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April 18, 2002
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The Rediff Special/Yogesh Pawar
Sitting amid the rubble and soot of what once used to be his house at Bardaan Galli near Doodh Naka, Kalyan, Vamanrao Marathe (63) says, "Chala. Bharat-Pak seemevaril lokaana aapli ghare udhvast hotaana kai vaatat asel kalaala tari (Finally we know what those villagers on the border whose houses get damaged in Indo-Pak skirmishes feel)." His son Vidyesh is not amused and gives him a hard stare of severe disapproval. Though ill timed, Marathe's words drive the point home. While, officially, Kalyan had not seen a major communal conflagration from 1981 till the flare-up on April 9 this year, the period has been peppered with sporadic incidents along the 8km 'border' that has historically divided the Hindu and Muslim conclaves here. As soon as you enter Kalyan by road, a narrow street forks out on the right towards Reti Bunder. This street passes through Gafoor Don Chowk, Doodh Naka and Ansari Chowk to meet the Valli Peer and Ambedkar Road. On one side of the road are Hindu houses; on the other are Muslim ones. Mohallah committees with representatives from both communities do give you the impression of good neighbours, but scratch the surface and the mutual suspicions are palpable. "All these Hindus are crooks," says Shakila Ansari (35), who along with her family had to flee the marauding mobs at Rohidaswadi and now lives as a refugee in the National Urdu Primary School. "They start trouble because they want us to leave our homes so that they can grab them and expand their own." Rehmat Khan (49), a resident of Doodh Naka, agrees. "From 1981, when a pig's carcass was thrown into a local dargah by the RSS, every skirmish has seen some of our boys lose their lives. But when we start reacting, the Hindus and the police think we are the ones to have started it all!" The Hindus have equally strong apprehensions and suspicions about the Muslims. "They should stick to their own areas," says Datta Nimkar, a resident of Lele Alley near Ansari Chowk. Like most Hindus in the area, he has certain impressions about the Muslim community. "Most of them are school dropouts, but they seem to be living royally," he says. "Where do you think the money is coming from?" Statistics available with the government suggest that while the Hindus have lost more property, there have been more deaths among the Muslims. "Most of the Hindus live in nuclear families while the Muslims live in large joint families," explains Ajay Jain, a resident of Ambedkar Road who has shifted with his wife and two children to his brother's house near Ahilyabai Chowk. "When there is trouble the Hindus flee to the houses of their relatives and their locked houses become easy targets." Except for an old quilt, Jain's house has been ransacked completely. Khairunnisa Tyabji (68), whose son was killed in the riots in 1981, remembers how a mob had charged in when they were having dinner. "Everybody ran to the back door, leaving our plates behind," she remembers. "But it was too narrow for all of us to move out quickly. My son, who had pushed all of us ahead, was stabbed in the back and killed." The Tyabjis this time around have left their house in the lane near Ansari Chowk and moved into a smaller house at Reti Bunder. "There is a water problem here," Khairunnisa says, gathering her grandsons into her lap, "but at least we are alive." Dattoji Kanhere, a local Socialist politician, feels that many Hindus cannot tolerate the fact that Muslims have made money through enterprise. Muslim traders have made money out of dredging sand, building boats and selling milk. Fed by the frenetic building activity in the northern suburbs, demand for sand has been steadily on the rise, making dredging a profitable activity. Similarly, the shipbuilding activity off the Kalyan creek is said to have a turnover of over Rs 120 million, according to authorities at the local income-tax office. A bustling milk trade of Rs 500,000 a day has seen huge complexes being built around Govindwadi by the traders. As I was walking out of Ansari Chowk, I saw three children playing. They had put together a house with old cardboard notebook covers and were setting it on fire by striking a match. An elderly man walked up to the eldest in the trio, gave him whack and asked, "Kya kar rahe ho Faisal! Haath jalenge to... (What are you doing Faisal? Do you want to burn your hands?)" The old man should be asking some of the adults that question. Photographs: Sameer Mangtani. Design: Uttam Ghosh
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