[Assam] A Guwahati diary: Games in the shadow of terror - TOI

[Ram Sarangapani]

Whoever wrote this piece for the TOI - seemed a bit too glib and a lot
patronizing.

Just my take - could have misread.

--Ram


A Guwahati diary: Games in the shadow of terror


TIMES NEWS NETWORK


   The moment the flight took off from Kolkata, under silvery clouds, we
could sense the change in the air: we knew instantly we were entering a
different world.

In the first leg, from Mumbai, the cutlery was gleaming and the smiles
genuine; on this stretch, it was all plastic, including the ear-to ears. As
we trooped into Guwahati's smallish international airport, finally, the
reality here hit us.

Suddenly, the passengers were incidental; armed guards were swarming and one
couldn't walk even from one end to the other without being waylaid by a
question or an instruction.

Outside, the roads were narrow but the traffic was fast. Shops dotted the
highway and every fifth one, reassuringly, seemed to be plying booze. For a
second, one thought this was Goa; the folks here are equally laidback,
taking every day and its queer turns 'lahe, lahe.'

But that is where the similarities end between the west and the North-east.
Assam is in the grip of insurgency; the fear of the hidden bomb casts a grim
shadow over their daily lives. Guwahati is known as the gateway into the
North-east; but you don't exactly feel too welcome. Until you meet the
people, of course.

They look diffident but you can see their sense of determination; they are
not loud but you know they are confident. In public, they may not be too
demonstrative; but in private, as one had noted the other day, they laugh
loudly and effusively. Maybe, it is just their way of releasing their
nervous energy.

As one saw the roads empty out in tandem with fading sunlight, and got a
grasp of the meaning of terror, the mind raced to other parts of the world.
Fear lurked there too but in different forms and shapes; one covered
sporting events there too without really knowing what the next day held.

The worst experience was in Atlanta, during the 1996 Olympic Games. Late one
night, just as the world's biggest sports stars were getting into the
groove, a bomb exploded in the Games Park. One felt the tremors inside the
media centre too, which was housed on the 18th floor of a massive building.
When we went up a few floors, we could even see the site of the blast; it
was almost within touching distance.

Until then, the evenings were resplendent with laughter, bonhomie and music;
now, suddenly, only a funereal silence ruled. Atlanta was numb with dread
and the people in a state of shock; the Games were not the same after that.

For those of us from India, used to communal violence, curfews and bomb
blasts, the overnight change in the city was difficult to comprehend. We
still walked around by ourselves late in the night, hoping to find a decent
meal, if not fun, after work. We couldn't do that in Harare, Nairobi or
Durban, of course.

At one time, they were three of the most beautiful cities in the world; now,
they are nightmares. Nairobi is straight out of an old Western, with old men
in old hats and old clothes; one couldn't even go over to the store across
the street, alone. They would rip you apart for a few dollars.

In Harare, one only saw long queues and despondency everywhere; they waited
for hours for a loaf of bread, for milk, for petrol, for everything. The
Zimbabwean dollar was not even worth a toilet paper but if you flaunted it
you would immediately be surrounded by a dozen thugs.

Worse, in Durban you didn't even know where the mugger was hiding: he
attacked you from the shadows or in broad daylight; he would break through
your locked car at busy traffic intersections or just flash a knife or gun
in a packed bank and vanish with your cash.

One was trailed by ISI officers in Lahore, accosted by trans-sexuals in
Kuala Lumpur and hoodwinked out of everything in London. But there is
something so intangible, something so surreal, about Guwahati. In Durban,
Nairobi and Harare, you knew where to go and where not to; you could even
sniff out potential danger.

In Guwahati, there are no such warning signs; terror lies in wait at every
corner. It can strike at any time, in any form. So as the National Games get
under way, the country must spare a thought for the people out here and send
out a prayer for them. Some day, hopefully, normalcy will return; and then,
we can look back and say it all began with this sporting extravaganza.
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