How are Targets Selected for Atomic Bombing?

Every few months we read about some psychopath in America going on a murder spree before killing himself.  The victims are random. They simply happen to be at the ill-fated place at the time of massacre. Sometimes the venue of the multiple-murders is spontaneously decided as well.

Professional terrorists, on the other hand, give considerable thought to the targets they plan to hit. The venue selection is an outcome of ruthless logic.

This week’s diary is a historical account of how, and why, Hiroshima and Nagasaki came to be the targets for the only two atomic weapons ever used.

***

Einstein letter gets the Atomic ball rolling

The atomic history begins with a letter dated 2 August 1939 by Albert Einstein to Franklin Roosevelt, the American president.

It’s often believed scientists invent for the sake of science, and then others – politicians or businessmen – abuse the inventions. Alternatively, politicians set an agenda (for example, sending man on the moon), and ask the scientific community to work on the brief. With atomic bombs, neither was the case. A renowned scientist, representing a group of refugee scientists, took the initiative and approached a politician. Einstein the pacifist urged Roosevelt to create a structure of administrators and physicists working together on nuclear chain reactions. Einstein believed Germany may reach there before, and wanted United States to develop the weapon for defence. (As a Jew, he was blacklisted in Germany.) Within less than a month, on 1 September 1939, Germany invaded Poland to officially start the Second World War.

As a response to Einstein’s letter, a Uranium committee with a budget of six thousand dollars was formed in October 1939.  The politicians may have confused the smallness of atom as a substance and the size of budget required to make it react. Anyway, the Uranium committee got the atomic ball rolling.

***

The Manhattan project

Progress of the World War II and news of nuclear research from Europe may have convinced Roosevelt of the urgency and scale required.  The project – later named the “Manhattan Project”, employing 130,000 people and with a budget of two billion dollars – held its first meeting on 6 Dec. 1941. By a spooky historical coincidence, on the following day, Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour, killing 2500 Americans. On 8 Dec. 1941 America declared war on Japan. The massive rallying of the American population behind the President, the enormous public hatred towards the enemy, and the overall emotional aftermath of Pearl Harbour were comparable to another surprise attack on America that was to take place sixty years later. Pearl Harbour united the divided nation.

Two men in their prime were key in the Manhattan project structure. General Leslie Groves, in his forties, was its military head and the overall project leader. His drive and energy, military experience, organisational ability and unwavering confidence gained for the project the speed and support it required. Robert Oppenheimer was the scientific director, who later came to be known as the ‘father of the atomic bomb’. Born to wealthy Jew German immigrants, Oppenheimer was one of the most brilliant physicists in the country. In his late thirties at the time of appointment, he had varied interests outside physics. Philosophy, poetry and religion interested him. At Berkley, he had learnt Sanskrit and read some Hindu scriptures in original.

The scientific process is, unfortunately, very lengthy. More so, when it must be carried out in secret. It was only three years later that Groves and Oppenheimer began feeling optimistic they had succeeded in developing earth’s loudest gadgets.

***

A tumultuous month

In April, 1945 all of a sudden things began to happen. The long serving Roosevelt died on April 12. Mussolini was killed on April 28. Hitler committed suicide on May 1. In three weeks, three major war powers had lost their heads.  On May 7, Germany surrendered officially, and the war in Europe ended. Harry Truman, the vice-president, succeeded Roosevelt as the President of the United States. Both Truman and Roosevelt belonged to the Democratic Party. Curiously, Truman – until he became America’s President – was not made aware of the Manhattan project.

You have here a 61-year old man who on becoming the President is told his country has secretly developed, after toiling for over three years, miraculous toys.

We don’t know if the toys work unless we use them. Could you, Mr President, please sanction urgently their use? Before it’s too late?

