Monday, 26 August 2013

Navy's dubious safety record worrisome for national security


Indian Navy's dubious safety record worrisome for national security

Sandeep Unnithan  New Delhi, August 26, 2013 | UPDATED 16:25 IST

INS Sindhurakshak sank in Mumbai after two blasts ripped through its hull on August 14.
INS Sindhurakshak sank in Mumbai after two blasts ripped through its hull on August 14.
In November 2011, the Indian Navy was particularly incensed with what a US naval lieutenant had posted on a blog. The unnamed lieutenant, who spent four days on destroyer INS Delhi in the Arabian Sea as part of an exchange programme, called the Indian crew "generally clueless", with "almost zero seamanship skills". This was one in a long, harsh critique of what he saw on the frontline warship. The blog was removed days after it was posted.
Did the blog touch a raw nerve? Just 10 months earlier, the naval frigate INS Vindhyagiri collided with a merchant tanker in Mumbai harbour sank. It was the fourth time a warship was completely written off in 23 years. Since 1990, the Indian Navy has lost one warship in peacetime every five years. Since 2004, it has lost one naval combatant every two years. Few global navies have such a dubious record. Five days after the August 14 explosion destroyed INS Sindhurakshak, killing 18 crew members, Defence Minister A.K. Antony told Rajya Sabha that "preliminary probe indicated the blast was due to possible ignition of armament". Armed with torpedoes and missiles, the submarine was fully fuelled and ready to sail for patrol early next morning.
Former southern naval chief Vice Admiral K.N. Sushil (retired) cautions it is too early to conclude it sank due to negligence. Evidence points to a blast in an oxygen-powered torpedo, he says. "The Navy must do a forensic examination to pinpoint the cause," he says.
What is worrying is that with each warship loss, key maritime capabilities are being lost. The Sindhurakshak had returned from Russia four months ago, and after a two-and-a-half year refit, was the Navy's most potent conventional submarine. The frigate INS Vindhyagiri was the only warship that could control spy drones far out at sea.
Peacetime losses of warships are not uncommon. Since the World War II, the US Navy has lost 16 warships in accidents. Russia's nuclear submarine Kursk sank in August 2000 after a faulty torpedo exploded during a training exercise. But in case of the smaller Indian Navy-it only has 30 frontline warships and 14 submarines-they point to a far disturbing trend, of human rather than technical error. The Prahar and Vindhyagiri collided with lumbering merchant vessels. The INS Agray was cut into half in 2004 when a crew member tossed a misfired anti-submarine rocket overboard. The spate of accidents comes at a time when the fleet is expanding in both size and complexity. Last year, it acquired INS Chakra, its first nuclear-powered attack submarine from Russia. It is set to induct its largest ship, the 44,000-tonne aircraft carrier INS Vikramaditya, from Russia this year. Former eastern naval commander Vice Admiral A.K. Singh (retired) slams the Government's apathy. "The Navy is operating vessels long past their service years of 25 and 30 years as the government doesn't sanction new ones in time," he says.
Ageing ships alone do not explain other accidents and collisions. Naval officials say there are a series of smaller mishaps that point to Standard Operating Procedures (sops) not being followed. The August 2009 collision of the missile corvette INS Kuthar with destroyer INS Ranvir in the Bay of Bengal was traced to a rudder failure, compounded by a flawed manoeuvre. In 2010, three crew men on destroyer INS Mumbai were instantly killed when an AK-630 Gatling gun went off as safety drills were not followed. The submarine INS Sindhughosh collided twice; once with a fishing boat in 2006 and once with a merchant vessel in 2007. "The Navy has put in place multiple, institutionalised methods and procedures towards enhancing safety," a naval spokesperson said, responding to a questionnaire. "Each type of unit has a Safety Class Authority that oversees safety aspects and guides safety related policy. On completion of major repairs, all units undergo a safety audit, prior joining respective formations."
"The problem is that we aren't empowering our young officers," admits a senior naval officer, echoing what the US navy blogger said. Experience levels have suffered as there is a mismatch between number of warships and officers. Each year, 60 captain-ranked officers vie for the command of 15-20 warships. "A decade ago, a captain got two 18-month long sea tenures, allowing him to build up experience; today he gets only one," says a naval officer.
"Adequate sea tenures are provided to all concerned," a naval spokesperson said.
In 2006, then defence minister Pranab Mukherjee pulled Navy brass up after a spate of accidents. Accidents have however continued despite 'safety stand down' procedures performed on all warships every quarter, and court-martials. The loss of the Sindhurakshak has now pushed them to unacceptable levels.

Friday, 19 July 2013

The sons of Karimnagar


Inside The Maoist Nursery

Majority of the Maoist leadership hail from a single district of Telangana, a legacy that haunts its demand for statehood
Sandeep Unnithan  Karimnagar, July 19, 2013 | UPDATED 17:23 IST
On November 27, 2011, the body of slain Maoist Mallojula Koteshwara Rao alias Kishenji was brought back to his home in Pedapalli village in Andhra Pradesh's Karimnagar district. The Maoist number three, a ruthless tactician fluent in six languages, was killed after a firefight with CRPF men in West Bengal. Policemen in plainclothes filmed the crowds that gathered to spot Maoists in mufti. Kishenji was swiftly replaced in the Maoist politburo, the highest decision making body of CPI (Maoist), by his younger brother Venugopal, 51. His mother, Madhuramma, 76, wife of a deceased freedom fighter, says she may not live to see her son. "This is war," she says, "They kill the police... the police kill them."

Madhuramma
Madhuramma, the mother of Maoist leaders Kishenji and Venugopal. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
A majority of the Maoist senior leadership, which steers this war against India from the jungles of Chhattisgarh, hails from Andhra Pradesh's Telangana region. Six of the Maoists' most important leaders including their chief, Muppalla Lakshmana Rao alias Ganapathy, 63, come from a quaint knot of towns and villages of Karimnagar district, 160 km north of Hyderabad.

