By T.S.V. Hari, IANS
Coimbatore (Tamil Nadu) : Views of residents here on the 1998 Coimbatore blasts verdict, in which as many as 40 people, mostly Muslims, were given life terms, are as polarised as this city itself.
Close to the main railway station, which divides Coimbatore into eastern and western parts, is Kottaimedu, a maze of alleyways named after Hindu gods Shiva and Vishnu. There is a Vincent Road too — which has a small chapel. But it is obvious that this is the Muslim quarter.
Mosques, eateries, madrassas, groceries, centres proclaiming expertise in circumcision and teashops are placed cheek by jowl next to several pigeon-hole type single storied tenements. Every male has a beard — either a stubble or longer, proclaiming his religion.
Regardless of age, the women are always accompanied by their men.
Ten out of a dozen people asked for their opinion regarding the special court’s pronouncements during the last two days bluntly refused to comment.
“We are poor people who do not understand legal matters. Our lives are one long grind — a struggle to eke out a living. So please leave us alone,” said 60-year-old Abdul Rahim who decided to have a word edgeways on behalf of the milling crowd that had gathered around him.
As many as 40 men were given life sentences by a special court here Wednesday and Thursday for the terror attack that killed 58 people and injured over 250 on Feb 14, 1988 — the day Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leader L.K. Advani was to address an election meeting in the city.
Those sentenced include chief accused Syed Ahmed Basha, founder of the militant Islamic outfit Al Umma.
The amble through Easwaran Koil (Shiva Temple) Street leads to a madrassa, named Muslim Youth Progressive Association.
Though there is no power-cut, it is dark. But there is an audible sign of life — someone soulfully singing “Man tharapath hari darshan ko aaj” (my heart aches for the sight of Lord Vishnu) from the 50s Hindi classic “Baiju Bawra”.
Reacting to our presence, the singer flicks the lights on and identifies himself as Mohammad Hanif. A query about the religious connotation of the song brings forth an unexpected reply from the 60-year-old.
“Nobody has said that we should not hum a popular number even if it is in praise of Hindu gods. Please remember that the original was rendered by Mohammed Rafi — a good Muslim,” Hanif offers.
“I do not want to comment about courts, cases, the police here,” he says, waving a hand towards the door where a jeep containing two police officers and a constable is stationed. “I am just a connoisseur of good music.”
Abdul Gaffoor, 58, member of the Indian Union Muslim League, was enjoying the music. He agrees to express an opinion on current events.
“The whole system is stacked against us. Look at the squalor here. Do we look like being dangerous people? Yet many of those sentenced yesterday and today are ordinary folk — just like me. This is a Hindu country that thinks in only one direction — against the minority. So we limit ourselves to a ghetto’s relative safety or are forced to opt for a prison sentence. The two are not totally different anyway,” Gaffoor says bitterly.
Back on the street, 29-year-old lawyer Rabia, accompanied by her husband and toddler, is ready to say her bit — a statement that is a complete negation of what Gaffoor averred.
“The sentences are a step in the right direction because of two things. At least, none of the accused was awarded death sentence. Second, regardless of how many ‘life’ terms were given, all of them amount to only one term. Appeals will release some and remissions may alleviate the suffering of virtually all who were at the wrong end of the court,” Rabia said.
Five kilometres to the east, in Parsn Complex, an affluent cluster of houses with security guards and paved avenues, the reaction was angry.
“The ringleaders ought to have been given capital punishment. Only that would have deterred others. But what else can one expect when an atheist government rules us at the centre and in the state?” asks Kamala Ramakrishnan, a 75-year-old Brahmin housewife ensconced in an air-conditioned living room.
“We are not against minorities. My neighbour Susan is a Christian and a good friend. We both believe in ‘Vaastu’ and have agreed to alter our homes adjacent to each other despite the difference in our faiths. None of us have anything personal against Islam.
“But we have to draw a line when it comes to terrorism because it is a malady that has affected India from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, and Porbandar to Agartala. Is any part of our nation safe any longer from agent provocateurs in our midst?” Ramakrishnan wants to know.
K. Damodaran, a middle-aged businessman with an establishment in the centre of the city, echoes similar sentiments.
“The issue is terrorism and not religion. I don’t think that any normal person subscribing to any faith is violent per se. I am sure that the majority in Kottaimedu are peaceful people though there are many who call it a mini-Pakistan.
“Once upon a time, we were all friends and doing business together. Now with the advent of terrorism, the nice feeling of trust has disappeared because of people like Basha and Ansari who preach violence using their religious denomination,” he added after pausing for thought.