Truman must have been of a decisive nature. He quickly chose to throw the A- bombs on Japan. The decision was taken in less than a month since his becoming America’s president. It was taken in less than a month since his learning the secret. Not known if Roosevelt would have taken such a decision, but that was irrelevant. Roosevelt was dead. Einstein’s letter to him had recommended creating defence against Nazi Germany. The Germans had surrendered and by now it was confirmed they didn’t have atomic bombs. The war in Europe was over. Testing the new toys on Japan was the best available option. The “Japs” were a different race anyway. It’s easier to loathe people from other races. Many American military men referred to Japs as “monkeys in trousers”. Time was running out. If the bombs were not used, the 2 billion $ gamble would be investigated and debated for a long time to come. Bombing must happen before the Japanese surrendered. Leslie Groves, Harry Truman and every patriotic American who knew of A-bombs hoped the opportunity to test them would not slip.

***

And the Winner is…

On 10/11 May, 1945, the target committee comprising of a general, a colonel, a captain, a major and nine nuclear scientists gathered in the office of Dr Oppenheimer.

One Dr Stearns described his meticulous work on target selection. The committee agreed the following criteria for the targets:

(a) They be important targets in a large urban area of more than three miles in diameter.

(b) They be capable of being damaged effectively by a blast.

(c) They are unlikely to be attacked by August, the projected month of bombing.

(d) They should obtain the greatest psychological effect against Japan.

(e) They be spectacular enough to be internationally recognised.

The committee agreed the weapon will not be used against any strictly military target.

[In 1939, the British Prime Minister Chamberlain had told his parliament. “His majesty’s government will never resort to deliberate attack on women and children, and on other civilians for the purposes of mere terrorism.” Though Churchill as ally was to approve the atomic bombing, no British was part of the target committee.

A few years later Harry Truman was to write in his published memoirs: “The final decision of where and when to use the atomic bomb was up to me. Let there be no mistake about it. I regarded the bomb as a military weapon and never had any doubt it should be so used. In deciding to use the bomb, I wanted to make sure it would be used as a weapon of war in the manner prescribed by the laws of war. That meant I wanted it dropped on a military target.”]

In May 1945, the target committee decided the target will not be small and strictly military, because god forbid if the bomb were to miss the target, the expensive weapon would be wasted. Three years of hard work turning futile in a matter of seconds.

Kyoto was the unanimously agreed first choice. It was the cultural centre of Japan. It had about 2000 Buddhist and Shinto temples, palaces, gardens and beautiful architecture. A former capital of Japan, it was now an urban industrial area with more than one million people living in it. People were moving to Kyoto as other parts of Japan were getting destroyed. Kyoto was not yet firebombed. (Tokyo was disqualified since it was extensively bombed anyway. Tokyo firebombing in March 1945 had killed 100,000 as a result of firestorms).

As the target committee mentioned in the minutes “from the psychological point of view there is the advantage that Kyoto is an intellectual center for Japan and the people there are more apt to appreciate the significance of such a weapon as the gadget.” [Presumably it meant people who will survive are more apt to appreciate the significance: R.]

Kyoto met all the criteria. It was an ideal target. The Manhattan committee members, with great enthusiasm and excitement, visualised the day when their first baby would be dropped on this intellectual city.  Kyoto received the AA status – the primary A-bomb target. Gen. Groves approved it. What remained now were the execution plans.

***

Secretary of War

United States of America, a constitutional democracy rather than a military dictatorship, prefers that critical decisions are taken by civilians and not military. General Groves, head of the Manhattan project, was therefore made to report to a civilian boss – Henry Stimson.

Henry Stimson (born 1867), a lawyer by profession, had the singular distinction of serving as the Secretary of War in both the world wars. He was a conservative republican. Stimson maintained a diary on the Manhattan project which has been de-classified since. An excerpt of an entry dated 1 June 1945 reads:

“Then I had in General Arnold and discussed with him the bombing…… in Japan. I told him of my promise from Lovett that there would be only precision bombing in Japan…… I wanted to know what the facts were. He told me that the Air Force was up against the difficult situation arising out of the fact that Japan, unlike Germany, had not concentrated her industries and that on the contrary they were scattered out and were small and closely connected in site with the houses of their employees; that thus it was practically impossible to destroy the war output of Japan without doing more damage to the civilians……than in Europe. He told me, however, that they were trying to keep it down as far as possible. I told him there was one city they must not bomb without my permission and that was Kyoto.”