"They are not like the dreamy Naxalite intellectuals of yore such as Charu Mazumdar," says an Andhra police officer. "These Maoist leaders back ideology with hardcore military skills." Their war, which has claimed over 8,000 lives since 2003, took a savage turn this year. In January, Maoists planted an explosive inside the body of a CRPF trooper they had killed in Jharkand and, in a first for any Indian insurgency, shot down an IAF  helicopter on January 18 in Chhattisgarh; on May 25, Maoists massacred 28 people in one swoop, wiping out practically the entire Opposition Congress party in Chhattisgarh-Nand Kumar Patel, V.C. Shukla and Mahendra Karma. Katakam Sudershan, 58, the mastermind, a senior member of the Maoists' Central Military Commission (CMC) is from Belampalli village in Nizamabad that borders Karimnagar.

A 2010 Andhra Pradesh police handbook of 408 wanted Maoists credits Karimnagar with 60 important Maoists, second only to Warangal with 80. Both these districts are part of what will eventually be India's 29th state, Telangana. In a July 12 power point presentation before the Congress core committee in Delhi, Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Kiran Kumar Reddy said that statehood for Telangana would aggravate communalism and Naxalism. Newly created Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand, he warned, were in the grip of Naxalism.

Sons Of Karimnagar

Karimnagar with a population of 3.9 million, is sandwiched by the Godavari river in the north, Chhattisgarh's Bastar to the east, Nizamabad to the west and Warangal to the south. It is Andhra Pradesh's hottest district-10 people died after temperatures touched 49 degree Celcius this summer. Geography and climate alone does not answer why the district named after a Nizam scion, turned into an extremist hotbed.

On the morning of June 1 this year, the residents of Beerpur, a village of 3,651 people in northern Karimnagar, were roused by the town crier. Beating a tinny drum, a ritual unchanged since Mughal times, he announced that the government was seizing the lands of top Maoist leaders. He was accompanied by the village tehsildar and an officer from the National Investigation Agency (NIA). Beerpur is the birthplace of Maoist leader Ganapathy. The NIA is pursuing a 2010 arms recovery case in West Bengal where senior leaders including Ganapathy and Tirupati are co-accused. They confiscated 1.3 acres owned by Balamuri Narayan Rao, another Maoist leader and Ganapathy acolyte. Ganapathy, they discovered, owned no land. The effort was a token one, but it is the first time a central agency had acted against a leadership that flits between the grey areas of a Centre and state problem.

Land has always been the root cause. Ganapathy was the son of a farmer from the landowning Velama upper caste, the very class he eventually turned against. A BSc graduate from Karimnagar's srr college in 1970, he taught at a district school for three years. Karimnagar was a district with a history of near-continuous armed struggle. CPI's armed revolt, also called the Telangana Rebellion, began in 1945 and ended in 1951. It was aimed at the Nizam, but the feudal tyranny of the landlords called the 'Doralu' continued even after the Nizam's rule ended. "There was no development, agriculture was rain-fed and feudal oppression rampant," explains Karimnagar MP Ponnam Prabhakar. The Doralu exercised untrammelled power over their unlimited land holdings, a power that frequently extended over the wives of their tenant farmers. It was a condition ripe for uprising.

"He was shy, reserved... a teetotaler with no vices," recalls Ganapathy's cousin Rajeshwar Rao, 75, a contractor who lives in the village as he sits by the roadside, fanning himself with a towel in the damp monsoon heat. "All three brothers were communists," he says, "always immersed in viplava sahityam (revolutionary literature)."

The foundations of the Karimnagar caucus were set in the Radical Students Union (RSU), a Marxist students' body where all the Maoist leaders met. Ganapathy and other graduates from the districts of Telangana gravitated towards RSU. They were joined by other ideologues like Cherukuri Rajkumar alias 'Azad', a gold medallist from the regional engineering college in Warangal (killed by Andhra police in 2010) and Kishenji.

Ganapathy was arrested for violence and arson during the nationwide Emergency in 1977. He jumped bail and went underground in 1979. He and the others joined Kondapalli Seetharamaih's People's War Group (PWG) the following year. They were the children of Mao Zedong, adherents of his Red Book. They were convinced power flowed from the barrel of the gun and, like the Chairman, dreamt of wresting it in three steps: From remote jungle strongholds, to villages and finally the battle for the urban centres.

As the Maoists rose up the ranks, they abandoned families, adopted single guerrilla nom de guerres, left behind wives, children, families and memories: Wavy-haired portraits from the 1980s on walls and musty plastic albums. "I last met my brother in prison in 1980," says Tippiri Gangadhar, 40, a former toddy tapper who now works as a real estate agent. Tirupathi, who like Kishenji and Ganapathy went to Karimnagar's srr degree college, now heads the Maoists' central technical commission. He led the March 2007 attack on a state police camp in Ranibodli, Chhattisgarh, that killed 55 policemen. "He (Tirupathi) told me he had no family. The movement was his only family," says Gangadhar.

The Deadly Landmine

It was in Ganapathy's Beerpur village that the Naxals first used their weapon of mass destruction: The landmine. In 1989, PWG targeted what they thought was a police jeep. The blast blew the jeep to smithereens and showered body parts of the 17 occupants on nearby trees. It was a wedding party carrying members of Ganapathy's extended family. The Maoists issued an abject apology, but their war against the state continued.

By 1992, Ganapathy had ousted his mentor Seetharamaiah, taken control of PWG and driven most landlords out of rural Telangana. "The Naxals ended the 'Dora kaala' (reign of Doras)," says Sande Ravi, 36, a cotton farmer in Gudem village. "We worship him as God," he says pointing at a photo of his brother Sande Rajamouli with an AK-47, the Maoists' badge of high office. Rajamouli, aka Comrade Prasad, 43, was the youngest leader on the Maoists' central committee when he was killed by Andhra Pradesh Police in a 2007 encounter.

Ganapathy's four-room dwelling in Beerpur is a small roofless ruin overgrown with shrubbery. His family abandoned it for the anonymity of Hyderabad. A cellphone tower looms nearby and in the adjoining fields, the music system on a green and yellow John Deere tractor belts out Telugu film songs.

A technicolour statue of 'Telangana amma', holding a bushel of corn and a tray of rice, stands in the village centre. She was introduced a decade ago by Telangana parties as a rival to a similar looking 'Telugu talli' (Mother Telugu) of united Andhra. It looks directly at a 15-ft red column erected by the Maoists, topped with a hammer and sickle, and festooned with names of their fighters who fell to police bullets. The state government erected a rival white pillar topped by a dove with the names of civilians killed by left-wing guerrillas even as it worries an independent Telangana will, once again, turn into a Maoist sanctuary.

