Arguments. Big arguments. I threw back equal and fierce points. It was the usual thing. Every now and then begin an argument to show everyone who the boss really is. There was no truth in their words so I decided to quit. I packed my bags and left the company I was working for in Delhi. I was staying at the International Youth Hostel Chanakyapuri that night. I looked forward to returning to my dormitory bed. Clean linen awaits me. On my ride back to the hostel that November night, I could see people on the streets inching ever closer to their crude heaters and small roadside fire. That chilly night, I decided to have a hot water bath to wash off my past experience and start afresh.
The very next day my phone rang the alarm as usual. I got up huriedly and brushed up, grabbed my towel and ran to the bathrooms before the other guests got up. As I was going past the lift I glanced at the newspaper. The headlines read of the ongoing revolution the buddhist monks had started in Burma (Myanmar) a week ago. There were heavy casualities. I like to stay aware of what goes around in the world and it helps in one's profession. But the news was of no interest to me so i headed for the shower. The misty morning had covered up the sun and the solar water heaters at the hostel had just about started to produce warm water. I was getting late. I had to make do with the luke warm water. Just then it struck me. What am I getting late for ? I don't have a job. I have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I frowned. Deep inside I was the happiest I had ever been. I walked back to my bed and slept for three more hours.
The phone rang the alarm. My brain immediately issued a communique, it read,'YOU DONT HAVE A JOB. GO BACK TO SLEEP'. I switched off the alarm. A few minutes later the phone rang again. It was Rohit. He was pissed with me for not answering his calls. I apologized for mistaking it with the alarm. He wanted to see me urgently. As in Right Now. Rohit Gandhi is a journalist. His entire career has been dedicated to investigative and war journalism. In his younger days, he worked with NDTV. He left the country to work with foreign broadcaster's CNN (not to be confused with CNN IBN) and CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation). He has covered the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan; the Asian tsunami (for which he won the Dupont award); and numerous political coverages. He has won his share of international awards and is an Emmy nominee this year (2008) for his National Geographic co-production Slave Girls Of India. I first worked with him during the 2007 bombing of the Pakistan bound trains at Panipat. He is an amazing person to work with. With him, you put real hard work for a few hours and chill out and party for the rest of the day.
I rushed towards south Delhi where he runs his office from. He and a friend of his were planning a trip of some kind. Nothing was being clearly explained as he was always on the phone. I waited for a long time till evening came. His entire family was getting ready for the diwali celebrations. I was just looking forward to my nights sleep. I am a very lazy person. I like to conserve energy and use it at the right time. Finally Rohit approached me and we sat for a long discussion that would put me right in the middle of the biggest adventure of my life. Think of it like a surrogate expedition of Indiana Jones and Rambo. Rohit and his pal Satinder wanted to go into Burma to report the after effects and the military brutality upon the ongoing revolutionists. The only issue was that Burma was closed to outside media. Foriegn journalists were arrested and deported. One japaneses war photographer was even shot dead in full view of protesters. The state run television of that country repeatedly beemed messages of the revolution being peaceful and under control. They blamed the BBC and other media for tarnishing the image of Burma’s dictator, Tan Shwe. The reality entirely different. The internet was reporting deaths of over 10000 and massive arrests, arson, rape, humiliation and starvation.
So Satinder and Rohit’s bright plan was to sneak into the country from India and report of the atrocities. GREAT. And how do we suppose do that. Should I pack an AK and a UZI with the equipment too? It sounded more like a suicidal mission than a news gathering event. Maybe I was drunk when I agreed to it. (You don’t take long to get drunk when you are with Rohit).
I was appointed the second unit cameraman and sound recordist. The news capsules were for a US channel, CBS, with Satinder Bindra as the anchor. It took a week of planning before we got the go ahead. Satinder flew in from the US. I was on equipment duty and was running around looking for stuff we would need to produce on the field – a good microphone, lights, hard disks, camera, tripod, cables etc. We would be editing the pieces on the fly. Every now and then I would check the papers and the internet for any reports on Burma. That evening I was introduced to Satinder Bindra. I had seen him only once and found him to be a tough guy. He was the asia head of CNN for something like eight years. He has covered every war and natural disaster in this continent for the last two decades.