The target committee continued to support Kyoto as the primary target, and Gen. Groves kept arguing with his boss for the next six weeks.

In his diary on 21 July, 1945 Stimson wrote:

“Massage and dinner, and then in the evening about ten-thirty two short cables came…… indicating that operations would be ready earlier than expected, and also asking me to reverse my decision…… [Gen. Groves requested again to make Kyoto the primary a-bomb target: R.]. I cabled, saying I saw no new factors for reversing myself but on the contrary the new factors seemed to confirm it.”

Three days later, on 24 July, in his meeting with Truman, Stimson emphasised that

 “……the bitterness which would be caused by such a wanton act [destroying Kyoto: R.] might make it impossible during the long post-war period to reconcile the Japanese to us in that area rather than to the Russians.”  

Truman agreed. On 25 July, an order was signed to use the atomic bomb with a tender name “Little Boy” as soon after August 3 as weather permitted. The primary target was – the city of Hiroshima.

***

Pu follows U

The “Little Boy” dropped on Hiroshima at 08:15 am on 6 August 1945 succeeded in killing instantly 80,000 people. (By the end of the year, another 60,000 were to die of injuries and radiation poisoning.) The Americans were jubilant. Victories are in numbers. Except the negligible matter of Hiroshima getting wiped out instead of Kyoto, everything had gone exactly as per plans. Not even suicide pilots were needed for the mission. (Unfortunately, as many as 11 Americans – war prisoners – got killed in Hiroshima. They would be grieved over and monuments built to commemorate their stunning sacrifice.)

The “Little Boy” was gone, and a “Fat Man” waited in the wings. (Little Boy was a Uranium weapon, Fat Man plutonium based. Fat Man with a diameter of 5 feet was twice as wide as Little Boy with a diameter of 28 inches; hence the names). Buoyed with the success of the Uranium A-bomb, the Americans were keen to test the Plutonium-based weapon. They prayed silently against any premature surrender by the Japanese.

On the morning of 9 August, the air force bomber Bockscar carrying the Fat Man took off for the second mission. The target given was the ancient castle-town in Japan – Kokura. 

***

Clouds the Spoilsport

09:20 am on 9 Aug 1945: Bockscar, after flying for more than six hours arrived at Kokura. To the disappointment of the crew, the city was covered with clouds. The plane rotated on top of Kokura three times, hoping for the clouds to clear up. A snag developed in the fuel transfer pump meant the plane didn’t have access to all its fuel.

10:02: Kokura unfortunately was still covered with clouds. Fuel must be conserved. The weather looked bad. The plane couldn’t possibly keep on making runs on top of Kokura. Reluctantly, it was decided to head to Nagasaki, a back-up, 95 miles south of Kokura.

10:46: The plane arrived at Nagasaki, which goddamn it, was also covered with clouds. This was truly frustrating. The instructions in case the clouds remained, were for the plane to fly back to Okinawa, and dispose of the a-bomb in the ocean. Major Sweeney, the pilot, could not imagine wasting a whole expensive plutonium bomb in the ocean. During the two runs on top of Nagasaki, the clouds still prevented any action. Americans cursed their luck and prayed at the same time.

11:00: The prayers of the flying Americans were answered. The cloud cover briefly cleared up. The Fat Man was dropped. At two minutes past eleven, it exploded generating an estimated 7000 degrees Fahrenheit heat, and 625 miles per hour winds.  

The bomb instantly killed 70,000 and injured 60,000.

Both missions were resounding accomplishments. On 14 August, 1945 the Japanese Emperor Hirohito surrendered. The Second World War was over.