The State Strikes Back


A Maoist memorial
A Maoist memorial(right) in Ganapathy's village Beerpur faces a statue of Telanganaamma. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
Sentries stand on guard towers behind self-loading rifles in Karimnagar's fortress-like district police headquarters. Inside, lithe Andhra police commandos sit in jeans, denim shirts and running shoes. The loaded AK-47s on their lap and a gaze that sweeps the scene tells you the Maoist threat hasn't entirely gone. Vishwanath Ravinder, Karimnagar's superintendent of police, sits on a glass- topped table before two crossed flags, one of which reads 'who dares wins'. He explains how the state beat back the Maoist challenge. "A three-pronged strategy of building road infrastructure, curbing armed squads and rehabilitating surrendered Naxals," he says. The Maoists wilted under the 'Andhra model'.

Huge investments in district policing and a formidable intelligence network allowed elite anti-Naxal Greyhounds to conduct precise intelligence-led operations. The Maoists, too, began targeting the police leadership, killing K.S. Vyas, the IPS officer who founded the Greyhounds in 1993, and attacked then Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu in a landmine ambush in September 2003. But by that year, the tide had already begun turning. The Karimnagar leadership carried their ideology and military skills into Dandakaranya's forests-a 92,000 square km stretch that covers Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Odisha. In the words of Rural Development Minister Jairam Ramesh, Andhra Pradesh had, unwittingly, exported its Naxals to another state.

The Telugu Officer Class

Maoists
The younger brother and parents of slain Maoist leader Prasad in Jolapalli village. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
"Vanakka evananna migilaara? (Anyone left?)" a voice in Telugu shouts in a 2007 shaky Maoist battle-cam video, trophy footage of their raid on a police post on Murkinar in Chhattisgarh's Bijapur district where Maoist fighters boarded a state transport bus and stormed the post, light machine guns blazing. Eleven police personnel were killed in the attack, a voiceover in the tribal Gondi dialect tells you. However, tactical instructions in Telugu, shouted back and forth, tell you who is calling the shots: An elite Andhra officer corps that controls an army of 10,000 tribal guerrillas that hopes to overthrow the Indian government by 2050.

In his new sanctuary in the impenetrable Dandakaranya forests in September 2004, Ganapathy did what no guerrilla group had done in post-independent India. He unified PWG with another, equally menacing left-wing extremist group, Bihar's Maoist Communist Centre (MCC), to form CPI (Maoist). By 2005, this formidable force was formally anointed as the 'greatest internal security threat' by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.

Ganapathy heads a red empire spanning approximately 83 districts across nine states. The unification brought the Maoists closer to the eastern states but a bulk of the strategising is still done by the Karimnagar caucus. Ganapathy runs the Maoist empire with his Karimnagar acolytes. Venugopal runs the Maoist bastion, 'Dandakaranya Special Zonal Committee' (DKSZC), Malla Raji Reddy controls the sensitive Chhattisgarh- Odisha Border State Committee; Kadari Satyanarayana Reddy from Gopalraopalli is the secretary of DKSZC and Pulluri Prasad Rao heads the North Telangana Zonal committee. Police hope the leadership will surrender or be betrayed by friends and family. Each of them have bounties of Rs.44 lakh. So far, only one central committee leader, Lanka Papi Reddy, surrendered, five years ago.

Narasimha Beats Ganapathy

When home ministry officials look at the Maoist problem, they see an ageing, 'dyeing' leadership. A majority of the senior leadership including Ganapathy use hair dye. A greying guerrilla, even one carrying an ak-47, evidently cannot command obedience. The hair dye cannot conceal a greying ideology. "Maoists are having a hard time getting new recruits," a senior home ministry official says. "This is why over 60 per cent of their fighting cadres are now women. The second-rung leaders don't have the ideological commitment of Ganapathy and his aides," he says, predicting a descent into thuggery.

The final victor, they say, will be Karimnagar's most famous son: Former Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao. Born into a feudal family in Vangara village, Rao represented the Manthani election segment in the state Assembly thrice until 1973. To the Maoists, Rao was their deadliest enemy, the wealthy landlord-capitalist who had captured power. A police post guarded the Rao family lands in Vangara village which were tilled under police protection.

Tippiri Gangadhar
Tippiri Gangadhar.
Rao's political legacy has been systematically erased by the Congress party. He has no statues in his home district nor state government schemes named after him. But clearly, Rao has had the last laugh. The district town luxuriates in the legacy of his economic reforms. The newly-opened multiplex plays dubbed Telugu versions of World War Z and Man of Steel in the week of their Hollywood release. A new black-topped state highway rushes trucks and buses, the engines of commerce, into the district. China is one of the biggest buyers of granite quarried from the district.

Maoism had died in the birthplace of its founders. Today, only a single armed squad is believed to be active in the district's Mahadeopur region bordering Gadchiroli. The last Maoist-related violent incident was the shooting of a Congress activist in May last year. Arun Kumar, Karimnagar's additional collector, reels out statistics of state government welfare programmes to explain why extremism will not take root again. "There has been considerable redistribution of wealth over the past few decades," he says. "We have managed to tackle the root cause of resentment." Educated youth are now absorbed in the call centres, shopping malls and techno-parks of Hyderabad and other district capitals.

The Prathima Residency hotel advertises itself as the largest pillarless banquet hall in Karimnagar, with a seating capacity of 2,000 people. But nothing prepares you for the sight in the banquet hall of the town's three-star Hotel Swetha: Chinese granite traders gorging on idlis and vadas. Deng Xiaoping's children in the midst of a culinary revolution.

Monday, 8 July 2013

Flights of Heroism-- Uttarakhand floods


Flights of Heroism

When all seemed lost, men in uniform stepped forward to turn the tide in the Uttarakhand floods
Sandeep Unnithan  June 28, 2013 | UPDATED 15:59 IST
In his command centre inside Dehradun's Jolly Grant airfield, Air Commodore Rajesh Issar, a lanky officer in olive green flying overalls and matching Ray-Bans, firmly speaks out words of encouragement to one of his pilots. "I will back you guys," he says over a satellite phone. On the afternoon of June 25, Issar, a helicopter pilot with over 8,000 flying hours and task force commander, reached deep within to motivate his pilots. Just an hour earlier, one of his Russian-built Mi-17s slammed into a hillside killing its entire five-member flight crew, six ITBP personnel and nine NDRF personnel. The crash was the worst setback to a gigantic armed forces rescue effort. Issar had to staunch the pall of gloom that spread over the National Technical Research Organisation drone base, now the nerve centre of a massive air rescue. "The chief has given a statement and he means it," he says. "We will not stop flying." Just the day before, Air Chief Marshal NAK Browne delivered the catchline for a well-oiled efficient rescue machine, over 7,000 armed forces personnel who worked tirelessly and efficiently to reach out to thousands of stranded, washed-out tourist-pilgrims stranded on the higher reaches of the valleys, slowly running out of food and hope. "Our helicopter rotors will not stop churning till such time we get each one of you out. Do not lose hope and hang in there."

The tragedy saw one ofthe largest air rescue efforts in Indian history.
As politicians squabbled and cleaved relief efforts along political lines, for the stranded pilgrims the most heartening sight was that of whirling blades and men in olive green fatigues.

The armed forces had performed spectacularly during the Bhuj earthquake in 2002 and when the devastating tsunami struck southern India in 2004. But the Uttarakhand deluge presented a complexity that boggled them. The floods had severed the ribbon-like roads that wrapped around mountains. Entire districts had been marooned. Over 30,000 people stranded. The rescue could take weeks. The forces speedily adapted combat techniques designed to operate in hostile territory for disaster relief.

Lt-General Navtej Singh Bawa, the general officer commanding the Uttar Bharat area, moved his headquarters from Bareilly to Dehradun, equidistant from all the flooded valleys, on June 18. His patrols of between 10 and 20 soldiers swiftly turned into rescue and relief nodes. His directives to the troops were threefold: Search for marooned people, bring them to a safe place and provide them food and medical care. "If my men have reached, there is no question of anyone dying," Lt-General Bawa said.

It was however only on June 21 that the magnitude of the tragedy became apparent. The IAF increased its helicopter strength from five helicopters to 45 machines, pulling them from bases as far away as Sulur near Bangalore and Bagdogra in West Bengal. The Army brought in 13 helicopters including Dhruvs, Cheetahs and Chetaks. Twenty-two private choppers, many flown by retired Air Force and Army pilots, were also brought in.

The forces decided to use one of India's largest helicopter rescue efforts to build air bridges. The concept appeared simple on paper, but where would the machines land? The state government had ignored a three-month-old request from the Army to build a helipad at the Hemkund shrine. The Army wanted the helipad to evacuate pilgrims in an emergency. Now, there was no time to lose. Nearly 150 commandos from the Army's parachute regiment slithered down in areas where knots of survivors had been spotted. The commandos used knives and explosives to hack out three rough helipads for light rescue helicopters like the Dhruv and Cheetah to land. The pilots flew in the worst flying conditions imaginable-over mountains, in poor weather and through treacherous valleys. "One valley could be perfectly clear, the other one could have a cloudburst," a pilot explains.

A survivor pleads with an army officer to lether mother board a rescue helicopter in Badrinath.
The effort spanned over 40,000 sq km and included over 50 helicopters and seven aircraft across the flood-ravaged mountainous state. "This capability has not been built overnight," an Army officer explains. "It took us over 350 years to get here," he says harking back to the Army's origins. On the ground, this capability played out with clockwork efficiency. Time was short and the orders were terse. A typical one-line order from a senior officer would read like this: 'Report to me from Sonprayag at 09.00 hours tomorrow.' The implication: An entire Army unit headed by the officer would have to be in place handling relief operations in the marooned valley.

At the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering on the riverbank of the Uttarkashi, the principal Colonel Ajay Kothiyal, a mountaineer and gallantry award-winner, swiftly deployed his staffers and local youth, over 60 people, to rescue thousands of stranded pilgrims and tourists. "Our greatest asset was the young people of the district who we used in the relief teams as they knew the terrain well," he says.

When it looked like the air effort would be overwhelmed by the sheer weight of people, the Army began opening roads to rescue survivors. Troops built 'Burma bridges', narrow rope bridges that allow people to cross over gorges in a single file. In Jungle Chatti and Govindghat, where such bridges couldn't be erected, Army Cheetahs flew nearly a 100 one-minute hops across a gorge, ferrying stranded pilgrims. Between Jungle Chatti and Gaurikund, troops of the Sikh regiment formed a 3.5 km human chain where they hefted marooned pilgrims on their backs through hazardous terrain. A kilometre away from Gaurikund, an Army helicopter spotted nine bodies on a riverine island. The pilgrims were alive, but only barely. They had passed out from sheer hunger. They were administered saline drips and flown to one of five 'forward mounting bases' at the furthest points of washed-away roads from where medium-sized Mi-17 helicopters carrying 30 people could operate from. This unique air bridge leapfrogged survivors into the relief hub in Dehradun.

The most daring rescue was at Jungle Chatti, an area on the route towards Kedarnath. Army helicopters located what they thought were around 80 tourists stranded on a steep hillside. A group of 18 Army commandos were lowered to provide them with aid. This was when they discovered how wrong the estimates were. "Sir," an officer radioed Lt-General Bawa back in Dehradun, "there are between 800 and 1,200 people stranded here." Jungle Chatti was swarming with survivors who had scrambled up the hillside to escape the flood. They had not eaten in five days and now looked towards the helicopters for succour. The armed forces launched a complex operation the following day. Most people were flown out using helicopters, the able-bodied survivors were moved out on foot.

The relief effort was not without external pressures. Central command officers were deluged by requests from "high ranking Centre and state officials" asking for certain persons to be evacuated first. One officer reads out an SMS template he kept to deal with such requests: "Kindly don't embarrass us. We are going as per the priority list: sick persons, old people, ladies, children, followed by other people."

Army officials in the rescue efforts may have barely had time to chuckle over a gleeful SMS that did the rounds: 'Earthquake? get army! floods? get army! Terror attacks? get army! child stuck in pipe? get army! Pay commission? ForGet army!' The Army was the last line of defence but used as the first option when disaster struck.

The air bridge cut through the miasma of corruption on the ground. One family rescued by the Air Force recounted how policemen on the ground demanded bribes to allow them near civilian choppers. The police melted away when an IAF chopper arrived. Businessman Sudhir Kumar Gupta, 40, lost his three-member family in the flood at Kedarnath. "I survived only because of the Army," he says of his helicopter rescue. After 10 days of non-stop rescue sorties, over 22,000 tourists and locals were saved by the armed forces. Sugandh Chand Jain, a 55-year-old homeopath from Gotegaon, Madhya Pradesh, trekked to Badrinath with his nine-member family and insists he saw divinity. "They are angels," he says of his rescuers in uniform. The armed forces take such accolades in their stride. "This operation fulfils our constitutional mandate of aiding civil authority," says Lt-General Bawa. "I am happy we could do it with the speed and safety of our men and the people we were rescuing," he smiles. Service with a smile.

Wednesday, 5 June 2013

France- travel diary


Unclear nuclear romance

Sandeep Unnithan   |   Mail Today  |   New Delhi, June 5, 2013 | UPDATED 09:46 IST
 
Michel Laurent, the snowhaired Mayor of Beaumont-Hague a French communeof 1,425 persons in Nor-mandie, speaks of Flamanville with the passion one would reserve for their first love. The object of his affection is a nuclear power plant built in 1986 less than 60 km away from the beaches the Allied forces landed on 6 June, 1944. The twin white domes of the complex loom over the English Channel, less than half a kilometer away from where Laurent sits. The 2600 MW complex hires nearly a third of its 2,650 employees from his town, but that's not the only reason Laurent's voice is suffused with national pride: the complex provides 3 per cent of his country's electricity. France broke away from its reliance on Middle Eastern oil after the oil shock of 1973: 'no coal, no oil, no gas, no choice,' went the slogan of the time.

The atom became the cornerstone of France's nuclear independence both for power and for strategic weapons. The world's most nuclear energy reliant country now generates over 74 per cent of its electricity from its 58 power plants. A third reactor under construction at Flamanville will light up French homes by 2016.

The atomic romance may be fraying. The Fukushima disaster has prompted President Francois Hollande to move to halve France's atomic dependence by 2025. Meanwhile, the 2008 IndoUS nuclear deal may have brightened the prospects for India to reduce its dependence on imported oil. India aimed to triple its nuclear power share from the present 2 per cent by 2025. But Fukushima may have cast a cloud on any such nuclear sunrise. The 2000 MW Kudankulam power plant was cleared by the Supreme Court, which dismissed a petition against the plant last month, but it is unclear whether the apex court Flamanville nuclear power plant will be able to do the same in Jaitapur.

Local protests in this port town in coastal Maharashtra have stalled a proposed 9900 MW plant to be built using the European Pressurised Reactors supplied by nuclear giant Areva. Arthur de Montalbert, Areva's global business development manager, who was based in Mumbai until last month, furrows his brow when he speaks of worldwide concerns over nuclear plants. It will be at least 2021 before Jaitapur can generate electricity, and only if a contract is signed this year, Montalbert says. India's romance with the atom may be a slow and painful uphill climb.


Marion stays put in Paris

Marion Cotillard
The Dark Knight Rises star Marion Cotillard.


The limpid eyes of Marion Cotillard, star of The Dark Knight Rises, gaze down from glow boards around Paris. Gerard Depardieu may have fled France citing a high tax regime and left an Obelix-sized hole in Paris, but France's biggest cinematic gift to the world in recent years, the luminous Ms Cottillard has no such plans.

A French official assures me the Oscar-winning actress lives in her apartment in the heart of Paris and can be spotted taking walks with her partner.

Another clash of opposites

Francois Hollande
Francois Hollande.
France's dull bureaucrat-turned Socialist President Francois Hollande beat his flamboyant conservative opponent President Sarkozy last year. Their contest could now have an echo in France's second largest city, Lyon.

Bernard Rivalta, the elected head of the city transportation network, is an unsmiling, bespectacled elected representative who proudly wears his socialist credentials on his sleeve, sips an espresso and flips through a slideshow on his city's transport future.

His political rival Michel Havard, a conservative politician and national assembly member, has movie star looks, dresses in a sharp suit and sips a cold beer as sits in a bar of the Novotel and discusses plans for a new subway system for the city of a half-million. "Expensive, yes, but necessary." The battle lines are drawn.

High-speed future

France
France's high-speeds trains might turn up in India.


The TGV is a shark-like high speed train with a particularly voracious appetite for airlines. It operates between the capital Paris and the second largest city Lyon, in the south. Air France recently suspended operations on this lucrative route. You get the answer a few minutes after the steel and blue train pulls out of the heart of Paris. The countryside turns into a blurry Monet as the train crosses 200 kmph. The clientele, mostly business passengers, are immersed in laptops and tablets. The train pulls into Lyon in Southern France, 400 km away, in just two hours.

Airlines can't compete with bullet trains that inject passengers into city centres, especially when 500 and 1,000 km apart. Someday, this could be the future on the 450 km between Mumbai and Ahmedabad. SNCF, the French firm that runs the line is to complete a €1 million feasibility study on this corridor by next year.

It signed an MoU with Indian Railways during President Hollande's visit to New Delhi in February this year. Preliminary findings say the train on a dedicated corridor needs to cater to a mix of families and corporate passengers; it will take at least a decade to build and the train will have to halt outside Mumbai because there's no land for another railway corridor. Airlines can heave a sigh of relief.

(The author was in France as a guest of the French government)

Monday, 8 April 2013

Fear and exile in Sri Lanka


Fear and Exile in Lanka

Sri Lankan army turns Tamils into refugees in their own land
Sandeep Unnithan in Sri Lanka  March 29, 2013 | UPDATED 16:39 IST
 
A 10-foot-high golden-hued Sri Lankan soldier in full combat gear emerges from the centre of a mirror-calm artificial lake in Mullaitivu district, north-eastern Sri Lanka. The fierce Soviet-style soldier waves a Sri Lankan flag in his left hand, a Chinese-made Type 56-2 assault rifle in his right, mouth open in orgiastic exultation. The war memorial, unveiled by President Mahinda Rajapaksa in December 2009, stands less than 2 km north of the shores of Nanthikadal lagoon where Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) chief Velupillai Prabhakaran was gunned down by the Sri Lankan military on May 19, 2009.

Women on bicycles near the beach in Mullaitivu
Women on bicycles near the beach in Mullaitivu.
The Tiger chief's death signalled the end of the war. Today his four-storey underground bunker, training facilities and wasteland of burnt out civil and military vehicles are on display for thousands of Sri Lankan tourists. But for an estimated 500,000 Tamil civilians heading back to the war-torn north to pick up pieces of their shattered lives, the monuments represent Sinhala triumphalism. "They are treating Tamils like a defeated race and celebrating our subjugation," says a small business owner who recently returned to Mullaitivu town.
Normalcy is returning to the former Tiger-held town of Puthukkudiyirippu on the A35 highway. Women ride bicycles and chatter on mobile phones, buses teeming with passengers lurch past on the dusty unmetalled gravel road. But this normalcy hides a silent rage. In front of a small wayside restaurant stocked waist-high with soft drink bottles and glass shelves with stale pastries, a young man says he cannot forget the horror of the civil war. "The government tells us to forget the past and move on," he says as he kick-starts his motorcycle, "only the Tamils are supposed to forget."
For nearly a quarter century, Prabhakaran's LTTE ran a brutal proto-Fascist state in northern and eastern Sri Lanka, areas it claimed as an independent Tamil 'Eelam'. The Tigers conscripted child soldiers, perfected suicide bombings, even using pregnant women and handicapped persons. They ran kangaroo courts, murdered dissenting Tamils and waged a savage 26-year war with the government. The Tamil civilians trapped between LTTE and the Lankan army were silently relieved when Prabhakaran was killed. Four years later, however, their fear of one dictator has been replaced by another.

Tamils are afraid to speak to foreigners, and when they do, drop their voices to a whisper and look around. Asked whether he would like to be named and photographed, one Tamil who has returned to the Mullaitivu district shrinks. "I'm afraid of a visit by 'unknown persons'," he says. It is a commonly used euphemism for military intelligence and government-affiliated paramilitary responsible for abductions, detentions and torture.
Udayachandra Manuel, 55, a woman who dares to speak about her plight, cannot forget the night of August 11, 2008. Four men in civilian clothes came to her fishing village on Mannar island in north-western Sri Lanka. "The men were speaking in Sinhala. They called for my son Anjan by name and took him away. That was the last we saw of him," she says tearfully. On March 13, she joined families of 25 other people from the former LTTE-held northern provinces as they clutched photographs of their missing relatives and presented a memorandum to the UN office in Colombo.
Bowing to international pressure, in September 2012 Sri Lanka finally wound up the last of its camps where it had housed nearly 300,000 Internally Displaced Persons (idp) in poor living conditions.
ROAD ROLLERS REPLACE TANKS
The government narrative to counter allegations of human rights excesses is economic development. It has demined 1,485 sq km of the northern areas; electrified between 30 and 70 per cent of the five former LTTE-held districts (electricity supply was restricted during the war) of Mullaitivu, Kilinochchi, Batticaloa, Vavuniya, Mannar and Jaffna; revived agriculture; and rebuilt the cratered 321-km A9 highway that links Kandy with Jaffna into a smooth asphalt topped two-lane highway that has cut travel time by two hours.

Supervising this development is the Sri Lankan army that has stayed behind after it recaptured about 4,000 sq km of territory. Dozens of cantonments dot the A9, A34 and A35 highways criss-crossing the Tamil majority areas in the north with fort-like archways; large bronze lions stand as menacing gate guardians. "The military continues to administer these lands as conquered lands," says CVK Sivagnanam of the Ilangkai Thamizh Arasu Kadchi, a Tamil party in Jaffna. "They are everywhere."
Activists say military installations cover over 6,000 acres in the north and are hampering the return of thousands of villagers. The UN resolution of March 21 called for the demilitarisation of northern Sri Lanka. The army, however, is not leaving any time soon. "Why should we leave?" an army officer in Mullaitivu asks. "This is our territory."
During the war of 2009 when nearly 100,000 Sri Lankan soldiers rapidly closed in on LTTE, Prabhakaran and his estimated 10,000-strong rebel army held over 300,000 Tamil civilians as human shields and slipped into government-designated 'no-fire zones' ringed by the Lankan army.
RIPPLES ACROSS THE PALK STRAIT
A panel of UN experts reported in March 2011 that Sri Lankan forces shelled and bombed these refugees, killing as many as 40,000 civilians. The UN accuses both the Tigers and government forces of human rights violations but says most civilian casualties were caused by government shelling. The violence, brought home by recently revealed photographs which show Prabhakaran's son Balachandran, 12, allegedly being executed by the Lankan army in cold blood, triggered protests in Tamil Nadu. It spurred a furious contest between the two largest parties in the state. dmk withdrew support from upa on March 19. Tamil Nadu Chief Minister J. Jayalalithaa, who had asked the Centre to boycott the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meet in Colombo this November, went further on March 27 and introduced a resolution in the Tamil Nadu Assembly demanding that Sri Lanka hold a referendum on a separate homeland (Eelam) for Tamils there.

Mandapam camp, teh largest refugee settlement in Tamil Nadu
Mandapam camp, teh largest refugee settlement in Tamil Nadu.
The resolution said the referendum should cover the Tamils in Sri Lanka as well as the ethnic Sri Lankan Tamil diaspora, now living in other countries. Even Sri Lankan cricket players, officials and umpires in the Indian Premier League (ipl) will not take part in matches held in Chennai. Former Sri Lankan cricket captain and Opposition MP Arjuna Ranatunga slammed the ipl governing council's move. He asked the cricketers to opt out of the tournament starting April 3.
Sri Lanka's failure to fix accountability for these war crimes prompted two UN resolutions in which India voted against the island nation. The first in March 2012, a second one on March 21 when the United Nations Human Rights Council (unhrc) asked the Sri Lankan government for "independent credible investigations" into the atrocities and expressed concern at continuing human rights violations.
SILENT AND SCARED MINORITY
In its March 2012 report, the UN says at least 5,653 people vanished without a trace in northern Sri Lanka in 2009. K.J. Brito Fernando, who runs Colombo-based Families of the Disappeared, says the figure is over 60,000. "Fear of security forces is hampering data collection, we can't speak to families without security forces knocking on their door later," he says.
The excesses have continued after the war. In its February 2013 report on "sexual violence by Sri Lankan forces", the US-based Human Rights Watch documents 75 cases of rape against men, women and children by Sri Lankan security forces in detention centres in the north.

