Here I am, back after my second visit to Kutch, back once again amidst Bombay's comfort-seeking life. We Bombayites can give the Dale Carnegies and Deepak Chopras of the world a complex. A huge complex. We are conditioned to think the show must go on. How, it doesn't matter. We consider 'positivism' the greatest of virtues. If someone looks pale and troubled he is either a hypocrite or 'little mad'. Since I don't want to be an outcast, I am trying successfully to leave behind my memories of Kutch. Along with some 1.2 million Kutchis, most journalists slept on the roads there. Now, at the traffic light in Andheri, I don't want memories of those frightened people to crowd my mind. I don't want to remember those layers of dust and filth and fear. Already I have stopped sharing my experiences about the people who are afraid to face future. How will life for them be next month -- after the social workers and doctors and journalists go home? My neighbour is pushing me to "settle down". I have promised her that I would forget as soon as possible that some 25,000 died in Kutch. That around 10,000 lost limbs. In Bhachau alone, 8,000 legs were amputated in the first four days, a doctor had told me at a medical camp. Yes, I will forget all that. Because, you see, I have a weakness. I care for my image. I don't want people to think that I am suffering from 'existential angst'. I will wipe out this fear within me, the fear of the most possible scenario in Bhachau six months from now, when poor people will look for money to buy them the Jaipur foot. Each will need at least Rs 20,000. A close friend on whom I am very dependent reminded me of Stalin's words: 'A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic ' Right. I have promised myself to follow Stalin's advice. Once in a century such a calamity can happen. I'll forget history much faster than it was created. I'll not allow the words of Navin Maheshwari to haunt me. Navinbhai, who everyday feed birds and ants in Bhuj, had told me shrilly: "Sister, don't blame God. Imagine the pain of Dhartimata [motherland]! It's her pain that affected us. No one seems to realise her pain." Navinbhai lost every member of his family. But not his sensitivity. I suppose I should view the incident objectively -- I am a Bombayite, am I not? I want to start worrying about my Maruti's irritating battery and my increasing cell phone bill. As earthquake reports have justifiably moved out from the front page, even my focus will shift from the mountains of debris in Bhachau to the political battle of Tamil Nadu. Why not? I am a positive person and a true professional. My CV is long enough to help me out of that bloody event where more than 4,000 children became orphans in one stroke. For them, there is only one way to mark time: before the earthquake and after. In Bombay, very soon, I'll enjoy the Navy Fleet review. [This was written a week before the review.] I am not being sarcastic. I mean it, yaar. We journos will be on a guided tour and I promise I will exorcise the ghost of Bhachau. Yes, even the ones that Ganesh Vaghela, a telephone operator, 'reviewed' for me. That 15-year-old had asked me, "May I take you around the city?" He sat in the front seat of my car, pointing out places and people. "She is Motibai. She is a widow, her husband died under the debris. Her house collapsed, as if it was made of glass... "Here was our court. Saheb [the judge] survived. He was not in town... "Here was a high school. Many of my relatives' children died when the walls and slabs fell on their heads... "Here was Jalaram Nagar. And that was the Mehta Tower. Many dead bodies are buried under it. Since the relatives are injured and under treatment, who will call the army to dig them out? "Opposite that place was a state bank. Gone, gone, all gone." Then he paused. "Do you want to see mad men?" In his harijan community, he said, many people had become restless since the earthquake. Vaghela insisted that I note down that in his town all television sets and refrigerators are buried under. "For the next few generations," he quoted his uncle as saying, "we will live the life of the jungle. Radio is the only luxury we will be able to buy." Of its 28,000-odd population, Bhachau lost some 3,500 people. I will not repeat these facts and bore you readers. Especially not when respected columnists are raising the question why when the Orissa cyclone was ignored, Gujarat's tragedy was 'hyped'. They say it was because Gujarat was a prosperous state that aid came so spontaneously. Yes, I agree there was a flood of relief material. For three reasons. For the first time in a natural calamity, the middle class and the rich were also affected in a big way. The media crowd comes from these classes. Second, non-resident Gujaratis are more cohesive when compared to, say, non-resident Andhraites. Even the Gujarati barbers and cobblers have their own association, properly functional and registered in the UK. The third and most important reason was the extraordinarily powerful network of co-operatives and NGOs in Gujarat. Since the days of Verghese Kurien and Ela Bhatt, Gujarat is the leader in co-operative and NGO movements. And so there was relief at a faster pace. But the bias shown in this expression of charity will soon disappear. In any case, like Orissa or Bihar, Gujarat is also castiest. The Jains of Bhuj were reluctant to lend their funeral homes to Hindus. Abdulla Khatri came with a complaint to the collector's office: the relief material from the Jamaat-e-Islami of Ahmedabad was not allowed to enter Kutch by RSS workers. According to the 1991 census, 12 per cent of Kutch are dalit, seven per cent clubbed with the schedule tribe. What you saw on television, those tons of relief material, was mostly from upper castes, for upper castes. In other words, for the three per cent brahmins, four per cent baniyas and four to five per cent Rajputs. Kutch will be partially rebuilt on caste and religious lines. Unfortunately, the silent majority falls outside the field of "calculative and focussed charity". For instance, there are over 100,000 ruined people of the Koli and Vaghris communities looking for a livelihood. Their fate will be the same like any marginal guy in Latur. The tragedy is so huge. The most important question now is, where will new settlements be created? At the old place or new? In most places, the land belongs to the government. As villagers know, only the powerful and the well connected can get things done by bureaucrats. The way we forgot Latur and Orissa, we will forget Gujarat too. Here the Bombayya spirit comes to my rescue. Bhachau be damned. Anjaar be damned. Kutch be damned. Long live the positive spirit. In her two decades as a journalist, Sheela Bhatt has covered many calamities -- but none so tragic as Gujarat. Tell us what you think of this diary
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