Wednesday, December 31, 2008
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY..... And Dad, Thank You For Everything
By Huma Sheikh
Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi
As the clock chimed 12 in the night, another soft set of notes from an invisible guitar wafted out. The serene influence of the lyrics-free sound had such a powerful impact that it slipped me into deep slumber. I felt as if I were falling to endless tunes of an enchanting harmony. For once, I took it for the regular morning alarm, which is otherwise a ''villainous tone', forcing me to stir up from bed. Typically, it should have distracted me from my sound sleep, mercilessly chopping off a sweet dream in its infancy. This time around, however, that wasn't to be the case. For, I had changed the alarm tone into my favorite guitar tune to happily get the day going.
But then, the sound dropped steadily and eventually died out in a minute. I couldn't press my finger on its button. Restlessness overcame me, forcing me to have a look at it. Lazily with eyes half-opened, I found out it was still dark. Well, it's my cell phone, and I reached out my hand to grab it. As I skimmed through the phone screen, a brief written piece popped up: 'one message received'. I was angry with myself. Because, apart from alarm tone, the guitar tone happened to be my message tone also -- so I presumed it could be one of those pesky 'ring tone' messages or something on new schemes our mobile phone providers often bother us with. I was settling down to be greeted at this point in time, I presume it was going to be something very 'useless', and in fact it only turned out to be rather grimmer for me.
''Today is Fathers' Day. Make this Day special for your dad. Make the most of it and dedicate a wonderful song to your dad,'' read the message. Just a quick read through, and I was completely dead, completely blank. The air-conditioned room, which seemed cozy a moment ago on a hot June night, suddenly gave me a cold sweat. The what little consciousness I had acquired died down in a jiffy -- completely. ''It is June 15: Father's Day. But, how can I make the Father's Day special for my dad who no more exists," I shuddered, ruefully.
So, what do I do to be with him, if only for this day? Is there a way out? How at all would I get some supernatural power to spend some quality time with him? As all these questions emerged in strings from the bottom of my heart, I sped back to the memories of that dreadful July 13-14 night. I took me to the haunting scene when I was crying helplessly to get a glimpse of my father who had disappeared mysteriously in the summer of 2003. Not even in the worst nightmare had I imagined that my father would vanish one day, never to come back again. That my loving father I was talking to just a few hours ago was to soon fade away from real sight? It was only he, who had hand-fed me at dinner --as if I were a small child --, on the train and shared his last moments of life with me. Without knowing it was to be so.
Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi. So, the Dad's Day message has no significance in my life. That was a terrible thought. A moment later, I decided to do something to get rid of it. I got up and logged on my account -- the page opened up to another shock: This time in a riposte on my message: ''don't miss out sending a collection of beautiful cards to your dad on this Father's Day. Be the first one to wish your dad through these invaluable cards.'' The email inadvertently transported me back to the horror and invited unwanted thoughts again.
On July 13 in 2003, both my father and I took off on a trip to Delhi. My father was very adventurous and loved to explore things. So we booked a taxi for Jammu from Srinagar to stop by in Udhampur to pick up one of my dad's friends. The road cruise began merrily as we had planned to take breaks at several places during the course and make the most of it. As we were through some miles I loved how the scenery that started changed slowly -- all of it beautiful, picturesque landscape. My father gave me a precise description of almost everything we passed behind -- it was an unforgettable experience, I really loved it.
We stopped at a roadside 'dhaba' nearby Banihal, which is famous for Kashmiri tea. As is the case, dhabas would have its kitchen blending with the sitting room for visitors; I had the opportunity to watch the tea-maker preparing 'nunchai', the traditional salty tea of Kashmir. Dipped in butter with a dash of wheat powder alongside nans, his 'nunchai' didn't translate into a salty tea but it gave a lasting relief and refreshed us besides satiating our taste buds — unlike the one every household in Kashmir makes. At Udhampur, we had a nice lunch at dad's friend's place. We spent some wonderful moments with his family even though only for a short span of time before uncle accompanied us for the rest of the journey.
I was feeling a little upset because I terribly missed my mom and brother and sister. But dad was at his best at cracking up people — his forte of course. He was a great mimic and would often imitate people, act like them, make their voices and sometimes surprise others on phone by impersonating voice of his other friends with his incredible borrowing of others' styles. My father had a great sense of humor too. He started making voice of my mom, brother and sister and also acted like I do. I burst into laughter and couldn't control when he shared with me some of the funniest moments of his life ''My friend was very thin and I used to pester him a lot. On his marriage, I surprised him when I stuffed his wedding dress and told him if doesn't wear it, he would horrify his in-laws with his zero-size.
