One Dead Singh

Who is he? Who is this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son is he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Is someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that will never come?

Where is he from? Does he live in Delhi or is he just visiting? Where was he born? What is his pind? When was he born? How old is he?

What is his occupation? Is he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or is he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What are his politics? Is he an Akali or a member of Congress? Is he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or is he political at all? Is he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why is he keshdhari? Is it just habit, following family custom? Or is it deeply meaningful to him? Does he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or are those just incidentals that have fallen by the wayside of his life? Where is his turban? How does he feel as it is ripped from his head and his kesh is exposed?

How does he feel as he realises the mob is coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What goes on in his brain as the petrol is poured on him and set alight? What is he thinking as his body burns? Or is he beyond thought? Is he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What is his last awareness as he dies alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

Questions without answers. Whoever he is, he deserves to be remembered. I doubt he had even a death certificate, so I have made him one.

(Click to enlarge)

There is something so very final about the certificate. And, of course, I realise that all I have written is wrong and must be rewritten to reflect the truth of 25 years later...

Who was he? Who was this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son was he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Was someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that never came?

Where was he from? Did he live in Delhi or was he just visiting? Where was he born? What was his pind? When was he born? How old was he?

What was his occupation? Was he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or was he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What were his politics? Was he an Akali or a member of Congress? Was he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or was he political at all? Was he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why was he keshdhari? Was it just habit, following family custom? Or was it deeply meaningful to him? Did he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or were those just incidentals that had fallen by the wayside of his life? Where was his turban? How did he feel as it was ripped from his head and his kesh was exposed?

How did he feel as he realised the mob was coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What went on in his brain as the petrol was poured on him and set alight? What was he thinking as his body burned? Or was he beyond thought? Was he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What was his last awareness as he died alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

He was our brother and he was one single human being, one Sikh among the thousands murdered during the madness of those days in 1984.

He is our brother and he deserves justice.

One final, unanswered question: When?

SHUT DOWN PUNJAB 03 NOVEMBER 2009

SHUT DOWN PUNJAB - 03 NOVEMBER 2009

EVERYTHING EXCEPT EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES MUST BE SHUT DOWN IN HONOUR OF OUR 1984 SHAHEEDS.

31 OCTOBER 05 - NOVEMBER 1984.

This video has some pretty graphic pictures. Most I had seen before. A few are new to me. Many thanks to Harjot.com.

India: Getting a Baptism by Fire

Time Magazine coverage of the Delhi Pogrom 19 November 1984

"Indira is India, India is Indira." That once ubiquitous slogan seemed even truer in death than in life. No less shocking than the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi by two Sikh bodyguards was the brutality that erupted across India in its wake. Frenzied mobs of young Hindu thugs, thirsting for revenge, burned Sikh-owned stores to the ground, dragged Sikhs out of their homes, cars and trains, then clubbed them to death or set them aflame before raging off in search of other victims. The death toll approached 2,000, and in Delhi, where more than 550 died, four days of madness and murder also left some 20,000 Sikhs crowded into refugee camps. Suddenly a nation that had thought of Indira as its mother seemed rudderless and orphaned. "Over the years, Madame kept us in check," said a senior Indian journalist. "Once she is gone, we go berserk."

That orgy of death and disorder pointed up as nothing else the daunting task faced by India's new Prime Minister, Indira's son Rajiv, 40, who determinedly assumed a burden for which scarcely three years of political apprenticeship had little prepared him. After ceremoniously igniting his mother's funeral pyre, Rajiv met with a score of foreign dignitaries who had attended the funeral, including U.S. Secretary of State George Shultz.

"Gandhi came through with a sort of quiet strength that I find reassuring," said Shultz after their meeting. The new leader also met with Pakistan's President Mohammed Zia ul-Haq, whose presence—the first by a Pakistani head of state at the funeral of an Indian Prime Minister—seemed a promising gesture of geod will. That same day, at his first Cabinet meeting, Gandhi disclosed that he would serve as his own Foreign Minister.

After that initial bow to foreign affairs, Rajiv concentrated on restoring order and confidence to Indian life. He lost no time in establishing a commission of inquiry, headed by a Supreme Court justice, to investigate the slaying of his mother. He visited the ravaged, riot-torn areas of his capital in a tour that the pro-Gandhi National Herald declared "had an efficacious and reassuring impact on the morale of the people." Then, in answer to chilling claims that the police had simply shrugged their shoulders or looked away while the bloodbath continued, the new Prime Minister fired the Lieutenant-Governor of Delhi, P.G. Gavai, and replaced him with Home Secretary M.M.K. Wali.