War memorial
The war memorial in Puthukkudiyirippu.
The Sri Lankan government dismisses such reports as motivated propaganda inspired by LTTE's overseas remnants. It has rejected UN resolutions as interference in its internal affairs. It says the Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission instituted by President Rajapaksa in 2011, which absolved the army of excesses, is sufficient. "We are the only country in the world that has rehabilitated terrorists," says presidential adviser S.B. Divaratne, who oversees development in the northern provinces.
In 2009, India tacitly backed the Lankan offensive against LTTE. Sri Lanka's powerful Defence Secretary Gotabhaya Rajapaksa told headlines today that India was kept updated about the situation in Sri Lanka's north "from Day One" of the security forces' final assault against the Tiger rebels till their eventual defeat. "We created a mechanism with India, away from the contacts of the foreign ministry, for us to develop a close relationship with the officials," he said. The trio comprising then foreign secretary Shivshankar Menon, national security adviser M.K. Narayanan and defence secretary Vijay Singh were part of the mechanism. They dealt with the President's Secretary Lalith Weeratunga, President's Special Adviser Basil Rajapaksa and Gotabhaya to exchange views.
Indian diplomats say that this cooperation came with an expectation that President Rajapakse's government would rehabilitate the Tamils. Diplomats say its vote against Sri Lanka in both 2012 and 2013 was moved by unfulfilled promises. The promise was reiterated by President Rajapaksa at the Sharm-el Sheikh summit in July 2009. "Prime Minister Manmohan Singh has repeatedly stressed upon two words-reconciliation and accountability and implementation of the 13th Amendment promising limited powers to eight Tamil-majority provinces. We don't see evidence of that happening yet," a senior Indian diplomat told india today. "Instead, we see a fresh cycle of resentment emerging." Rajapaksa has promised to call for provincial elections in September 2013, a first step towards the devolution of power to the Tamil-majority provinces. "India's vote is a quiet admission of its shrinking strategic influence in the neighbourhood," says Ashok Behuria of the Delhi-based think tank, Institute of Defence Studies and Analyses (IDSA).
CHINA'S PEARL IN INDIAN OCEAN
If Sri Lanka is unfazed by the negative UN vote, it's because the country has replaced the battle tank with the road roller. "Sri Lanka is seeing more development in the past four years than in the previous 30," says G.A. Chandrasiri, a retired major general, now governor of Northern Province.

Lankan soldier
A Lankan soldier explains the layout of Prabhakaran's bunker in Puthukkudiyirippu.
"Four years ago, Colombo would shut after 4 p.m. because of fears of terror attacks," says presidential adviser Divaratne in his plush office in the 40-storey World Trade Centre. "Now," he says, "we're back on track." The end of the war has unshackled the Sri Lankan economy: It grew at 6.3 per cent last year. Billboards for Airtel and Dialog dot the Colombo skyline. Women office-goers in skirts and high heels click past the capital's business district. Advertisements for beach parties in Bentota promise 'sun, fun, frolic and dance'. Lonely Planet last year called Sri Lanka 2013's number one tourist destination. Over a million tourists visited the country last year, spending over $1 billion (Indian Rs.5,400 crore). There are, however, concerns about the nation's huge external debt of $24 billion (Rs.1.3 trillion), nearly half its $59 billion (Rs.3.2 trillion) GDP, poor tax reform and a 7 per cent inflation rate.
{mosimage}Adding to India's geopolitical worries is China's looming presence on its southern flank. Long described as a pearl hanging from the ear of India, Sri Lanka is now one among China's 'string of pearls' in the Indian Ocean. China provided the bulk of the military hardware Sri Lanka used to defeat the Tigers. Post-war investments of over $2 billion (Rs.108 billion) in infrastructure projects may help it secure the peace. On March 16, the new Chinese Premier Xi Jingping made his priorities clear when he ensured that Rajapaksa was among the first five world leaders he called. On March 18, just three days before the UN vote, Rajapaksa inaugurated Sri Lanka's second international airport. It is just 40 km away from Hambantota port in Rajapaksa's home province. Both built by the Chinese. Billboards in Colombo displayed the president smiling, eyes partially closed and seemingly lost in thought as he contemplates the swanky ATC tower of Mattala Rajapaksa airport. Reconciliation is not on his mind yet.

Editor's note-- Fear and exile in Sri Lanka


From the Editor-in-chief

India Today editor-in-chief Aroon Purie on DMK pull-out from UPA
Aroon Purie  March 29, 2013 | UPDATED 19:27 IST
The UPA Government has been left hanging by a thread after its largest ally, DMK, withdrew support on March 19. The provocation was an impending US-sponsored resolution at the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva which was set to condemn Sri Lanka's human rights record in the last stages of the war against the LTTE in 2009. India had voted in favour of such a resolution earlier, and it was expected to vote in favour again. But this time, the DMK wanted the Government to move an amendment to make the resolution stronger by including the term genocide and by demanding an independent international enquiry. The Congress turned down those demands, prompting DMK to withdraw from the coalition. For the Government, there was a real risk that taking a harder diplomatic line would only push an embittered Sri Lanka further into China's expanding sphere of influence.

Sandeep Unnithan (left) and Reuben Singh
Sandeep Unnithan (left) and Reuben Singh in Mullaitivu, North-East Sri Lanka.
For the two Tamil Nadu parties AIADMK and DMK, the emotive issue of the welfare of Sri Lankan Tamils in the face of Sinhala discrimination has always made for easy populist pickings. But it is important not to forget that the LTTE was not synonymous with the genuine grievances of Sri Lankan Tamils. It was a monstrous terrorist organisation responsible not just for the assassination of former prime minister Rajiv Gandhi but also several prominent Sri Lankan leaders. As a movement for freedom, it was a disgrace, not hesitating to recruit children to fight dirty wars and young women to become suicide bombers. Its final defeat by the Sri Lankan army in 2009, after 26 years of bloody civil war, is good for Sri Lanka, India and the world.

Since the war ended, there have been a series of exposes, several of which showed atrocities carried out by the Sri Lankan army as it made its final push to defeat the LTTE. The army, in its defence, has claimed that it was LTTE which used innocent civilians as shields. But what turned the argument decisively against the army and the Mahinda Rajapaksa government was an exposé in February 2013 in which a set of photographs showed quite explicitly how the army had killed LTTE chief Velupillai Prabhakaran's 12-year-old son in cold blood.