Guests would be terrified to see him in the wedding dress and all of them would run away. But, when he seemed to lose all his confidence, my friends told him I was joking. He looked okay only when I assured him all that I said was a joke.'' Our next stop was Jammu, which is only a three-hour drive from Udhampur. Another friend of dad had insisted us to drop by for dinner before pushing off for another overnight journey to Delhi. As we reached his house, we had some time to settle down and take little rest after the day's road voyage, but dad's friends and me alike were amazed to see daddy in such an unbelievable hurry, which sort of seemed the manifestation of some hysterical concern about missing our train. He insisted on leaving for the station long before the departure and all of us had eventually our dinner packed for us to have it on the train.
That kind of behavior was unbecoming of him. For his timing was perfect—he was never late or arrived before time at work or otherwise. Very punctual. That day, however, we had about two hours before the train finally scrambled at 9.30 in the night. During those few hours until our dinner at 11 pm -- which turned out to be my father's final moments with me -- I found in him a completely different person. He was never so philosophical, never so good as a preacher and never so very concerned about me. He made me sit up on the berth to talk with him; though I was a little reluctant and drowsiness had taken a toll me as if in an indication of an impending grief ahead of the tragedy.
"Look Huma, you have to be brave to confront adversities courageously and lend your voice to curiosity by voicing your concerns. Since you will be studying alone in Delhi, you have to be strong and bold. All the rest follows,'' he said. I wondered what prompted dad to start his 'preaching speech' at such an odd hour although I had similar sessions from him earlier as well. But the sullenness in his voice made it all the more different for me and it gave an impression that we would be apart forever, as if he was going far away never to come back again. He was in no mood to wind up his talk: '' You must take a cue from your father — I was only 16 years old when I ventured on an inter-state trip on my own, without my family's support, unlike you. Also in life, we should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives.''
My father said that as I was also going to be in the media now (dad was working in All India Radio), I must learn to explore answers about various things that intrigued me. "One should always keep one's mind open to know about different things.'' He said: ''You can transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power in your professional and personal life.'' The session happened to be my last conversation with dad. At dinner, which we had a little while ago, he spoon-fed me as one would deal with a toddler. And then all three of us drifted off to sleep. Dad bade me good night. That was the last time I saw him.
When I got up again in the night, my father had disappeared. He didn't even come again not even for his last rituals, which were performed in absentia. Neither police nor any judiciary found him ever. But his last speech has a lasting influence on me. So much so that every time I think of it, I feel I am born anew. "It is not only a rebirth but also a transformation, as I have become an entirely different human being now,'' I would think. His last words have helped me strengthen the confidence of my family and me alike to move ahead in life courageously.
And what better could be an honor to celebrate the Father's Day than doing what he wanted me to: '' One should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives and transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power.'' Thank you so much dad for giving us such a wonderful fatherhood—thank you for everything you have done for us. I got back to sleep again. Later, in the morning, I did purchase some cards -- to gift to the people I am quite close with. That, I thought, was the ideal way I can commemorate the Father's Day.
Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi
As the clock chimed 12 in the night, another soft set of notes from an invisible guitar wafted out. The serene influence of the lyrics-free sound had such a powerful impact that it slipped me into deep slumber. I felt as if I were falling to endless tunes of an enchanting harmony. For once, I took it for the regular morning alarm, which is otherwise a ''villainous tone', forcing me to stir up from bed. Typically, it should have distracted me from my sound sleep, mercilessly chopping off a sweet dream in its infancy. This time around, however, that wasn't to be the case. For, I had changed the alarm tone into my favorite guitar tune to happily get the day going.
But then, the sound dropped steadily and eventually died out in a minute. I couldn't press my finger on its button. Restlessness overcame me, forcing me to have a look at it. Lazily with eyes half-opened, I found out it was still dark. Well, it's my cell phone, and I reached out my hand to grab it. As I skimmed through the phone screen, a brief written piece popped up: 'one message received'. I was angry with myself. Because, apart from alarm tone, the guitar tone happened to be my message tone also -- so I presumed it could be one of those pesky 'ring tone' messages or something on new schemes our mobile phone providers often bother us with. I was settling down to be greeted at this point in time, I presume it was going to be something very 'useless', and in fact it only turned out to be rather grimmer for me.
