Rajan came to his homeland to seek Justice and redressal but all our worldly possessions were lost to us, as he had fled Singapore in such haste. Coming to terms with his ghastly, surreal end was hard enough but the realization of a total loss of identity was the ultimate leveler. I had no papers - no marriage certificate, no birth certificates for my sons, no bank account numbers, no will, no documents to prove ownership of anything - not the roof over our heads -not a single company share - why? It was all there well documented and safe but in a country that was hostile to our very name. It was the most singularly daunting task I have ever undertaken. Through the deep veil of pain fear andrecent bereavement, i had to pain-stakingly build the blocks of my life one at a time. So trust me, when I say I know what it is like to be person sans papers or identity. Home is where the heart or hearth is and when one is displaced ignomously who can one appeal to?

The government of Maharashtra has not given the alleged immigrants from Bangladesh a fighting chance. They just uprooted them packed them to the nearest border and pushed them over the edge. And as a nation we were just mute spectators. Where did all the other pillars of democracy crumble to? What happened to the Judiciary, the watchdogs in the press, the opposition parties, the people did we all just wish ourselves into a ‘maun vrath. And who are these nameless faceless people you wonder, they are the babus who pain-stakingly made your last jewelled ring or the embroiderer who applied the sequins and beads to your glamourous sari - that's what these Bangla babus normally do as work. Identity papers anyone? The poorest, most depraved, livingin the most unimaginable deplorable unsanitised ‘hellhole on earth existence they cling to their meagre means desperately. The worlds in designers from Oscar La Renta, Donna Karan to Armani they come to the shores of Bombay to pay pittance to these Banglas who painstakingly embroider their ‘dream ten thousand-pound hand made creations. The fruits of their labour make headlines in the fashion world yet they get next to nothing for their back breaking, twenty hours a day, bent over the stretcher job. They are so poor they have no unions, no lawyers, no real identity of their own and live in the worlds largest slum Dharavi. It is this lot that are sought to be made examples of is it fair? I saw a poor woman waving a ration card and passport saying on TV - why us? We got these documents from the ‘Sarkar years ago, we are not illegal immigrants we are ‘Indians.

I know what it is like to be homeless, with no papers of identification, the terrifying agony of proving who one is, when one is numb with fear and pain.This is a ‘ethnic cleansing and if we are silent, we are all as guilty when the next lot is a thousand, then ten thousand, then a hundred thousand, and then a million. I would like to see proof not from the poor displaced people but from their elected representatives, that their votes didn't count when it was election time. The ‘onus is not on the alleged immigrants but on a heartless government intent on a witch-hunt in the name of Creed. The national Diaspora is going to haunt us in the days to come as it comes as the harbinger of a nation that is on the brink of divide and rule. Till the highest court in the land takes cognizance of this alleged crime of illegal migration and grants a verdict no man should be touched or moved from his home and hearth. My heart bleeds for India if we allow this ‘ethnic cleansing and stay mute - spectators yet again - Rise my brethren even if only in voice to condemn this BARBARIC ACT, it must be stopped at any cost or we can kiss Democracy Goodbye!