That evening was busy arranging the last bits of equipments, doing research, packing, stocking supplies, charging bricks etc. Early next morning satinder arrived with what looked like a big cardbox containing eatables. At the airport the extra weight of the equipment and supplies had crossed more than the value of our tickets. Now anyone who has flown into Aizwal, the capital of Mizoram, knows that the ride is as bumpy as fred flintstones primitive automobile. Basically the climate there is unpredictable, with the airport sitting on a high valley between two peaks. As we came in to land, it felt like we were in a runway deep in the jungle cause where ever you look its forested hill slopes. There were like 50 sparrows tweeting in the flower beds at the airport. Once we got out the forest seems to be there everywhere. It is a nature lovers dream come true. Rohit and Sat with all the luggage took a maruti 800 taxi to town while I followed in a bus. I strained my neck as I could not get enough of the forests all around. We arrived on a weekend so everything was shut. And like most town and villages in the North East, they take their holidays to socialise and have fun.
One of the worst parts of being in a small low budget crew is that you often end up having to carrying heavy equipment yourself. Now our hotel had no lifts, so which means I had to slug those heavy equipment bags up the moutain slope, into the hotel and up the stairs for three floors. But the moment you reach there, the stunning locales relaxes your body and mind. In the morning's I would get up and watch as the sun rises beyond the hills, the mist lifts revealing the church in a distance. The rays setting up a chain reaction of emerging life in this hill town. School children dressed pretty, traders with fresh fruits, the taxi guys washing their 800cc cars, pigs squeling in the distance.
We booked a sumo which would take us even deeper into the outback. To a place called Champai. Now Champai is GORGEOUS. Its a plantation town located on a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. A rare placeswhere they still construct homes in the mountains and have left the plains untouched for agriculture. The place is also famous for its winery, which I found out later on. We checked into the tourist bungalow and each of us got a cottage. The balconies openend up to give residents a beautiful view of the valley. The place is often deserted cause hardly any tourist ventures into this area. The resident receptionist/manager/caretaker also happens to be the local juice saleslady. I cant remember how many bottles of brain numbingly sweet grape and passion fruit juices I had at that place. The chef (ex militry havaldar) always had a machatee in his one hand and a helpless pig in his other. A long wooded driveway out of the cottages leads to a shop run by a lady who makes hot soup (aaaarrrrhhh only beef and pork) and the worlds best plain donughts i have ever had. We filmed in Champai for three days. The official border to Myanmar is close to Champai and across a river.
Now what we filmed here and where we went from there I cannot tell you. But our plan was to get as far away from the official border as possible. We drove through thick forest to a tiny hamlet nestled amidst hills from where we would begin our 9 hour long trek into Burma. I was excited but carrying loads of over 50 kilos on my back meant i needed to make a real push for it. Initially everything was well. We were soaking in the surroundings, shooting as we went along. But as we went deeper into the jungle it got harder. We were walking on a narrow pathway along the mountain slope. Our progress slowed down by knee deep slush. Every two hours or so we would meet the odd shepherd, trader or drug smuggler. Once we reached the river (cannot reveal the name), our friends from across the border came to pick us up in a boat carved out of a huge tree. It still did not qualify to be called a boat, maybe a tree boat. By the time we crossed into burma it was pitch black. I remember popping in a kit kat to get some sugar going. I heard the trek from here to the nearest village takes a 5 hour climb through forests full of deadly reptiles and army snipers. We were not allowed to use flashlights as we could easily get spotted. The risk of getting caught by the Burmese army is high which would result in a 6 month jail term for us Indians. For the locals it is a sure shot passport to afterlife. Under the moonlight we walked each of us following the others foot placing. Rohit filmed Satinder's effort using a sony night vision handycam. I remember being with the group for only about an hour. I collapsed four times enroute. I fell flat on the moist ground and passed out. The guides would give me ice cool stream water to get me up and going. I was sweaty, tired, agittated and angry. It was tough. The locals promise of the soon approaching village never came true. We kept on climbing over one hill followed by another for over 3 hours. Then we met our rescue team. A handfull of villagers who were woried by our delay and came in search. They brought gaitorade and vitamin water. Local style. A bag full of palm sugar concetrate balls and fresh stream water boosted our energy levels to the peak. The rest is history. I went beserk. The guy, me, who was always trailing behind the others, picked up my bags and walked never to stop till the village came. To give you a perspective, it took the others nearly 30 minutes to catch up. To give me company was a young boy who came with the search party. Once there, the village headmen served us rice accompanied with fried frogs and roasted rats. I stuck to the rice. But the poverty struck me ever more.