''Today is Fathers' Day. Make this Day special for your dad. Make the most of it and dedicate a wonderful song to your dad,'' read the message. Just a quick read through, and I was completely dead, completely blank. The air-conditioned room, which seemed cozy a moment ago on a hot June night, suddenly gave me a cold sweat. The what little consciousness I had acquired died down in a jiffy -- completely. ''It is June 15: Father's Day. But, how can I make the Father's Day special for my dad who no more exists," I shuddered, ruefully.
So, what do I do to be with him, if only for this day? Is there a way out? How at all would I get some supernatural power to spend some quality time with him? As all these questions emerged in strings from the bottom of my heart, I sped back to the memories of that dreadful July 13-14 night. I took me to the haunting scene when I was crying helplessly to get a glimpse of my father who had disappeared mysteriously in the summer of 2003. Not even in the worst nightmare had I imagined that my father would vanish one day, never to come back again. That my loving father I was talking to just a few hours ago was to soon fade away from real sight? It was only he, who had hand-fed me at dinner --as if I were a small child --, on the train and shared his last moments of life with me. Without knowing it was to be so.
Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi. So, the Dad's Day message has no significance in my life. That was a terrible thought. A moment later, I decided to do something to get rid of it. I got up and logged on my account -- the page opened up to another shock: This time in a riposte on my message: ''don't miss out sending a collection of beautiful cards to your dad on this Father's Day. Be the first one to wish your dad through these invaluable cards.'' The email inadvertently transported me back to the horror and invited unwanted thoughts again.
On July 13 in 2003, both my father and I took off on a trip to Delhi. My father was very adventurous and loved to explore things. So we booked a taxi for Jammu from Srinagar to stop by in Udhampur to pick up one of my dad's friends. The road cruise began merrily as we had planned to take breaks at several places during the course and make the most of it. As we were through some miles I loved how the scenery that started changed slowly -- all of it beautiful, picturesque landscape. My father gave me a precise description of almost everything we passed behind -- it was an unforgettable experience, I really loved it.
We stopped at a roadside 'dhaba' nearby Banihal, which is famous for Kashmiri tea. As is the case, dhabas would have its kitchen blending with the sitting room for visitors; I had the opportunity to watch the tea-maker preparing 'nunchai', the traditional salty tea of Kashmir. Dipped in butter with a dash of wheat powder alongside nans, his 'nunchai' didn't translate into a salty tea but it gave a lasting relief and refreshed us besides satiating our taste buds — unlike the one every household in Kashmir makes. At Udhampur, we had a nice lunch at dad's friend's place. We spent some wonderful moments with his family even though only for a short span of time before uncle accompanied us for the rest of the journey.
I was feeling a little upset because I terribly missed my mom and brother and sister. But dad was at his best at cracking up people — his forte of course. He was a great mimic and would often imitate people, act like them, make their voices and sometimes surprise others on phone by impersonating voice of his other friends with his incredible borrowing of others' styles. My father had a great sense of humor too. He started making voice of my mom, brother and sister and also acted like I do. I burst into laughter and couldn't control when he shared with me some of the funniest moments of his life ''My friend was very thin and I used to pester him a lot. On his marriage, I surprised him when I stuffed his wedding dress and told him if doesn't wear it, he would horrify his in-laws with his zero-size.
Guests would be terrified to see him in the wedding dress and all of them would run away. But, when he seemed to lose all his confidence, my friends told him I was joking. He looked okay only when I assured him all that I said was a joke.'' Our next stop was Jammu, which is only a three-hour drive from Udhampur. Another friend of dad had insisted us to drop by for dinner before pushing off for another overnight journey to Delhi. As we reached his house, we had some time to settle down and take little rest after the day's road voyage, but dad's friends and me alike were amazed to see daddy in such an unbelievable hurry, which sort of seemed the manifestation of some hysterical concern about missing our train. He insisted on leaving for the station long before the departure and all of us had eventually our dinner packed for us to have it on the train.
That kind of behavior was unbecoming of him. For his timing was perfect—he was never late or arrived before time at work or otherwise. Very punctual. That day, however, we had about two hours before the train finally scrambled at 9.30 in the night. During those few hours until our dinner at 11 pm -- which turned out to be my father's final moments with me -- I found in him a completely different person. He was never so philosophical, never so good as a preacher and never so very concerned about me. He made me sit up on the berth to talk with him; though I was a little reluctant and drowsiness had taken a toll me as if in an indication of an impending grief ahead of the tragedy.
