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  Poverty and Riches in Booming India: Tomorrow's World Power Turns 60

Poverty and Riches in Booming India Tomorrow's World Power Turns 60

By Mathieu von Rohr

Part 3: The Scars of Partition

MUMBAI: 'Within Half an Hour I Would Have Enough Muslims Here Ready to Fight'

The city of Mumbai, formerly known as Bombay, is home to some of the poorest of India's poor. More than half of its residents live in poor neighborhoods like Dharavi, Asia's second-largest slum, which investors have targeted to be converted into a modern residential development.

Mumbai is also home to India's wealthiest citizens. Most of the country's billionaires live here, such as the Ambani brothers, whose father, a former merchant, worked his way up the ladder to earn his billions. Another is Anand Mahindra, who dreams of dominating Europe with the SUVs his company makes.

Mumbai is also Bollywood. The city's film industry produces hundreds of movies each year, productions full of saccharine music and starring actors who are paid millions.

The careers of most Bollywood stars are short-lived, with only a handful becoming legends. The most unforgettable star of them all lives in a villa in the Cumballa Hill neighborhood in Bombay's Midtown district: Dilip Kumar, the first and probably greatest star Indian cinema has ever had.

He stands in the foyer of his villa, dressed entirely in white, holding up a palette and a paintbrush. Surrounded by a dozen photographers and jostling cameraman, Kuman remains unperturbed. Saira Banu, his wife, stands next to him and Jatin Das, a well-known artist. The trio is producing a charity painting for Bombay's street children.

Dilip Kumar is 84. Born in Peshawar in what is now Pakistan, he comes from a Pashtun family of 12 children. His real name is Mohammed Yusuf Khan, but it sounded too Muslim for him to become a star. He has trouble remembering the old days. When asked about 1947, the year of independence and partition, the first thing he remembers is playing football with the British. Then he recalls images of horror and death and the massacres that followed independence, and his three cousins who were killed in the unrest. The old man's eyes fill with tears. Then he says: "It was very eventful."

Partition brought horrific massacres. Already in 1946, the year before partition, militant Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs were fighting each other, and when the British announced the borders for the future countries of India and Pakistan, 10 million refugees left their homes, attempting to reach the right side. Many never made it. A Muslim mob butchered a train filled with refugees in the Punjab, Hindus destroyed hundreds of mosques and Sikhs murdered Muslims with axes. Millions died. India and Pakistan were born out of a bloodbath.

Dilip Kumar has spent much of his life campaigning for reconciliation between the two countries and has even been decorated for his efforts. But now, in his old age, it is all coming back to him. He says: "If it ever happened again, within half an hour I would have enough Muslims here who would be ready to fight."

Kumar sits in his armchair like some emperor in the waning days of his life, a glittering dome above his head. A painting on the opposite wall depicts him in his role as Bollywood's great romantic star, posing with his hand outstretched. The old man stares into space and says that he misses Peshawar and occasionally goes to the mosque.

KASHMIR: 'I Am Afraid of Everything'

The wound of partition has never properly healed in India. Here, in Kashmir, it is still wide open.

Dal Lake sparkles in the sunlight against a backdrop of the green slopes of the Pir Pinjal Mountains. Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir, is a magnificent place -- but is also one of the world's most dangerous.

Two nuclear powers, India and Pakistan, are confronting each other up here, both laying claim to predominantly Muslim Kashmir. China also occupies part of the region. Kashmir is probably the world's most heavily militarized zone. There are 500,000 troops stationed on the Indian side, along with paramilitary forces, police and intelligence agents.

And all this is just because the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, flirting with independence, hesitated to choose a side in the year of partition. Pakistan sent guerilla troops, the Maharaja called for help from India, and a cease-fire line has separated the armies of the two countries ever since.

Despite frictions, Kashmir was long a dream destination for tourists, until a guerilla war of independence, supported by Pakistan, erupted in 1990. Today the region is a war zone, devastated and lacking an economy or infrastructure. But things have quieted down in recent years, as the militants have scaled back their attacks. Is there reason for hope in Kashmir?

The Mirwaiz of Kashmir, Omar Farooq, is the religious leader of Kashmir's Muslims and one of the province's best-known politicians. He lives in a dusty pink house in downtown Srinagar, where a dozen bearded men with guns sit in the entranceway. Farooq, who is only 34, wears a beard and designer glasses, and is currently doing a PhD on Sufism at the University of Srinagar.

What is he afraid of? Farooq's answer can be summed up in one word: Everything. On the one hand, there are the militant groups that murdered his father 17 years ago, so that he was only a teenager when he became his successor. On the other hand, there are the Indians, who also cannot be trusted.

Farooq is a young, intelligent man, but he has already internalized this conflict so much that it seems as if he has been dealing with it for the past 60 years. He is considered a moderate, one of those who want to negotiate with the Indian government. The Indian prime minister recently proposed that the line of control be turned into a "line of peace" between the two countries. There is a proposition for some kind of joint administration of Kashmir by India and Pakistan.

The Mirwaiz is in favor of these efforts, but he is frustrated because there is, in fact, little progress. He believes that it is high time that Delhi do something to back up its declared intentions. Indian newspapers write that Kashmir is faring better than ever, and that its economy is booming. The Mirwaiz smiles sadly. Kashmir is a place that makes people melancholy.

DELHI: 'We Aren't the Only Ones Doing Well'

Shyama Bharti, who was born on Aug. 15, 1947, is sometimes astonished over how much her country has changed. "When I was a little girl India was dominated by the rural population, and the farmers couldn't read and were superstitious," she says, "but now even their standard of living is rising. People are educated and they know their rights and duties."

In those days, says Bharti, her family's house was furnished with only one bed, three blankets, a few chairs and a transistor radio. "Nowadays we have air-conditioning everywhere and everything is fully furnished, and we aren't the only ones who are doing well." Every morning and every evening, Bharti goes to the small altar room behind her kitchen to give thanks to Ganesha, the elephant god.

On weekends Bharti visits her poor relatives, where she is treated like a guest of honor. She tells them that women should fight for their rights and their careers. Sometimes she gives them money. She is thinking about going into politics after she retires. She says that the country gave her a lot, and that it's now her turn to give something back.

She is immensely proud of her sons. The older one has also chosen a career in the civil service, and was accepted into the prestigious Indian Administrative Service, which accepts no more than 300 applicants each year. When his appointment was announced in the newspaper, Bharti and her husband were inundated -- to her delight -- with offers of brides for him. But what about love? "Indians aren't fond of love marriages," says Bharti, "They prefer arranged marriages. It's safer." Her marriage was also arranged.

India's traditions are not disappearing with its economic boom. Indeed, newspapers are reporting a new trend: Middle class families going into financial ruin to come up with dowries for their daughters.

Did the family of her son's bride pay her a dowry? "We did not take one," she says. "Only greedy people do that."

Bharti and her husband selected a pretty girl for their son. She is a senior civil servant, an intelligent woman.

Is she from the same caste? "Of course!" says Shyama Bharti.

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan