A terrorist hanged, a hero born

“He’s my hero,” says a woman who lives in a flat across the street where hanged terrorist Yakub Memon used to reside. “Ab bajegi sab ki birthday dekho, ek ek ki,” says another man on the street.

In 24 hours, the state has managed to convert Yakub Memon from terrorist to street hero. There is no memory of the 257 people who died in March 1993. There is only a jumpy tenuous link from "Yakub was wronged in 1992" (nobody saying this knows exactly how the general impact of the riots is a common burden). “Educated people from good families don’t put their hands in these things for no reason,” says a woman in burkha standing on the kerb. “There must be a reason”.

At Mahim, they had come mostly from the buildings around, some have married and arrived just eight-nine years ago, long after the Mumbai riots or blasts and with just a nodding knowledge of the Memon family. The span of time is sufficient to remove the memory of the crime and establish an aura around the man. “What more do they want? He went to jail for eight years more than 14, which is a life sentence. He was done,” says one man. Another adds: “Men over 50 are not supposed to be hanged. If they had hanged him in 2007, we would have understood. Would the people who suffered have memory of their injury? What is the purpose now?” Another passerby says, "Out of 100 who take the CA exams, one passes. They picked the one man who passed from the Memon community to hang?”

What about the bombs, you ask? Ah, there is "no proof" that he was involved and that to kill 257 is a crime at all. “They were affected, they responded,” is the answer, adding that the ineffectiveness of the Mumbai Police is that they could never catch the real culprits. “Get Dawood back if you can, no?” the men taunt the bandobast police officers. One man, angry but practical, wants to see more Christians and Muslims recruited to the police force. “Start minority recruitments tomorrow and see how things change. They needed 30,000 to control us? Why?” he asks, offended at the display of arms and uniforms, ranging from RPF to commandos to beat officers.

There is conviction that he was hanged because he was a Muslim. Sorrow that his daughter never got to play on her father’s lap. His last wish, to see her, was not fulfilled. Yakub Memon in death is the hero life never allowed him to be.

As the body is carried out of the just-arrived hearse, the women call him "bechara". They cry, “He left home then, he has come home now.” The men, in white, raise their hands as if in rehearsed unison, and their wrists flick back and forth. At first, over the din, it looks like a chant, or a dance. Then you realise, it is a spontaneous wave. As if one were greeting an old friend after many years.

Rest in peace Yakub Memon. In death comes the oblivion of our sins.