dear shahina,
i'm happy that you have decided to confront this particular spectre.
cheers
 
 
--- On Sat, 4/10/08, Shahina KK <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:

From: Shahina KK <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: [GreenYouth] SHIVER… DOWN THE SPINE.
To: [email protected]
Date: Saturday, 4 October, 2008, 8:41 AM




Dear friends,
I know this is a belated post. Infact I was taking time to shrugg off the 
bewilderment,anguish and scare through which I had been passing for the last 
three weeks.The article I wrote in the hoot.org caused me trouble and trouble 
only.I hope some of you might have been aware of that.In the following 
article-SHIVER… DOWN THE SPINE- I am trying to summarise the whole episode.
Hindustan Thimes on today has carried a trimmed version of this article under 
the title 'Your Religion follows You'.
http://www.hindustantimes.com/StoryPage/StoryPage.aspx?sectionName=HomePage&id=058115bf-d511-4308-9738-fb8c6e88843c&&Headline=%e2%80%98Your+religion+follows+you%e2%80%99
 
Shahina
 
SHIVER… DOWN THE SPINE
 My tryst with the e-messengers of terror
 
Shahina K K
 
Since14th September 2008, writing has become a laborious exercise for me. It 
was all of a sudden that words turned heavy, staring at my own convictions, 
political thinking and journalistic vigor. It was on a gloomy Sunday (the day 
after the bloody Saturday on which the life of twenty odd people had been taken 
away by some body called Indian Mujahideen)that things turned upside down. It's 
difficult to describe my terrible sense of shock when it came to my notice that 
a part of the email sent by perpetrators of the Delhi blasts laying claim to 
the deadly bombs on the day, had been written by me! It was lifted verbatim 
from a piece of mine (Bombs defused in News rooms) which appeared in the media 
watch dog portal, The Hoot. Newspapers had given extensive quotes wondering at 
the 'journalistic character' and 'impeccable English' of those who prepared the 
mail. Even when everybody calls it plagiarism I was not spared because my name 
carries the identity of a
 community which is put in the dock for all that happens dreadfully around us. 
I wrote about what the media does, how it deals with the unending episodes of 
terror strikes juxtaposing with the violence by Hindu extremists and how 
flagrantly they fail in the 'balancing' act!  
 
A published material is neither mine nor yours. Plagiarism in cyber space is 
not a rare phenomenon. There are limited options to check it. I am not very 
serious about plagiarism be cause I am skeptical about how far we are the 
masters of our own words. I personally believe that what I wrote is not only 
mine. It was reproduced by other websites and several bloggers .It is exciting 
to watch the cyber movement challenging the dogmatization of knowledge. I don't 
subscribe to the concept of copyright too. But I never thought of being caught 
up in a deep sense of anguish, terror and shock by some one else picking up my 
words for the manifestation of a heinous crime. It came to my notice that 
Sunday evening, while I was perusing Times of India looking for stories missed 
in the morning. One story on the terror e-mail had extensively  quoted the 
lifted portion from my article analyzing how the extremist forces make  a 
common cause with other victims of 'Sangh
 terror' -- Christians and Dalits. 'The idea of a broad coalition of all 
minorities and Dalits in a broad anti-Hindutva coalition is not new, but its 
use amid clear signs of unease within Muslims about the radicalisation of 
sections within it is immensely interesting." says The Times of India.
 
The Times' story prompted me to go online in search of the full text of the 
terror mail and shockingly I found more than a paragraph of my article had been 
copied and pasted. It's beyond words how I survived those moments of scare, 
insecurity and a deep sense of guilt. We were all 'alone' at home, in that 
entire residential area, nobody knows us. We all are living in this metro not 
knowing what kind of a life is there at the next door. I was in a state of 
numbness incapable of picking up the phone and calling somebody. My partner 
Rajeev did the same with a shivering heart. Our friends initially responded as 
if it is nothing but rather a minor crime of plagiarism that we need not worry 
about further. In fact as they explained later, they had been trying to shrug 
off the acerbic realization that what we call terrorism is some where very near 
our doorstep.
 
