tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-194505512024-03-08T08:23:39.693+05:30Sanity SucksI feel an inner drowsiness so great it overflows the bounds of self. And I want nothing, prefer nothing, there is nothing I can escape into: The Book of Disquiet, Fernando PessoaRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-54522200748834293152015-01-04T10:47:00.002+05:302015-01-04T10:51:01.407+05:30My response to the CRPF IG's so-called clarificationMy former employer, The Hindu, in its January 4 edition, has published a so-called clarification from the Inspector-General (Operations) of the CRPF in Chhattisgarh, Mr. HS Sidhu, over my report (carried in The Hindu on December 13, 2014) on the failure of command during a Maoist attack on a CRPF party in Sukma, Chhattisgarh on December 1. It is followed by a note from the newspaper's Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-46492262356875122452013-02-01T09:33:00.000+05:302013-02-01T10:10:47.966+05:30Puncturing the separatist discourseThe following post by Sualeh Keen, my friend from the Kashmir Valley, should not be seen as a review of Gowhar Fazli's review of my book, "Our Moon Has Blood Clots." I see it as a needle that has punctured the balloon of the separatist discourse in Kashmir. Sualeh's post is a reminder that no matter what academic halo you lend your discourse, all it takes is a plain set of truths to rip that haloRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-86997064919897632032012-03-07T11:10:00.000+05:302012-03-07T11:10:56.494+05:30There Are No AttendantsEvery man is an island. That is what I was told when I arrived in this city as a new migrant. But even when I knew nothing about its machinations, I did not believe in the aloofness of the human soul. I plunged myself in friendship, and in love. On certain nights, some of us would sit in a second-hand white Fiat, whose only one door opened, drinking beer in a bar called Sonarupa, on the Janpath Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-46896833621787498732011-11-08T10:45:00.000+05:302011-11-08T10:45:37.649+05:30There never has been a home
“But is it wrong for a man to make a house, a place where he can return in the evening?” – The Journals of John Cheever
There never has been a home. He thought of it many times. In the cacophony of train compartments. At some airport lounge. On some night journey in a bus. He has not been able to sleep. He gets up in a fit, at some odd hour in the night, and then he cannot return. In the Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-41825451063697806262011-09-03T18:17:00.008+05:302012-01-25T17:19:02.993+05:30Hypocrisy of Distant Cheers
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Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-16147895141515721542011-08-31T20:11:00.000+05:302011-08-31T20:11:35.347+05:30The Autumn of Hypocrisy
Tonight, they will raise a toast. Tonight, they will pat one another’s backs, and, in the confines of their apartments in New Delhi and elsewhere, may even take out victory marches. Someone might even hurl an imaginary stone, declaring that finally, the Internet Intifada has been successful. Congratulatory messages will flood Facebook and Twitter. After all, a sinister design has been defeated. Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-76214205120656449992011-08-26T13:40:00.000+05:302011-08-26T13:40:51.311+05:30Guerilla in the forestThis girl is a member of the Chetna Natya Manch, the cultural troupe of the CPI (Maoist). Along with other members, the girl travels from village to village in the guerilla zone. If need be, she can also defend the group in case there is a police ambush. Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-54554926351671283452011-06-16T16:22:00.006+05:302011-07-06T17:31:18.972+05:30Hello, BastarPRAISE FOR "HELLO, BASTAR":"Rahul Pandita had done something unusual - He had studied the Maoist movement at ground level for more than a decade, growing ever more interested in the way it functioned, travelling through the remoter jungles of Central India for weeks on end and spending time with the tribal people." -- PATRICK FRENCH, British writer and historian."This book could be useful for anyRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-71313273870965652512011-05-01T10:43:00.002+05:302011-05-01T10:45:47.893+05:30MuchinessLong time ago I used to know this woman who was much older than me. We met at a bar one cold winter night where we sat at different tables, both of us alone, and both of us nursing the same brand of whisky. The waiter who served us both knew me well since I was a regular. At one point, and I think I was on my third drink, my glass and that of the woman emptied about the same time and we asked forRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-31382540046765518522011-04-06T16:15:00.001+05:302011-04-06T16:16:50.057+05:30In Pursuit of a Collector | OPEN MagazineIn Pursuit of a Collector | OPEN Magazine (Pic by Ishan Tankha)Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-50620978511552397552011-02-02T19:03:00.004+05:302011-02-02T19:06:55.951+05:30The Unsaid WordsA woman remembers her best friend, a man dubbed a Maoist and killed by the Republic of India. He happened to be her journalist husband “For the first time in my life,” says Babita Pandey, “I had a wifely chat with Hem a night before he was to leave for Nagpur.” They discussed how they never took a holiday in their eight years of marriage, she says. “I told him that there were so many things that Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-34624509227881081162010-11-17T12:55:00.003+05:302010-11-17T12:57:26.227+05:30Hemlock Destiny“Why do you say every man is a planet?” the demon asks him, licking his scalpel. He lies on the ground, wounded, bruised, tattered, crippled, fragmented, nauseated, destroyed. He passes a faint smile at the demon. “Leave that, tell me, where does one get strength?” he asks. “It’s too late for you. Ha ha ha,” the