***

Clouds

Clouds saved Kokura and their clearing up doomed Nagasaki.

What saved Kyoto?

It transpired that the Secretary of War Henry Stimson had had his honeymoon in Kyoto. So many fond memories were attached to that place. Using the privilege of his position, Stimson kept striking Kyoto out of the target list under various pretexts.

Clouds saved Kokura. (In Japanese, there is an idiom now: Kokura’s luck)

Sentimentality of a powerful American spared Kyoto.

Ravi

North Korea: A Belligerent Rabbit

Why North is not East?

In the 1980’s, Moscow’s Pushkin Institute of Russian Language offered me lessons in geography that no textbook had ever managed to.  Since USSR was communist and wished to propagate communism to others, all communist and capitalist countries; including the two Germanys, and the two Koreas; were represented at Pushkin Institute.

I knew I was in Eastern Europe. I knew what the West or Western democracies meant.  In 1987, I visited both Germanys myself. East Berlin was a breath-holding adventure. The GDR [German Democratic Republic; communist dictatorships often call themselves either democratic or ‘people’s’] authorities controlled my every movement. I felt relieved when I returned to West Germany. West Germany was the affluent, free, healthy, clean place shining with electronic billboards; East its poor, authoritarian, paranoid, gloomy counterpart. I think around then the question about Koreas sprang to my mind the first time: why when Germany is divided – so logically – in East and West; Korea gets split in North and South? If the places were unintentional guinea pigs to test the battle of the West vs East; why wasn’t Korea divided vertically like Germany was? 

I found the answer in the 1990’s when I visited Khabarovsk, a town in the Russian Far East.  When studying its map, I was jolted by a geopolitical epiphany. 

Germany was divided into East and West because the USSR was to the East of Germany. Korea was divided into North and South because the USSR was to the North of Korea!

***

The blue suits

Pushkin Institute had at least forty North Korean students, all male and all fairly short.  One thing was visibly unusual. They were dressed formally all the time, in blue suits – with a lapel pin on chest displaying a photograph. Throughout the year, they attended classes wearing suits. One of them lived on my floor. He gave his name as Lee. I asked him why they couldn’t wear normal student clothes – like we did. Lee said he was representing North Korea. The Group Leader (a North Korean spy who accompanied them to Moscow and lived in the same hostel) had prescribed blue suits as a uniform even before leaving Pyongyang.

“And whose picture are you advertising here?” I pointed to his lapel pin.

“Don’t you know?” Lee asked, thinking I was joking. “You really don’t know? The whole world knows him. He is the “Great Leader” – Kim II Sung.”

***

The North Korean president

Kim II Sung (born 1912) was the president of North Korea then – in 1987. He is the president of North Korea today. And unless international community does something about it, he will still be the president fifty years from now. Surprised?

In the 1930’s; Kim, a communist guerrilla, fought in northern China against Japan. He rose in ranks and became a commander in 1941, before the Japanese drove guerrillas away from China. Kim escaped to the abovementioned Khabarovsk (USSR) and served in the Soviet Red Army until the end of World War II. Stalin rewarded him by making him the head of North Korea. 

In the fifty years since the WWII, Kim II Sung managed to become an absolute dictator, a supreme and brutal repressor. He ran the country in the best Stalinist traditions, killing free market and free speech. A self-proclaimed god, he converted North Korea into a private empire by introducing dynastic rule.  (Reminds one of Saudi Arabia, or even Iraq. If not killed, one of Saddam’s sons would have succeeded him. We see dynasties in Muslim dictatorships, sometimes even in constitutional democracies (Kennedy, Bush, Nehru-Gandhi); but North Korea is the only communist country ever to establish a dynastic rule). 

In 1994, Kim II sung died – in the sense generally understood. His son Kim Jong-il announced official mourning for three years. Not showing grief became a punishable crime. The junior Kim replaced the Gregorian calendar with a Korean calendar that begins with the birth of Kim II Sung. Not surprisingly, Kim’s body was embalmed and a mausoleum built, but Kim Jong-il went a step further in showing creativity. Lenin’s mummy had remained a spiritual force for the USSR after his death.

