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February 2002, Ahmedabad: I was preparing for my final exams for that degree that hardly matters now. The exams were to start from March 15. More than studying during that study-leave, I was dreaming about my holidays... where would it be this time? Mountains or beach? But before I could decide, channels flashed the news of S-6 of Sabarmati Express set on fire... More than 50 ramsevaks dead, including women and children...
Honestly, I was unaware of the magnitude of the massacre that day. Soon news trickled in that Vishwa Hindu Parishad had called for a Gujarat Bandh. And before I could digest the news that kept flowing after that, I soon realised I had developed a serious indigestion, something that I have yet to recover from.
In days to follow, Muslims were set on fire, butchered, raped, abused, humiliated, tortured, killed, disposed, buried... and forgotten.
But it was the sight of about 50 men, with saffron bands on their foreheads, shouting 'Jai Shri Ram' and heading towards a neighbourhod hotel, that will never leave my memory...
There I was, standing, a spectator along with my other neighbours (mostly women), watching these so-called 'God's men' armed with swords and torches set ablaze hotel Tulsi owned by a Muslim...
A little later, satisfied with their act of bravery, they left happy and smiling...
But among all the spectators, the one that caught my eye was the Gujarat Police... Patiently watching, talking among themselves, yawning and finally walking away when the mob vanished...
After seeing the hotel turn into ashes, I went upstairs (to my house), called up a friend, a muslim living in a muslim neighbourhood in the walled city. But before I could get through to her, I was asked questions by her family. Where are you calling from? Why do you want to speak to her? Is it urgent?
Suddenly I noticed that things were changing...
I did finally get to speak to her only to realise how their entire family had gathered in one house, armed with bricks, knives and 'mirchi pani' (a mix of chilly powder and water) to face God's own men...
December 2005, Mumbai: After running around whole day at BJP’s National Exectuive Meet, I headed for office, to get my story edited and uplinked to Noida. As soon as I put my bag and tapes on my desk, I saw the sting 'Gujarat's worst kept secret'. Curious to know which of the many secrets my channel was talking about, I pulled up the volume a little and found that the skeletal remains of people that were declared missing were exhumed by the relatives in Lunawada.
I couldn't concentrate on anything anymore.. all the memories of February 2000 came back to me... those torches, slogans, Jai Shri Ram, the saffron bands and a hotel on fire...
I was finally jolted into my senses by a phone call: "Mosiqi, you are going to Gujarat."
Next day, there I was, at the site, where the skulls were exhumed... a wasteland on the banks of a river. The police had cordoned off the area. The relatives helplessly waiting for the bodies.
There I met Amina Sayeed, an old lady in her late 60s, staring in every direction for help. The moment I asked her, "Did you find your son in there?" She burst into tears, evidence that it was indeed her son's remains beneath the sand.
Next, she gave me every gory detail of their plight in 2002... Out of which I could include only a few details in my story that went on air... just so that I remain unbiased.
Here's what she told me, things that viewers didn't get to hear:
Amina Sayeed lived with her family of six at Pandarwada in Panchmahal districts. On March 01, they learnt that many from their community were killed in various parts of Gujarat... and they were next on the list. The Sayeeds with their grandchildren hid in the paddy fields that night. At dawn they were exposed.
Her son, Ayub, was slaughtered in front of her eyes with an axe... Amina took her granddaughter and ran to save her life. Ayub's wife, Johra, sat beside her husband's body, his skull now slit into two halves. But she too was forced to run for fear of being raped. Next day they returned to the field to look for Ayub's body. But it was no where to be found.
They went to the nearest police station. The police abused them and their community. They agreed to hand over the body on the condition that the family signed an affidavit saying their kin was killed in an inter-community clash. Amina refused. And her refusal meant that they would not get the body. Three years later, she recognised her son among the skeletal remains through the shirt and the watch that he was wearing.
Once I finished talking to her, I walked that lane.. a jeep was parked in front of a similar looking house... the police was asking for Ghulam, the man who had helped dig the grave.
Police: "Where is Ghulam?"
Ghulam's wife: "He hasn’t come home since he left at seven in the morning."
Police: "*****, ****, ***** you are lying."
Ghulam's wife: (Silent)
Police: "****, ******, ****, you and your entire community."
At the end of the day, while travelling back to Godhra (where it all began), my restless mind was looking for just too many answers.
Am I lucky to be on the right side of the religion? Am I lucky to be literate? On what basis is Mr Modi claiming that my Gujarat is vibrant? And am I really proud to be a Gujarati? When Narendra Modi talks about Gujarat's asmita (pride), I wonder which Gujarat is he talking about? Definitely not the one that he is trying hard to get rid off.
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