received an email about a female's account of 1984:
Poonam Muttreja
>
> The Justice Nanavati Commission submitted its report
> on the anti-Sikh riots that followed Indira Gandhi's
> assassination to Home Minister Shivraj Patil last
> week. Poonam Muttreja is one of the founders of
> Dastkar, the movement of Indian craftspeople. She
> co-founded the Nagrik Ekta Manch to help Sikhs
> victimised by the 1984 violence.
> This is the first of a three-part series in which
> she recalls one of the most shameful phases in
> Independent India.
> When I (Poonam Muttreja) heard about Mrs Indira
> Gandhi's assassination (on October 31, 1984), I
> switched on the radio. I heard one sentence
> repeatedly: her Sikh security guards had killed her.
> It bothered me. I feared that if the radio
> announcers kept repeating 'Sikh,' it would add to
> the tension. As it is, the insurgency was prevalent
> in Punjab at the time. Saying the guards were Sikh
> would aggravate the tense atmosphere, I felt.
> I was shocked by the attack on Mrs Gandhi. A friend,
> Ravi Chopra, a well-known social activist, and I
> went to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences
> where Mrs Gandhi had been rushed. We were told she
> is either dead or may soon die. We then went to
> Connaught Place where, outside a newspaper office,
> we heard her death being confirmed. A huge crowd had
> gathered. Someone in the crowd said, "The Sardars
> are distributing sweets."
> Rumours create havoc in the mass psyche. Another
> rumour that started going around was that Sikhs had
> poisoned Delhi's water supply.
> I was afraid that such rumours would spread and lead
> to violence. About four hours after Mrs Gandhi's
> death, we saw some people on the Safdarjung flyover
> in south Delhi stopping vehicles with Sikh
> occupants. I was living in the Munirka area, which
> is on the way to the airport. I alerted my Sikh
> neighbours. I told them to remain indoors.
> The next day, November 1, my maid, who lived in
> Munirka Village, told me that the night before she
> had heard local goons and Congress workers talking
> about ways to take revenge. A little later, I saw a
> gang of hoodlums coming in our direction from
> Munirka Village. I asked them where they were going.
> They replied they were going to the Sikh-managed
> Guru Harikrishna Public School to avenge Mrs
> Gandhi's death.
> I called a police officer from nearby Vasant Vihar
> and informed him about a gang on its way to burn a
> public school. I told him to rush to the spot and
> said I would stop the gang from damaging any
> property until the police arrived. The police came.
> But after talking to the gang leaders, they told me,
> "You are not assigned to maintain law and order."
> They asked me to go home.
> Ten minutes later, I could see the police had left
> and the gang was marching on towards the school. I
> called Nandita Haksar, a well-known lawyer-activist,
> who lived in my area. Before we could reach the
> school, the mob had set the building on fire.
> We brought the people from the building to my home.
> Because the Vasant Vihar police station officers
> were not cooperative, we went to the Hauz Khas
> police station. They said they were busy with
> security arrangements for Mrs Gandhi's funeral where
> many international dignitaries were expected.
> Then the officer on duty asked me, "Are you a Hindu
> or not?" I was shocked. I could not believe the
> police could behave like that. I noted the name and
> designation of all the police officers.
> Soon, Delhi was in flames. We learnt that a lot of
> looting was going on. We saw mobs on the streets,
> many of them harassing women.
> The killing and looting had to be stopped. We
> desperately needed volunteers to express solidarity
> with the Sikh community.
> We used to support the Opposition and fight the
> ruling Congress over many social issues. So we did
> not know anyone well in the Congress. We went to
> meet George Fernandes (later, defence minister in
> the Vajpayee government), who was then leader of
> many labour unions. He was not around. His party
> workers were not helpful. We also went to the Left
> unions' office. They were unable to spare their
> cadre. They were busy debating the political impact
> of the assassination and the political future of the
> country.
> We needed people to stop the violence. We were not
> afraid of confronting the rioters but we needed many
> more hands. Then we went to Swami Agnivesh, a
> prominent social activist. He came with us.
> In the Lajpat Nagar area, large-scale looting was
> spreading. We were surrounded by the mob at one
> corner. Swami Agnivesh stood on a stool and asked
> people to exercise restraint precisely because they
> were Hindu. He said as true followers of Hinduism,
> which teaches tolerance, we should not loot or kill.
> The impact of a saffron-clad sadhu on that crowd was
> magical. Tempers cooled.
> But by then the riots had spread wide. There was no
> way the police could handle it alone. As human
> rights activists, normally, we are against army
> action. But we hoped for the Indian Army to arrive
> that day. Many of us -- designer Rajeev Sethi, my
> husband Shiv Kumar, Ravi Chopra and numerous others
> -- were out on the streets of Delhi that day in
> 1984. We could not see anything but smoke.
> Late at night on November 1, we got a call from
> Jahangirpuri. We witnessed a ghastly scene when we
> reached the area. Burnt hair of Sikhs, burnt bodies
> in their homes in the basti (slum). The magnitude
> and tragedy of the event hit us straight, in the
> face.