Panditji and his neighbours who live and work in the most Rajasthani of bazaars today epitomise the essence of the state — a steely resolve and a rugged determination to get on with life. Not for them that wail on camera. There is a pride, and a sense of satisfaction, when they tell you that all bodies were in hospitals within 15 minutes. And that almost 600 units of blood were collected by 1 am. Horror, shock, sorrow and anger are all there, of course. But they aren’t an excuse for atavistic blood-letting. The reason of Rajasthan has only added to its ruggedness, and its romance. Goody-goody stories recount all the nice things that happened the day after. Pamphleteers’ passion personified.

The fact that there was no social combustion does not surprise any native of Rajasthan. The DNA of the state is different from that of British India. Cultural sangam, triveni, etc are a live spectacle, not merely in the course books of the National Integration Council. But it also does not surprise an indigenous Rajasthani that May 13, Jaipur happened. Enough bells have rung around the country to tell tragic tales of terrorism. Enough excesses have happened lately. Warning should have been aplenty when Rajasthan is the pivot around which incredible India gyrates.

What does surprise, therefore, is that Jaipur was allowed to happen. Despite repeat shows around the country the actors continue to perform. The covert ones then appear as a mid-20s male sketch, and the overt ones wear the same sorry look, swear the same resolve and repeat mantras memorised by chronic tragedies. What none offers are viable logical solutions, preventives, but only homilies that sound suspiciously hollow.

... contd.