"Look Huma, you have to be brave to confront adversities courageously and lend your voice to curiosity by voicing your concerns. Since you will be studying alone in Delhi, you have to be strong and bold. All the rest follows,'' he said. I wondered what prompted dad to start his 'preaching speech' at such an odd hour although I had similar sessions from him earlier as well. But the sullenness in his voice made it all the more different for me and it gave an impression that we would be apart forever, as if he was going far away never to come back again. He was in no mood to wind up his talk: '' You must take a cue from your father — I was only 16 years old when I ventured on an inter-state trip on my own, without my family's support, unlike you. Also in life, we should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives.''
My father said that as I was also going to be in the media now (dad was working in All India Radio), I must learn to explore answers about various things that intrigued me. "One should always keep one's mind open to know about different things.'' He said: ''You can transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power in your professional and personal life.'' The session happened to be my last conversation with dad. At dinner, which we had a little while ago, he spoon-fed me as one would deal with a toddler. And then all three of us drifted off to sleep. Dad bade me good night. That was the last time I saw him.
When I got up again in the night, my father had disappeared. He didn't even come again not even for his last rituals, which were performed in absentia. Neither police nor any judiciary found him ever. But his last speech has a lasting influence on me. So much so that every time I think of it, I feel I am born anew. "It is not only a rebirth but also a transformation, as I have become an entirely different human being now,'' I would think. His last words have helped me strengthen the confidence of my family and me alike to move ahead in life courageously.
And what better could be an honor to celebrate the Father's Day than doing what he wanted me to: '' One should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives and transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power.'' Thank you so much dad for giving us such a wonderful fatherhood—thank you for everything you have done for us. I got back to sleep again. Later, in the morning, I did purchase some cards -- to gift to the people I am quite close with. That, I thought, was the ideal way I can commemorate the Father's Day.
Wenchuan earthquake: China’s turning point
Link to my article--Wenchuan earthquake: China's turning point--on East West center website
http://forum.eastwestcenter.org/blog/2008/12/18/wenchuan-earthquake-china%e2%80%99s-turning-point/
http://forum.eastwestcenter.org/blog/2008/12/18/wenchuan-earthquake-china%e2%80%99s-turning-point/
Wenchuan earthquake: China’s turning point
By Huma Sheikh
Last month, I visited Sichuan province in China as part of the Asia Pacific Leadership Program and was curious to see survivors of the Wenchuan earthquake that killed 70,000 people and rendered thousands homeless, especially after witnessing another earthquake that was the worst ever natural disaster in my hometown of Kashmir in 2005.
In China, I went to Di Jian Yu, which is one of the worst affected areas, and was expecting to witness helpless survivors braving biting cold in makeshift houses. More so, the memories of Kashmir earthquake survivors still struggling in temporary houses, especially during snow in harsh winter, were fresh in my mind. ‘‘India is a democratic country but quake survivors are still in makeshift houses even after three years so the situation in China in a non-democratic setup will undoubtedly be worse as the Wenchuan earthquake was only six months ago,’’ I thought.
As I reached Du Jiag Yan, I saw some damaged houses with visible cracks. Some meters ahead were piles of brick and sand mounds of the affected houses dismantled for new structures. Some pre-quake residential colonies had become open grounds after damaged houses were razed to ground in the aftermath of the quake. The neighborhood looked like a newly-discovered place where people have just been settling down, with construction work going on in full swing.
I asked a pedestrian if there was any other place where huge damage had taken place, and I was surprised to hear the place I was standing was badly impacted by the quake. But everything had changed except for a few buildings with some visible cracks. Somebody suggested Puyang Lu colony, where most damaged houses still existed. It was a residential colony before the quake and one of the buildings, where a government-run company resided, was completely destroyed, burying over 100 people at the time of the disaster.
However, except for that damaged building, still in tatters, there was hardly anything different from what I had seen earlier. One of the ladies at the site, who was heading the company, was kind enough to give me the address of people in temporary houses. Li Mingyong said her family was also living in temporary shelters provided by the China government. And about her company, she said she was now running it from a nearby building provided by the government. She said the government was seriously considering shifting the quake survivors to their new houses as soon as possible, while she pointed to some construction workers at the site. Huge numbers of workers have been employed in order to expedite construction work.
Her version was enough to transform my perception about China, but her confidence and optimism even after her house was completely destroyed inspired me to know more about how other survivors were feeling. There was another reason behind my curiosity and that was Kashmir: The 2005 earthquake measuring 7.6 on the Richter scale and epicentered at Muzafarabad in Azad Kashmir (Pakistan-administered Kashmir) claimed lives of 1,400 people in the Indian part of Kashmir.
Three years on, most of the survivors of the worst-affected areas of Uri, Varmul, and Tanghdar in North Kashmir were yet to be rehabilitated. Not only was the ‘‘disorganized’’ planning of the government in distributing funds to be blamed — even some people who were not affected received compensation initially — but a huge amount of money was siphoned off by some local people working for international NGOs by exploiting the situation in the garb of surveys, which turned out to be unproductive later. Many survivors ended up getting no compensation for building houses as they had spent money the government had provided them in the first place, even far before the government’s announcement. The government announced that only those people would be compensated who had built plinth for their new houses, a pre-requisite to getting more funds. The phenomenon reflected collective failures of the government as well as NGOs and the people, who took undue advantage of surplus funds coming from the country and internationally, and bore the brunt eventually.
I headed to Qing Jian Ren Jia or temporary houses colony. There was no sullen silence in the colony but bustling activities with people wearing expressions that gave no sense of any remorse or the tragedy they had faced only a few months ago. The neighborhood of the colony was the perfect place of serenity. On the left side of the Qing Jian Ren Jia gate stood a policeman beside his office; the police guard the colony to avoid any untoward incident. As I walked past him and inched ahead into the lane, I saw a long stretch dotted with white painted one-storied mud-and-brick houses.
An elderly woman was knitting a beautiful sweater outside her door; I was not sure if she would agree to speak to me for a few minutes, but the woman instead invited me to her home. As she opened the door, I saw three Chinese names written on the door. My Chinese friends who were with me read the names for me, which I understood were the woman and her husband but I was confused about the third name. As I got into the room her husband was in there. The home was a big room divided into two parts. The room was stuffed mostly with clothes and there were two big beds that had covered huge space. We sat down on the bed and I asked them curiously about the third name on the door.
A couple in a makeshift house at Qing Jian Ren Jia, Chengdu, in ChinaThe man said “Yao Shi Kai is me, Ou Ye Zhen is my wife and Yao Ru Ping is my little daughter who died in the earthquake.” There was a one minute silence in the room and after a little while I asked him if they were comfortable in the makeshift house. ‘‘My family and I am very happy over here,’’ he said with a big smile on his face: a scene of gloom was quickly replaced by his gesture. ‘‘The government has helped us a lot. After the earthquake on May 12th, we shifted to the temporary shelter on May 29 and received Rs 300 Yuan from the government for the first three months. I have three children and one of my sons, who was unemployed, was given a job by the government.” About his house, he said it was not completely destroyed and the construction work was going on, though it would take some time because the damage of property in Sichuan province was huge.
Before we headed off to the next place, the couple insisted us on eating some oranges and didn’t let us go without having them. Chinese people are very magnanimous even more hospitable than Indians. Their friendly approach speaks wonders; they would go out of way in helping people, especially strangers.
Later, I met a young woman named Chen Ying. Her house was destroyed by the earthquake, but it hardly had made any difference for her. Before the natural calamity she was running a parlor at Di Jiang Yu and now she was doing the same business at the makeshift colony. She received monetary help from the government in addition to the compensation for the house. ‘‘My house was damaged in the quake and the government is rebuilding it now. I also got 300 Yuan for the first three months after the quake and a big room for my parlor in addition to the two-room apartment here. I have no regrets and the China government is great,’’ she said. Chen Ying has a son and her husband is working in a factory.
Not very far from there, I met another young lady, running an interior designing shop. Jiang Xiao Cui said everyone in her family was safe but her house was completely destroyed by the quake. However, she had no worries at all. Her family– husband, baby boy and Jiang– received 200 Yuan extra compensation from the government for another two months in addition to the first three-month 900 Yuan because the damage of house had surpassed the limit set by the government. The Chinese Government gives extra compensation to those victims whose house is damaged beyond the 70 sq ft limit set by the government.