demon laughs. And then he stops. “But why do you ask?” he is greedily looking at hisRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-5231931159348677432010-11-16T20:12:00.004+05:302010-11-16T20:42:22.859+05:30Fever is a jilted loverIt is so tough to unsettle the haze, he thinks. The haze inside his chest. Sometimes it scares him. And then he has to close his eyes and imagine light - red light - surrounding him, like some sort of celestial shower. When there is haze, no song stirs his soul. The blue-chested bird perched on the high-tension wire evokes no feeling. A young girl in school uniform only makes him aware of lost Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-29635231030182863112010-11-07T13:40:00.002+05:302010-11-09T15:00:11.501+05:30The Long MarchWalking with Maoist guerillas along a flooded river, somewhere along the Maharashtra-Chhattisgarh borderRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-74645672896240624542010-11-07T12:02:00.002+05:302010-11-07T12:06:50.986+05:30Among the guerillasWith Maoist guerillas somewhere on the Maharashtra-Chhattisgarh borderRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-53650537115820414332010-11-07T10:13:00.003+05:302010-11-07T10:59:32.525+05:30The Absent StateMy book, "The Absent State" (with Neelesh Misra) is out in book stores now. Hachette India has called it the non-fiction book of the year. It has already topped the non-fiction list of The Hindu. Here are some reviews of the book:Filmmaker Sudhir Mishra in the Hindustan TimesVed Marwah in TehelkaNithin Belle in Khaleej TimesShylashri Shankar in The Financial ExpressYou can buy the book online Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-90129322087192467092010-08-02T15:43:00.001+05:302010-08-02T15:44:58.201+05:30बारिश का एक दिनआज बारिश बहुत हो रही थी. तुम भीगते हुए पहुंची और कैफे के दरवाज़े पर मुझसे लगभग टकरा गयी. मैं वहां खड़ा तुम्हे दूर से आते हुए देख रहा था. बहुत सुन्दर लग रही थी तुम... मन हुआ तुम्हारे बाजू पर स्माल पोक्स के टीके के निशान को चूम लूँ. कैफे में मुझसे रहा नहीं गया. मैंने इधर-उधर देखा और हाथ बढाकर उस निशान को छू लिया. तुमने फ़ौरन मेरा हाथ झटक दिया और बोली "शट अप". "पर में तो कुछ बोला नहीं." तुम बस मुस्कुराRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-87262248357909604822010-04-16T11:55:00.002+05:302010-04-16T12:04:37.460+05:30Everything ends with FormalinThe police arrived and went straight to Bajirao Potawe’s house and beat him up. “With their boots and lathis,” he says. “They said bad things to my mother and sister, called me a bastard, and said how dare my family accuse them of rape,” he recounts. Then they made him run errands like fetching water to cook a meal of dal and rice they had brought along. Potawe himself hasn’t been able to eat Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-5596338828074126582010-03-13T16:51:00.002+05:302010-03-13T16:54:52.749+05:30Times of PartingLove dies slowly. Like an ember. More strands of hair have turned grey – the right temple looks like a blooming cotton field. There is dust on bookshelves. Pens look pensive. Empty notebooks lie moth-eaten. You called up the other day. You sounded tired. Perhaps if we were together, I could have made you some tea. Or I could have made you laugh over some silly joke. Or I could have just curled upRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-5742325219007420382010-02-13T12:18:00.003+05:302010-02-13T12:24:25.966+05:30My name is Dharmendra KumarThe media is overwhelmed with Shahrukh Khan. I mean, I care a damn if his film does not work. Or that the multiplexes are not able to run his film. In any case, the government is so pusillanimous that it won't touch Bal Thackeray. Meanwhile, see what else has been happening in this country:Dharmendra Kumar, 18, was carrying a light on his shoulder and walking next to the groom’s horse-drawn Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-30584732469471299522010-02-11T03:35:00.003+05:302010-02-11T03:42:02.517+05:30Trader of storiesIt is 3.45 am. Give me some coffee. Or, can I have some silence, please? I am tired of the noise around me. It makes my head spin. I can feel the bile in my mouth. The noise enters my body and hides in my guts. God, can someone give me shelter? I can trade my stories for a peaceful stay.Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-78119667704451101432010-02-09T19:43:00.002+05:302010-02-09T19:47:52.670+05:30JourneysI am writing today because my body is sort of forcing me into it. I have this sinking feeling that refuses to go away, and I think writing – punching the keypad hard – would at least partially take away that feeling. I have also been scared that if I continue like this, not writing at all, my readers will permanently disconnect from me. It’s not that I have had nothing to say to you or share withRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-47318697845491602442010-01-19T19:00:00.003+05:302010-01-19T19:04:11.650+05:30The Khaki FidayeenThe Khaki Fidayeen: Five policemen from Kashmir who have broken the back of militancy in the valley. Read here.Pic: Shome BasuRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-74706482205855383832009-12-12T22:39:00.002+05:302009-12-12T22:41:56.372+05:30Somewhere, anywhereAs long as there is fire the mosquitoes keep away. But as soon as the embers begin to die, they come back. And so does the pain in the knee. I sit on the rooftop, alone, caressing a drink, as the smoke from the half-burnt wood stings my eyes. This is a Delhi suburb, soon to be connected with the big city by something which slithers – sometimes through the belly of the earth, and at times overheadRahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19450551.post-89529135315754303802009-11-01T12:29:00.003+05:302009-11-01T12:33:44.200+05:30Whose war is it, anyway?Arundhati Roy quotes my interview with Maoist supreme commander Ganapathi in her latest essay.Rahul Panditahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05196650742327722757noreply@blogger.com2