Kim Jong-il defied death. He announced his father was, is and will remain the president of North Korea. For ever.

***

A Matter of Chance

Our lives are a matter of pure geopolitical chance. If you are born on the wrong side of the border, your life takes a very different course.

Until 1945, Korea was one. One of the oldest civilisations, the Korean peninsula was annexed for most of its existence by the Chinese or the Japanese.

In 1895, the Japanese killed the Korean empress Myeongseong as part of a strategy to capture Korea, then under Chinese influence. Japan fought two wars: with China (1894-95) and Russia (1904-1905), and obtained control over Korea. In 1910, Korea became an official Japanese colony to be brutally exploited and shamelessly looted for the next thirty years. In 1945, the Japanese were defeated in the WWII and the Koreans thought they would be free. They were wrong.

The Soviet Union and the United States agreed to occupy Korea, only temporarily, as trustees. Kim II-Sung, nominated by the soviets, began implementing the Soviet model in the North. The Americans wished to see a capitalist, democratic, united Korea in due course.  Kim began rapid militarization and in 1950 Stalin approved invasion of the south. In the war that happened between the North and the South (1950-1953); USSR and later China supported the communist North; USA and allies supported the South. The Civil war stopped after 2.5 million Koreans were killed. In 1953, two nations were officially endorsed.

For Koreans, particularly those close to the middle of the country, it was a 50:50 chance they would be part of the northern or the southern state. Until 1945, people on both sides had lived similar lifestyles, followed the same customs, spoke one language. Their history was common.

Today, in 2006; no matter where we live, our homes are likely to have things made in South Korea – maybe Samsung, LG, Daewoo or Hyundai. South Korea is now a democracy practising free market economy.  It’s one of the elite 15 countries whose GDP exceeds one trillion USD (North Korea GDP: 40 billion USD). 35% of South Korea’s economy is made up of exports, mainly electronic goods, cars, steel, ships and semi-conductors.

North Korea, on the other hand, is a highly secretive and isolated state that spends one third of its GDP on military. Every fourth North Korean serves in some military capacity. Satellite pictures show surreally empty roads. Since 1990, hunger has killed 3 million people. Availability of electricity and water is sporadic. Torture, public executions, slave labour, forced abortions and infanticides in prison are common. North Korea reportedly has 200,000 political prisoners. Radio and TV sets are pre-tuned to listen to the state propaganda. Media and press sing daily eulogies dedicated to the legendary father and son. Reporting of famine or hardships is prohibited.

In 2005, the World Food programme reported that an average 7-year old boy in North Korea weighs 20 pounds less and is 8 inches shorter than his counterpart in the South.

Before the collapse of the Soviet union, North Korea relied on the two communist giants for sponsorship and forced barter trade. Since 1990, China, the only big brother left, is confused and occasionally reluctant. Collapse of the USSR was a key reason why 3 million North Koreans have died of starvation since.

What are the ways in which North Korea currently makes money?

(a) Aid, some humanitarian. This is procured mainly by threatening to go nuclear. Now that they have gone nuclear, the threat will change its format.

(b) Illicit arms dealing: North Korea has no qualms about supplying to any state sensitive weapons and technology, including delivery vehicles for nuclear weapons. Pakistan and Iran are interested partners. Reportedly, the Ghauri missile which Pakistan successfully test-fired in 1998 was made in North Korea.

(c) Counterfeiting: During my tobacco days, I had seen quality samples of counterfeit cigarettes (meaning packs, not cigarettes – the product was awful) coming out of North Korea. A more lucrative business is printing of 100$ notes, technically called “Supernotes (or Superdollars)”. The counterfeiting specialists acknowledge their almost identical nature. North Korean diplomats and Europe’s underworld were used for distribution of superdollars. Since 2004, the USA has launched attack on the operations and closed at least one bank (Banco Delta Asia, Macao) engaged in money laundering. The United States have threatened sanctions irrespective of the nuclear scenario. Nuclear threat is a potential threat. Superdollars are a real menace.