Next morning would give us a real sign of why things are going wrong in this land. Forced labour, rape, looting of livestock and agricultural commodities by the army government had humiliated the locals to depression. Looking at us people smiled but their livelihood and culture (especially for being christian) were being forced into extinction by the monstrous government of that land.
The village consisted of two rows of houses- about twenty of them. They lived on forest produce and whatever they could cultivate by destroying the forest. As I walked along the main pathway children, girls, elderly all looked at me and were having a laugh riot that would bring envy to any popular sitcom. They called me a word, which I later found out meant - broiler chicken. I was so bogged down by the climb of last night that I was walking around with a camera, knees bent, back arched just like a broiler chicken.
We were there only for a couple of hours cause the army had got to know of our location and had sent a team to capture us. Upon hearing this our guests urged us to return back to India. Not before we shot and made our story. With a lovely burmese song playing in the radio in the background, Me and rohit shot away at every aspect of the people and their lifestyle. Interviews, comments, opinions were all captured in our magnetic tapes. Post lunch (just rice for me) we returned complaining on our trek back to the Indian side. Just as night fell, we crossed back into India and camped in the forest.
You might find that I am hardbound not to divulge details of locations and people. Not that these places are difficult to locate, anyone can do that with google earth or wiki maps. Just that I have a duty not to compromise the safety of the kind hearted burmese villagers. That is the least I can do from my side supporting the fight for democracy in Burma.
We returned back and edited three stories that went on air across the US giving a rare glimpse into the secret world of Burmese rebel groups and the suffering villagers.
FREE BURMA
**I found that 80% of what was in our supply box were of the liquid kind, those which gave you hangovers. Everything from Vodka to Brandy. I was starting to fear this expedition would need more guts that earlier thought.
**Two months post our expedition saw the release of Rambo 4 which has the same storyline as ours. Except that we saved our own ass.
The very next day my phone rang the alarm as usual. I got up huriedly and brushed up, grabbed my towel and ran to the bathrooms before the other guests got up. As I was going past the lift I glanced at the newspaper. The headlines read of the ongoing revolution the buddhist monks had started in Burma (Myanmar) a week ago. There were heavy casualities. I like to stay aware of what goes around in the world and it helps in one's profession. But the news was of no interest to me so i headed for the shower. The misty morning had covered up the sun and the solar water heaters at the hostel had just about started to produce warm water. I was getting late. I had to make do with the luke warm water. Just then it struck me. What am I getting late for ? I don't have a job. I have nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I frowned. Deep inside I was the happiest I had ever been. I walked back to my bed and slept for three more hours.
The phone rang the alarm. My brain immediately issued a communique, it read,'YOU DONT HAVE A JOB. GO BACK TO SLEEP'. I switched off the alarm. A few minutes later the phone rang again. It was Rohit. He was pissed with me for not answering his calls. I apologized for mistaking it with the alarm. He wanted to see me urgently. As in Right Now. Rohit Gandhi is a journalist. His entire career has been dedicated to investigative and war journalism. In his younger days, he worked with NDTV. He left the country to work with foreign broadcaster's CNN (not to be confused with CNN IBN) and CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation). He has covered the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan; the Asian tsunami (for which he won the Dupont award); and numerous political coverages. He has won his share of international awards and is an Emmy nominee this year (2008) for his National Geographic co-production Slave Girls Of India. I first worked with him during the 2007 bombing of the Pakistan bound trains at Panipat. He is an amazing person to work with. With him, you put real hard work for a few hours and chill out and party for the rest of the day.
