiority would react when told about the sufferings of fellow Muslims at the hand of the enemies of Islam. This is particularly worrisome for India as in any case the normal rhetoric in Pakistan is anti-India; when combined with religious zeal and images of Muslim sufferings in Gujarat, Kashmir and other places it can be a lethal cocktail.

Holding Out
Yet, it would be a bit of an over-reaction to immediately jump up and impose restrictions on Tablighi Jamaat or proscribe it. Despite individual cases, there has not been a single instance so far of the involvement of Tabligh as an organisation in any terrorist activity. But given its nebulous structure and the complete absence of accountability it is important that the veil of secrecy be lifted. Even though it is difficult to do a background check on all its travelling members, but some form of internal screening should be put into place. Since Tablighi members travel in groups, their travel arrangements, including passports and Visas are issued as a group, where individual checks are often neglected. This makes Tabligh a good cover for terrorists and anti-social elements. There is also a need for better accountability in the areas of funding as well. At the moment, Jamaats keep no record of any money received or spent. They claim that they function purely on the donations of their members, but there is no mechanism to check if they receive donations from patrons abroad as well and how that money is spent. By abjuring social responsibilities and focussing solely of religious propagation, Tabligh creates intellectually stunted, selfish people who consider themselves outsiders in a society. A large group, running into millions, believing itself to be an outsider is certainly not good news for any society.