Hari Batti’s talking about Bhopal all week at his Green Light Dhaba, a place I’ve wanted to give a shout-out to in any case.
Suketu Mehta’s piece in NY Times. Very well-written and quite unflinching.
Imagine if an Indian chief executive had jumped bail for causing an industrial disaster that killed tens of thousands of Americans. What are the chances he’d be sunning himself in Goa?
Here’s where you can donate money for victims: bhopal.org.
And my piece at Guardian Cif. I don’t know why they removed the link to the site from the bottom where I had put it. Must be some policy thing. But anyway, take a look at the comments section where someone’s taking apart Union Carbide’s PR bullshit.
The toxic seethes. Lip wound,
split bone and the blood brays
at noon. A tourist walks in, opens
his mouth. Like a snake swallowing frog,
he can devour history whole.
The children are patient as gods,
watching grey noise up red,
listening to metal innards clink
through the night, shrill kingdoms
of sound. They stitch gapes
opening in skin. Their hands are tidy
with practice. Down here, we’re not tested
for rot. The barometer
only measures what it must—
the length of memory, the depth
of forgetting. Watch for the stampeded step
at the entrance, the broken tooth
glinting in mud. These
are your souvenirs. Pack flesh
tightly in boxes. Face the click
without trembling. See,
here is your grin
turning to grimace.
Here is your face
filling the hole.
***
Because we are all Bhopali. Don’t forget.