I rushed towards south Delhi where he runs his office from. He and a friend of his were planning a trip of some kind. Nothing was being clearly explained as he was always on the phone. I waited for a long time till evening came. His entire family was getting ready for the diwali celebrations. I was just looking forward to my nights sleep. I am a very lazy person. I like to conserve energy and use it at the right time. Finally Rohit approached me and we sat for a long discussion that would put me right in the middle of the biggest adventure of my life. Think of it like a surrogate expedition of Indiana Jones and Rambo. Rohit and his pal Satinder wanted to go into Burma to report the after effects and the military brutality upon the ongoing revolutionists. The only issue was that Burma was closed to outside media. Foriegn journalists were arrested and deported. One japaneses war photographer was even shot dead in full view of protesters. The state run television of that country repeatedly beemed messages of the revolution being peaceful and under control. They blamed the BBC and other media for tarnishing the image of Burma’s dictator, Tan Shwe. The reality entirely different. The internet was reporting deaths of over 10000 and massive arrests, arson, rape, humiliation and starvation.
So Satinder and Rohit’s bright plan was to sneak into the country from India and report of the atrocities. GREAT. And how do we suppose do that. Should I pack an AK and a UZI with the equipment too? It sounded more like a suicidal mission than a news gathering event. Maybe I was drunk when I agreed to it. (You don’t take long to get drunk when you are with Rohit).
I was appointed the second unit cameraman and sound recordist. The news capsules were for a US channel, CBS, with Satinder Bindra as the anchor. It took a week of planning before we got the go ahead. Satinder flew in from the US. I was on equipment duty and was running around looking for stuff we would need to produce on the field – a good microphone, lights, hard disks, camera, tripod, cables etc. We would be editing the pieces on the fly. Every now and then I would check the papers and the internet for any reports on Burma. That evening I was introduced to Satinder Bindra. I had seen him only once and found him to be a tough guy. He was the asia head of CNN for something like eight years. He has covered every war and natural disaster in this continent for the last two decades.
That evening was busy arranging the last bits of equipments, doing research, packing, stocking supplies, charging bricks etc. Early next morning satinder arrived with what looked like a big cardbox containing eatables. At the airport the extra weight of the equipment and supplies had crossed more than the value of our tickets. Now anyone who has flown into Aizwal, the capital of Mizoram, knows that the ride is as bumpy as fred flintstones primitive automobile. Basically the climate there is unpredictable, with the airport sitting on a high valley between two peaks. As we came in to land, it felt like we were in a runway deep in the jungle cause where ever you look its forested hill slopes. There were like 50 sparrows tweeting in the flower beds at the airport. Once we got out the forest seems to be there everywhere. It is a nature lovers dream come true. Rohit and Sat with all the luggage took a maruti 800 taxi to town while I followed in a bus. I strained my neck as I could not get enough of the forests all around. We arrived on a weekend so everything was shut. And like most town and villages in the North East, they take their holidays to socialise and have fun.
One of the worst parts of being in a small low budget crew is that you often end up having to carrying heavy equipment yourself. Now our hotel had no lifts, so which means I had to slug those heavy equipment bags up the moutain slope, into the hotel and up the stairs for three floors. But the moment you reach there, the stunning locales relaxes your body and mind. In the morning's I would get up and watch as the sun rises beyond the hills, the mist lifts revealing the church in a distance. The rays setting up a chain reaction of emerging life in this hill town. School children dressed pretty, traders with fresh fruits, the taxi guys washing their 800cc cars, pigs squeling in the distance.
We booked a sumo which would take us even deeper into the outback. To a place called Champai. Now Champai is GORGEOUS. Its a plantation town located on a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. A rare placeswhere they still construct homes in the mountains and have left the plains untouched for agriculture. The place is also famous for its winery, which I found out later on. We checked into the tourist bungalow and each of us got a cottage. The balconies openend up to give residents a beautiful view of the valley. The place is often deserted cause hardly any tourist ventures into this area. The resident receptionist/manager/caretaker also happens to be the local juice saleslady. I cant remember how many bottles of brain numbingly sweet grape and passion fruit juices I had at that place. The chef (ex militry havaldar) always had a machatee in his one hand and a helpless pig in his other. A long wooded driveway out of the cottages leads to a shop run by a lady who makes hot soup (aaaarrrrhhh only beef and pork) and the worlds best plain donughts i have ever had. We filmed in Champai for three days. The official border to Myanmar is close to Champai and across a river.