There is also a story beyond the atrocities. After the end of the war, President Rajapaksa had promised to devolve more power to Tamils in the North and East of the island country and to end explicit and implicit discrimination in favour of the majority Sinhalas. Those promises remain unfulfilled almost four years on.

For our cover story, Deputy Editor Sandeep Unnithan and Deputy Photo Editor Reuben Singh travelled to the erstwhile LTTE strongholds of Jaffna, Kilinochchi and Mullaitivu to report the ground reality. They found that while the government's claim of rebuilding infrastructure is not untrue, there is still much to be done to reassure Tamils of their safety and of equal rights in the country. The Tamil-dominated areas are highly militarised. Says Unnithan, "The Tamils are very wary of speaking to journalists. All of them expressed fear of reprisals."

That is a damning indictment of the Rajapaksa government's attitude after the defeat of the LTTE. It is for the Sri Lankan government to persuade the global community, with ample evidence, that it is serious about reconciliation and inclusion of Tamils in the mainstream. It is in Sri Lanka's self-interest. A community under siege is the perfect breeding ground for another militant movement. Bizarrely, the issue has got intertwined with the survival of the UPA Government.

Sri Lanka travel diary- Mail Today


The Big Brothers are watching

Sandeep Unnithan   |   Mail Today  |   New Delhi, April 8, 2013 | UPDATED 08:16 IST
Sri Lanka's international airports are metaphors for its ruling dynasties.

We landed in the swanky Bandarnaike airport in Negombo, 35 km north of capital Colombo.

The airport is named for a family that gave it three heads of state and dominated its polity for most of its post-independence years. Our cabbie triumphantly jabbed a finger at a hoarding announcing its second international airport in Mattala, in southern Sri Lanka.

The next day, staff in the foreign ministry stared at a television set showing the inauguration of the airport, with barely disguised pride, and the attention Indians would usually reserve for cricket matches.

The new Mattala Rajapaksa airport, inaugurated by President Rajapaksa, 67, is a scarcely disguised metaphor for a dynasty that hopes to dominate the country's politics in the 21st century. Democratically-elected presidents rarely inaugurate airports named after their families.

But Sri Lanka's democracy operates as a kind of fraternal confederacy. Gotabaya Rajapaksa, 63, the second most powerful man in the island nation, is both defence and urban development secretary, who cleaned out both, the ruthless Tamil Tigers and the streets of Colombo.

Basil, 61, is cabinet minister for economic development, and the oldest, Chamal, 70, is speaker of the Lankan parliament.

Mahinda Rajapaksa
Mahinda Rajapaksa is the President of Sri Lanka.


A fifth Rajapaksa, Mahinda's son Namal, MP from Hambantota, is being groomed for succession. But the man casting a shadow over Sri Lanka's present and future is President Rajapaksa.

It's impossible to miss the president's larger-than-life posters. They dominate intersections in Colombo and across the countryside.

Clad in his trademark white long-sleeved shirt and scarlet silk scarf, Rajapaksa is a master strategist, who has harnessed the competing interests of two giants, India and China, to power his nation towards 6 per cent annual growth.

India's $800 million aid is rebuilding homes, railways and industry in the war-ravaged northern areas. The assistance flows largely by a fear of China entering its sphere of influence.

Since the end of the civil war in 2009, China has pumped billions of dollars into infrastructure projects, highways, power stations and a gigantic port and airport in the president's home province.

There is a not-so-subtle provincial division of aid: Indian aid is aimed at the Tamil majority north, while China targets the rest of the Sinhala-dominated areas. Chinese aid will eventually transform Rajapaska's home province, Hambantota, into an economic powerhouse.

No prizes for guessing which country he will write a thank-you note to.

Swords to ploughshares

Lankan Army Welfare Shop
A retail army outlet in Vavuniya.


"Army Welfare Shop, renovated and given a modern facelift of a pastry shop and a retail outlet was declared open by Major General AKS Perera on 5 April 2012" reads a plaque on the wall of a retail outlet in Vavuniya.

The shop is staffed by a disabled military veteran, has granite flooring, yellow plastic furniture, and smells of Sunlight detergent and Lux bodywash.

It stands in front of the security force headquarters Vanni, guarded by a 10 foot high roaring bronze lion. Sri Lanka's 300,000 strong military has now immersed itself in commerce.

The army runs cafes, farms and housing projects; the air force runs helicopter tours; and the navy rents its utility vessels for whalewatching and recreational cruises, as Lanka finds ways to justify a continued $2 billion spend on defence.

Unsung heroes

War memorial for the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) on the outskirts of Colombo.
War memorial for the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) on the outskirts of Colombo.


On the outskirts of Colombo near the new Lankan Parliament, stands a sombre granite memorial to over 1,500 Indian personnel of the Indian Peacekeeping Force (IPKF) (in picture).

They died in the line of duty during their deployment on the island between 1987 and 1990. The memorial is possibly the only acknowledgement of this unsung force that went into Lanka to enforce peace but found itself fighting the Tamil Tigers.

The memorial was unveiled by Sri Lanka's defence ministry in 2010. Young Lankans, who speed past on Bajaj Pulsar motorbikes, offer a glimpse of India's present-day involvement in the island.

Johnny Johnny yes LTTE

A tourist monk visits the shipwrecked MV Farah-3
A tourist monk visits the shipwrecked MV Farah-3.


Roadsides along Lanka's battle-scarred northern provinces are festooned with red skull and crossbones signboards.

These grim signs demarcate areas still seeded with land mines. Over a million land mines were laid by both warring parties during the 30-year civil war. One stretch, near the strategic Elephant Pass, was among the most densely mined spots on earth.

The LTTE, experts at the use of Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs), fashioned many of these mines themselves: from palm-sized 'Johnnies' designed to blow off a foot, to the 'Special Johnny', which could cut soldiers in half; nearly 3,800 square km of the northern province have been demined and opened for cultivation.

Minefield
These grim signs demarcate areas still seeded with land mines.


The governor of the northern province, G.A. Chandrasiri, says the country could be landmine free in five years. Thousands of anti-personnel mines were laid around Prabhakaran's bunker in the forest around Puthukudiyirippu.

Today, these mines add to the drama of the bunker, now a tourist attraction, as they are safely detonated.