The systematic management crisis approach of the so called ‘‘undemocratic’’ country of China shined through in the optimism, enthusiasm, passion, intelligence and remarkable pace to re-establishment of the people despite the worst natural disaster. The experience also validated the statement—which I earlier presumed was untrue—of a Canadian professor at Tsinghua University during a conversation I had with him at China Council for the Promotion of International Trade (CCPIT) meetings in Beijing: the role of China government in managing Wenchuan earthquake was by far better than the US government’s response to Hurricane Katrina.
The Wenchuan earthquake has, without a doubt, proved China’ s efficiency in managing one of the country’s worst ever natural disasters. The China government has been credited for its rescue efforts and for its retroaction, despite the country’s initial reservation about allowing in foreign rescue teams.
The quake has been a turning point in Chinese politics: the Wenchuan earthquake has helped China divert the attention of the world from its controversial policies like restrictions on media and limitations imposed on people in general. In fact, the earthquake has brought people closer to the government, and they have all praises for the government’s remarkable approach to tackle the natural disaster in terms of compensation and rehabilitation of quake survivors. The quake has also helped China to regain its image affected by the widespread denunciation worldwide against its stand on Tibet.
The Chinese government has impressed the world and its efforts in dealing with the crisis have established strong credibility and accountability for this government among millions of Chinese people, who have been brought together by a wave of unity and patriotism. The quake has given rise to the emergence of a growing peaceful, unified and diversified China.
Last month, I visited Sichuan province in China as part of the Asia Pacific Leadership Program and was curious to see survivors of the Wenchuan earthquake that killed 70,000 people and rendered thousands homeless, especially after witnessing another earthquake that was the worst ever natural disaster in my hometown of Kashmir in 2005.
In China, I went to Di Jian Yu, which is one of the worst affected areas, and was expecting to witness helpless survivors braving biting cold in makeshift houses. More so, the memories of Kashmir earthquake survivors still struggling in temporary houses, especially during snow in harsh winter, were fresh in my mind. ‘‘India is a democratic country but quake survivors are still in makeshift houses even after three years so the situation in China in a non-democratic setup will undoubtedly be worse as the Wenchuan earthquake was only six months ago,’’ I thought.
As I reached Du Jiag Yan, I saw some damaged houses with visible cracks. Some meters ahead were piles of brick and sand mounds of the affected houses dismantled for new structures. Some pre-quake residential colonies had become open grounds after damaged houses were razed to ground in the aftermath of the quake. The neighborhood looked like a newly-discovered place where people have just been settling down, with construction work going on in full swing.
I asked a pedestrian if there was any other place where huge damage had taken place, and I was surprised to hear the place I was standing was badly impacted by the quake. But everything had changed except for a few buildings with some visible cracks. Somebody suggested Puyang Lu colony, where most damaged houses still existed. It was a residential colony before the quake and one of the buildings, where a government-run company resided, was completely destroyed, burying over 100 people at the time of the disaster.
However, except for that damaged building, still in tatters, there was hardly anything different from what I had seen earlier. One of the ladies at the site, who was heading the company, was kind enough to give me the address of people in temporary houses. Li Mingyong said her family was also living in temporary shelters provided by the China government. And about her company, she said she was now running it from a nearby building provided by the government. She said the government was seriously considering shifting the quake survivors to their new houses as soon as possible, while she pointed to some construction workers at the site. Huge numbers of workers have been employed in order to expedite construction work.
Her version was enough to transform my perception about China, but her confidence and optimism even after her house was completely destroyed inspired me to know more about how other survivors were feeling. There was another reason behind my curiosity and that was Kashmir: The 2005 earthquake measuring 7.6 on the Richter scale and epicentered at Muzafarabad in Azad Kashmir (Pakistan-administered Kashmir) claimed lives of 1,400 people in the Indian part of Kashmir.
Three years on, most of the survivors of the worst-affected areas of Uri, Varmul, and Tanghdar in North Kashmir were yet to be rehabilitated. Not only was the ‘‘disorganized’’ planning of the government in distributing funds to be blamed — even some people who were not affected received compensation initially — but a huge amount of money was siphoned off by some local people working for international NGOs by exploiting the situation in the garb of surveys, which turned out to be unproductive later. Many survivors ended up getting no compensation for building houses as they had spent money the government had provided them in the first place, even far before the government’s announcement. The government announced that only those people would be compensated who had built plinth for their new houses, a pre-requisite to getting more funds. The phenomenon reflected collective failures of the government as well as NGOs and the people, who took undue advantage of surplus funds coming from the country and internationally, and bore the brunt eventually.