However their arrival at my place was followed by a call from Sevanti Ninan, 
the columnist who edits The Hoot. Even though it was not unexpected, I had felt 
a tremor while being informed of the enquiry by the Maharashtra Anti Terror 
Squad about me. They contacted Sevanti and she told me that it was impossible 
to hold back whatever information they wanted about me. I too never wanted her 
to keep me in hiding. Why should I be? The life I lived was not a private 
affair at all. I had been constantly there in the public space with my stories, 
television appearances and interventions in social discourses. It was very much 
tangible when I was in Kerala, but living in a metro stricken with terror, it 
was altogether a different ball game. Here even my name matters. The heaviness 
of a Muslim name could make life miserable in Delhi. No matter whether you 
follow religion, religion will definitely follow you. 
 
After a night of tossing and turning, one of our journalist friends took it on 
himself to unfold the tangle in which I had been caught up. Along with him I 
contacted the Defence Minister, met the MoS for External affairs and Home 
affairs. They, except the MoS for Home affairs, know me in person as I had been 
active in Malayalam language journalism for over a decade. They might be well 
aware that religious extremism will be the last thing I could be booked on! Our 
attempt was not to avoid an enquiry, but to ensure that I would not be targeted 
because of my name.
 
 Even after a couple of weeks passed, I think I am not out of woods. I have 
been waiting for the boot steps at my door any time. My friends say the 
investigators might have been monitoring my cyber activities and telephone 
calls. It is hard to live knowing that you are under surveillance. For the last 
two weeks we had been in touch with several of the authorities to clarify my 
position on the whole episode. One of the top officials we met during the 
course of this, a gentleman who amazed us with his extremely polite manner, 
asked, So, you're a Muslim?"  I wanted to respond with a big  NO, and to shout 
from the roof top that I am agnostic, kept away from the clutches of religion 
even from my teens. But I couldn't. I gave him no answer. I was skeptical about 
the political correctness of such an answer through out my life. Am I doing 
wrong by turning my back on the millions of innocent people who follow 
religion, bearing the brunt of what ever have been
 done in the name of religion? My partner who is, by birth a Hindu had been 
cajoled to claim the same in front of that officer, in order to prove our 
secular credentials in a city where we are nothing more than names. It was for 
the first time, religion intruded into our life together. We had not hesitated 
even fraction of a second to leave the column for religion blank in the birth 
registration form when our son, Anpu, was born.
 
I was caught up again in another round of bewilderment, shock and grief next 
day when I went to meet Brinda Karat MP at AKG Bhavan with one of our 
journalist friends. While waiting in the reception, a heartbreaking cry fell 
upon my ears. Four or five women appeared at the door shouting and crying 
loudly. The whole scene rang no bell for me, but I saw Brinda rushing out, 
hugging those women and listening to them. Somebody told me that they are the 
remaining desperate souls from a family of which 9 people had been killed in 
the blast. Those women were lamenting their plight in which they had been 
forced to bribe even for a decent burial for their beloved ones. I was scared. 
I wish they would not see me! I was again blanketed by a terrible sense of 
distress. My vision was blurred off in tears; I couldn't speak a word, my voice 
strangled in my throat. In such moments of emotional turbulence the rationale 
of political thinking may not help.
 
Many of my friends who shared the sleepless nights with me thought of writing 
about the entire trauma of an identity and its subjectivity, but they were 
skeptical about the ramifications of such an act in my life. One of my friends 
sharing the deep anguish, posted in his blog, a single liner- Shiver, down the 
spine. No comments have been posted yet, because the readers of his blog are 
left with no other clue. Now I think it is high time to speak up. I don't want 
to grow a censor within me.
 
 
 





      
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