Now what we filmed here and where we went from there I cannot tell you. But our plan was to get as far away from the official border as possible. We drove through thick forest to a tiny hamlet nestled amidst hills from where we would begin our 9 hour long trek into Burma. I was excited but carrying loads of over 50 kilos on my back meant i needed to make a real push for it. Initially everything was well. We were soaking in the surroundings, shooting as we went along. But as we went deeper into the jungle it got harder. We were walking on a narrow pathway along the mountain slope. Our progress slowed down by knee deep slush. Every two hours or so we would meet the odd shepherd, trader or drug smuggler. Once we reached the river (cannot reveal the name), our friends from across the border came to pick us up in a boat carved out of a huge tree. It still did not qualify to be called a boat, maybe a tree boat. By the time we crossed into burma it was pitch black. I remember popping in a kit kat to get some sugar going. I heard the trek from here to the nearest village takes a 5 hour climb through forests full of deadly reptiles and army snipers. We were not allowed to use flashlights as we could easily get spotted. The risk of getting caught by the Burmese army is high which would result in a 6 month jail term for us Indians. For the locals it is a sure shot passport to afterlife. Under the moonlight we walked each of us following the others foot placing. Rohit filmed Satinder's effort using a sony night vision handycam. I remember being with the group for only about an hour. I collapsed four times enroute. I fell flat on the moist ground and passed out. The guides would give me ice cool stream water to get me up and going. I was sweaty, tired, agittated and angry. It was tough. The locals promise of the soon approaching village never came true. We kept on climbing over one hill followed by another for over 3 hours. Then we met our rescue team. A handfull of villagers who were woried by our delay and came in search. They brought gaitorade and vitamin water. Local style. A bag full of palm sugar concetrate balls and fresh stream water boosted our energy levels to the peak. The rest is history. I went beserk. The guy, me, who was always trailing behind the others, picked up my bags and walked never to stop till the village came. To give you a perspective, it took the others nearly 30 minutes to catch up. To give me company was a young boy who came with the search party. Once there, the village headmen served us rice accompanied with fried frogs and roasted rats. I stuck to the rice. But the poverty struck me ever more.
Next morning would give us a real sign of why things are going wrong in this land. Forced labour, rape, looting of livestock and agricultural commodities by the army government had humiliated the locals to depression. Looking at us people smiled but their livelihood and culture (especially for being christian) were being forced into extinction by the monstrous government of that land.
The village consisted of two rows of houses- about twenty of them. They lived on forest produce and whatever they could cultivate by destroying the forest. As I walked along the main pathway children, girls, elderly all looked at me and were having a laugh riot that would bring envy to any popular sitcom. They called me a word, which I later found out meant - broiler chicken. I was so bogged down by the climb of last night that I was walking around with a camera, knees bent, back arched just like a broiler chicken.
We were there only for a couple of hours cause the army had got to know of our location and had sent a team to capture us. Upon hearing this our guests urged us to return back to India. Not before we shot and made our story. With a lovely burmese song playing in the radio in the background, Me and rohit shot away at every aspect of the people and their lifestyle. Interviews, comments, opinions were all captured in our magnetic tapes. Post lunch (just rice for me) we returned complaining on our trek back to the Indian side. Just as night fell, we crossed back into India and camped in the forest.
You might find that I am hardbound not to divulge details of locations and people. Not that these places are difficult to locate, anyone can do that with google earth or wiki maps. Just that I have a duty not to compromise the safety of the kind hearted burmese villagers. That is the least I can do from my side supporting the fight for democracy in Burma.
We returned back and edited three stories that went on air across the US giving a rare glimpse into the secret world of Burmese rebel groups and the suffering villagers.
FREE BURMA
**I found that 80% of what was in our supply box were of the liquid kind, those which gave you hangovers. Everything from Vodka to Brandy. I was starting to fear this expedition would need more guts that earlier thought.
**Two months post our expedition saw the release of Rambo 4 which has the same storyline as ours. Except that we saved our own ass.