***

Dear Leader

Sixty years after the Second World War, half of the Korean Peninsula is thus blessed with a modern concentration camp that boasts of more than 20 million starving prisoners ruled over by their own Hitler and their own Nazis.

Kim Jong-il (born 1941), the ruling son of the eternal president, is described as a reclusive playboy with bouffant hair. Embarrassed with height of 5’3’’, he walks on platform shoes. Hennessy VSOP cognac claims he is their number one customer in the world. Vain, paranoid and a hypochondriac; Kim Jong-il fears air travel. During his train travel of thousands of miles between Moscow and Pyongyang, he had live lobsters and roasted donkey air-lifted to the train every day, and he ate them with silver chopsticks. (Apparently silver makes it easy to detect poisonous materials). In the train, he had surrounded himself with a bunch of beautiful female companions. Indeed, he has established “pleasure brigades” of teenage schoolgirls whose job is to help him and his officers relax.

Kim Jong-il has written six operas (Hitler was a prolific painter) and a book on films. He reportedly loves films. In 1978, he kidnapped a famous South Korean film director and his actress girlfriend, and forced them to make films for North Korea. Kidnapping is not his only hobby. In 1986, he arranged the bombing of the South Korean Jet in which 115 people were killed.

He was born in Siberia, while his father was in exile. But now his birthplace (on top of Korea’s highest mountain Paektu) and year (1942, being more auspicious) are fabricated to make him a legend. “Dear Leader” is the title by which the North Korean population calls him – several times daily as prescribed. He and his father are omnipresent – in portraits, monuments, bridges, lapel pins. There are two or three candidates from among his army of sons, legitimate and others, groomed to succeed him.

The Dear Leader, like the country he rules, is secretive. His voice has never been broadcast since 1992.

***

Axis of Evil

Now that this madman has conducted a nuclear test what should the international community (read USA) do?

After the dissolution of Soviet Union, Koreas should have been united just like Germanys were. The incompetence and inhuman-ness of Soviet system did not require any further proofs.  Unfortunately, China happened to be North Korea’s key neighbour. Communist-imperialist States traditionally like buffer states around them. That ensures own security and also stops citizens from fleeing the country easily. China, the surviving big brother, is now confused because it doesn’t understand how to handle its irritating sibling. Russia and South Korea, the other neighbours, are keen to avoid war in the neighbourhood. Japan is close enough to feel threatened. The Japanese remember the brutalities perpetrated by their ancestors on Koreans in the first half of the 20^th century.

[In one of the rare accounts of a personal visit to Pyongyang http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/asiapcf/09/13/nkorea.dougherty.notebook/index.html

Jill Dougherty, a CNN managing editor, narrates how her guide explained Korea to her. “Korea is like a rabbit. Its face is toward China. Its back is toward United States. Its ass is toward Japan. Its mouth is toward Russia.”]

The rhetoric used after every nuclear test is as hypocritical as the “Nuclear Proliferation Treaty.” Nations owning and building warehouses of nuclear toys condemn the country acquiring its first toy. India and Pakistan were condemned, economic sanctions imposed on them. Now it’s all forgiven. The USA may sign a civilian nuclear deal with India soon. The nuclear powers have no moral right to condemn or impose sanctions. (Technically: India and Pakistan did not sign the treaty, so they were all right. North Korea withdrew from the treaty in 2003. So there is no breach).  

Having said that, the world has changed since 11 September 2001. The threat is not of North Korea possessing nuclear weapons. The threat is little of North Korea attacking South Korea or Japan. The greatest threat is the money-starved nation and its egomaniacal despot selling nuclear weapons to terrorists. There is some evidence of North Korea supplying arms such as rocket propelled grenade launchers to terrorist organisations in Burma and Sri Lanka. Al Qaida may offer more money.  