I headed to Qing Jian Ren Jia or temporary houses colony. There was no sullen silence in the colony but bustling activities with people wearing expressions that gave no sense of any remorse or the tragedy they had faced only a few months ago. The neighborhood of the colony was the perfect place of serenity. On the left side of the Qing Jian Ren Jia gate stood a policeman beside his office; the police guard the colony to avoid any untoward incident. As I walked past him and inched ahead into the lane, I saw a long stretch dotted with white painted one-storied mud-and-brick houses.
An elderly woman was knitting a beautiful sweater outside her door; I was not sure if she would agree to speak to me for a few minutes, but the woman instead invited me to her home. As she opened the door, I saw three Chinese names written on the door. My Chinese friends who were with me read the names for me, which I understood were the woman and her husband but I was confused about the third name. As I got into the room her husband was in there. The home was a big room divided into two parts. The room was stuffed mostly with clothes and there were two big beds that had covered huge space. We sat down on the bed and I asked them curiously about the third name on the door.
A couple in a makeshift house at Qing Jian Ren Jia, Chengdu, in ChinaThe man said “Yao Shi Kai is me, Ou Ye Zhen is my wife and Yao Ru Ping is my little daughter who died in the earthquake.” There was a one minute silence in the room and after a little while I asked him if they were comfortable in the makeshift house. ‘‘My family and I am very happy over here,’’ he said with a big smile on his face: a scene of gloom was quickly replaced by his gesture. ‘‘The government has helped us a lot. After the earthquake on May 12th, we shifted to the temporary shelter on May 29 and received Rs 300 Yuan from the government for the first three months. I have three children and one of my sons, who was unemployed, was given a job by the government.” About his house, he said it was not completely destroyed and the construction work was going on, though it would take some time because the damage of property in Sichuan province was huge.
Before we headed off to the next place, the couple insisted us on eating some oranges and didn’t let us go without having them. Chinese people are very magnanimous even more hospitable than Indians. Their friendly approach speaks wonders; they would go out of way in helping people, especially strangers.
Later, I met a young woman named Chen Ying. Her house was destroyed by the earthquake, but it hardly had made any difference for her. Before the natural calamity she was running a parlor at Di Jiang Yu and now she was doing the same business at the makeshift colony. She received monetary help from the government in addition to the compensation for the house. ‘‘My house was damaged in the quake and the government is rebuilding it now. I also got 300 Yuan for the first three months after the quake and a big room for my parlor in addition to the two-room apartment here. I have no regrets and the China government is great,’’ she said. Chen Ying has a son and her husband is working in a factory.
Not very far from there, I met another young lady, running an interior designing shop. Jiang Xiao Cui said everyone in her family was safe but her house was completely destroyed by the quake. However, she had no worries at all. Her family– husband, baby boy and Jiang– received 200 Yuan extra compensation from the government for another two months in addition to the first three-month 900 Yuan because the damage of house had surpassed the limit set by the government. The Chinese Government gives extra compensation to those victims whose house is damaged beyond the 70 sq ft limit set by the government.
The systematic management crisis approach of the so called ‘‘undemocratic’’ country of China shined through in the optimism, enthusiasm, passion, intelligence and remarkable pace to re-establishment of the people despite the worst natural disaster. The experience also validated the statement—which I earlier presumed was untrue—of a Canadian professor at Tsinghua University during a conversation I had with him at China Council for the Promotion of International Trade (CCPIT) meetings in Beijing: the role of China government in managing Wenchuan earthquake was by far better than the US government’s response to Hurricane Katrina.
The Wenchuan earthquake has, without a doubt, proved China’ s efficiency in managing one of the country’s worst ever natural disasters. The China government has been credited for its rescue efforts and for its retroaction, despite the country’s initial reservation about allowing in foreign rescue teams.
The quake has been a turning point in Chinese politics: the Wenchuan earthquake has helped China divert the attention of the world from its controversial policies like restrictions on media and limitations imposed on people in general. In fact, the earthquake has brought people closer to the government, and they have all praises for the government’s remarkable approach to tackle the natural disaster in terms of compensation and rehabilitation of quake survivors. The quake has also helped China to regain its image affected by the widespread denunciation worldwide against its stand on Tibet.
The Chinese government has impressed the world and its efforts in dealing with the crisis have established strong credibility and accountability for this government among millions of Chinese people, who have been brought together by a wave of unity and patriotism. The quake has given rise to the emergence of a growing peaceful, unified and diversified China.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)