Early this week, some semblance of normal life was beginning, ever so tentatively, to return to the capital. Banks opened, residents ventured into the streets again, and vendors reappeared in market areas. But the tranquillity seemed tenuous. While combat troops patrolled the city in olive armed personnel carriers and Jeeps mounted with machine guns, tan-uniformed policemen wielding bamboo sticks stood guard at every street corner. That, however, was no guarantee of law-and-order. Two TIME photographers were attacked by Hindu toughs who smashed the glasses of one and tore two cameras from the neck of the other.

If the authorities were conspicuous by their presence, so were the Sikhs by their absence. Largely gone from the streets were the familiar bearded, turbaned men who have traditionally driven cabs and manned stores all around the capital. Half their cabs had been burned; perhaps 70% of their shops had been devastated. Some of the Sikhs fled to their homeland of Punjab; some still cowered inside the houses of Hindu neighbors. Others, whose homes were destroyed or had to be abandoned, huddled together within makeshift refugee camps.

There they could do nothing except repeat horror stories of the chaos and carnage that had swept through more than 80 cities. In a camp set up in the Gandhi Memorial Higher School in Delhi, one Sikh survivor after another described how friends and loved ones had been murdered. "My three sons were burned alive," quietly began Amrik Singh, a sad-eyed man whose gray beard had been forcibly shaved to a silver stubble by a mob wielding knives. "They came to my house. They dragged my sons out. They put petrol on them and set them on fire." Near by, Purani Kaur, 60, leaned against a wall in the dusty school courtyard, her eyelids almost swollen shut. "They came to my house with swords and bricks," she said as friends reached out to steady her. "All my five sons and my son-in-law were killed." In a dark corner of a corridor, Amrit Kaur sat with her head swathed in a blood-soaked bandage. "My husband was burned alive. My children were beaten senseless. Then my house was set on fire. My children could not come out, and they were burned inside." With that she broke down and began to weep.

Off to one side of the courtyard women squatted beside a fire, making bread. "There is no food, no water here supplied by the government," complained Satpal Singh, a government stenographer. "Now the people who killed us are free." A 90-year-old man showed the wound across his forehead where gangs of rampaging toughs had ripped off his turban and almost scalped him while cutting the hair that Sikhs must by religion keep unshorn.

"The government, the police did nothing to protect us," he said. "They turned their backs while Sikhs were slaughtered."

Amid the shame and shock, however, there were a few reassuring stories. Some Hindus, at great risk to themselves, organized units for defending Sikh dwellings; some gave sanctuary to their Sikh friends; others offered medical aid to the wounded. Moved by such gestures, 13 prominent Sikh writers and intellectuals issued a statement to "put on record our gratitude to our Hindu brethren." Rajiv also pledged that the government would pay fixed amounts for every Sikh wounded or killed and for every home damaged ordestroyed.

While trying to heal his nation's wounds, the new Prime Minister had asserted his power skillfully. But he had also, in his first week in office, acquired the problem of wide-scale Sikh homelessness to add to the burning fuse of Sikh restlessness. After all the tributes paid to Indira Gandhi, the finest, he knew, would be a resolution to the Sikh problem that had ended his mother's life, and that, if unresolved, could end many more. —By Pico Iyer. Reported by Dean Brelis and James Willwerth/New Delhi

1984 MEMORIAL

Many of us had relatives and friends killed in the Delhi Pogrom whom we would like to memorialise.

Bhenji Sukhmandir Kaur Khalsa, author of the website, About.com: Sikhism, has set up a place where this can be done. You are welcome to go to In Memory - The 1984 Delhi Massacre Memorial. You are welcome to write about your loved ones or just leave their names.

We remember. We will never forget.

IN MEMORIUM

WAHEGURU JI KA KHALSA
WAHEGURU JI KI FATEH

IN LOVING AND GRATEFUL MEMORY

FROM YOUR KHALSA SISTERS
VINI AND SUNI AND MAI


on the 22nd 23rd 24th 25th  26th anniversary of your Shaheedi
the Delhi Pogrom,
31 October- 4 November, 1984

TO OUR KHALSA BROTHERS

SHAHEED BERTRAM K. SINGH

SHAHEED BALBIR SINGH

SHAHEED EDUARD P. SINGH

SHAHEED MANDEEP SINGH KHALSA

SHAHEED MOHAN SINGH
SHAHEED SANDEEP SINGH

and our two little sisters who died unborn,

BABY KAUR ONE

BABY KAUR TWO

and to all the thousands of our other brothers and sisters who died in this battle/pogrom/massacre.

YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN

WAHEGURU JI KA KHALSA

WAHEGURU JI KI FATEH

OUR SEARCH FOR JUSTICE CONTINUES UNABATED.

KHALISTAN ZINDABAD!!