Nuclear arms work as deterrent; only when they are owned by tangible, visible, bombardable states. Pakistan knows if they wipe out Mumbai, India could wipe out Pakistan in retaliation. So neither party is likely to take the first step. This is not the case with faceless, landless, faithless terrorists. One doesn’t know whom to bomb in retaliation. Nuclear weapons in the hands of terrorists are not for deterrence. They serve either to terrorise or blackmail.

In Russian, there is a proverb: Having said “a”, you must say “b”. In January, 2002 George Bush announced North Korea was part of the Axis of Evil along with Iraq and Iran.  In Iraq; the USA failed to find weapons, but succeeded in throwing out Saddam and killing his two sons. Iraq was attacked based on a mere suspicion of possessing weapons of mass destruction. With North Korea it is no longer a suspicion, it is actuality. Logic dictates if Iraq was attacked, North Korea must be attacked and denuclearised. Currently USA is stretched, so they will need to play the time-buying game. Before South Korea and Japan insist on owning nuclear weapons, as they must to protect themselves, USA will have to consider the military option. The objective will be three-fold: (a) denuclearisation (b) regime change (c) absorbing it in South Korea. Unlike Afghanistan or Iraq, there is a capable government ready to take over the running of North Korea.

The alternative is to risk New York in the long run. The prospect of North Korea selling a nuclear bomb to Al Qaida, and Al Qaida blowing it on Manhattan to flatten it, is technically unrealistic today, but not impossible a few years from now. A century after Hiroshima, the impact of New York perishing is bound to be more spectacular. Unlike on 9/11, this time CNN cameras may not be able to capture all action live.

Ravi

Nude Man in Gym

It was when I joined the Gold’s Gym in Moscow that I saw nude men for the first time. In the changing rooms, men moved around freely wearing no clothes at all. Some shaved in front of mirrors, entirely naked. My mind, nurtured for years in the virtuous Indian soil, considered the sight obscene. I had seen nude women in foreign films and museum paintings before. That was Art. Many of the comely models were a pleasure to watch. But nude men? Nude men moving around next to you? (In the flesh, I may add).

After my hour-long exercise, I opted to sit in the changing rooms with a bath towel around my waist. I would close my eyes to feign exhaustion. If someone talked to me I would, with eyes focussed, strictly concentrate on their faces. Showers were even more shocking. There were no doors and no curtains. A row of open cabins with their occupants washing their naked bodies in view of the fellow gym members. 

I had heard of a similar treatment to the students in Moscow’s Patrice Lumumba University for Asians and Africans. But here was the most expensive gym in Moscow frequented by expatriates and rich Russians, compelling each of them to abandon their notions of privacy during the sacred ritual of a morning shower.

                    

Moscow’s Gold’s Gym is huge. It is the biggest gym I have been to. Once, while jogging on the treadmill on its first floor, I noticed the managing director of my company lifting weights on the ground floor. This was a middle-aged Canadian who headed the Russian operations of the British American Tobacco. It is one thing meeting your top boss in the comfort of the office environment, with both of us wearing well-pressed suits and elegant ties. Quite another, confronting the same man in shorts and crumpled sweatshirt.

Later that morning, when I was taking shower, a voice behind called my name. My wet body briefly turned to see if it was a mistake. The Canadian man, the top boss, stood there. Wearing no clothes, he began talking to me.

‘‘What do you think’’ the nude managing director asked, ‘‘of the idea of taking Yava Gold to duty-free?’’

These things normally happened only in my worst nightmares. I mean my facing the top company boss with no clothes on me. I did not know whether to switch the shower off. I had two choices. Be rude by showing him my behind, or be indecent by showing him my front. I chose rudeness. I awkwardly turned my head and smiled feebly.

‘‘I was saying’’ he thought I hadn’t heard the question due to the running shower, ‘‘what do you think of listing Yava Gold in duty free?’’

I thought it was a dumb idea. (Selling a local brand at the International airport was dumb). But I was not in a fit state to argue. I dreaded the thought of two naked corporate men discussing business in front of a shower, with everybody else listening to us. 

‘‘The idea has merit.’’ I said, hoping he would go away.

‘‘Yes, I thought you would support it.’’ He came uncomfortably close and began a discourse on duty-free. I quickly turned the shower off; with a swift movement stretched my arm to grab the towel; and using it as a cover faced the madman – the managing director.

‘‘Let’s discuss it’’ I said ‘‘once we are in the office.’’

‘‘This place is much quieter.’’ He said. ‘‘I think critical issues for business are best discussed on golf courses. Since Moscow does not have golf, gym is the next best place for business discussions.’’

(Fortunately for me, in a few weeks he became too busy. I saw him a couple of times in the gym, but never again in the changing room.)  

Narrating this incident ten years after it happened, I am now surprised how much I have changed since. Nature has its way to desensitise us. Habit is an antidote to shocks. In a few months after joining the Gold’s gym, I stopped closing my eyes. I think my wearing a towel around my waist was a sight weirder for the nude men. Finally, I found the courage to be like them. To move in the changing rooms with no complexes (and no towels). It is actually a liberating feeling. And very comfortable when hot and sweating. I had found nudity indecent because I was always told it was. Many years after Moscow, in my Derby gym, I saw English fathers becoming nude in presence of their children, even young daughters (who would change clothes along with their fathers). I don’t think any of these children would ever consider nudity a taboo.

Thus seasoned in Moscow, I joined the Sheraton Gym in Warsaw, after my transfer to Poland. The Sheraton Gym is the cleanest in Warsaw; a rare one offering clean laundered towels free. On the right side of reception is the gym hall. At the reception, you can get fresh albeit expensive fruit juices. On the left side are the men’s and women’s rooms. At the entrance of men’s room, you have lockers. I would hang my office clothes here before exercise. Another locker room has wooden benches in the middle. Then a nice, cosy room with reclining chairs. The room has newspapers and magazines – both Polish and American. Then the shower room, (in Poland, the shower-room has doors!), followed by sauna.

On Saturdays and Sundays, I would go to the newspaper room after exercise. The side-table always had the latest Herald Tribune (the European edition) and older New York Times and Newsweek. In this room, men (mostly nude or semi-nude) with time and sociability would chat with one another. American accent dominated the conversations. Most members were Americans, and they were the only ones who were not shy to talk or laugh loudly to pierce through an otherwise quiescent ambience.

In that room, I often saw one man who was exceedingly tall. He must be six feet four or five. He was a well-built giant without being hefty. He sported short hair on his head and face. I don’t know how he did it, but each time I saw him, the bristles on his face looked how they look three days after shaving. (How does one shave to achieve a three-day beard every day?).The muscular structure of that tall man suggested strength and power. But the first thing that caught your eye when you looked at him was the tattoos on his arms. Both arms were adorned with beautiful black designs that were fit to be part of an art gallery.  I pitied the particular placement of the tattoos. Hidden under sleeves, they would more often remain invisible. The gym goers in Sheraton were fortunate. I, for one, have never seen any tattoo more exquisite.

Despite that, I had my reservations when he began talking to me. His overall bearing and the short hair reminded me of Russian mafia. In the Moscow gym, I had seen bodyguards of the New Russians (those who change the Mercedes once its ashtray is full) train with zeal. The Polish mafia and the New Poles are much weaker than their Russian counterparts. But this tall man could well have been a bodyguard. He said his name was Przemek. (Pronounced Pshe-me-k. If you can’t pronounce p and sh together, then She-me-k. The Polish Przemek is a diminutive of the even more difficult Przemysław.).

By the time we met, my Polish was reasonably fluent. Przemek said he was surprised to hear me, an Asian, speak in Polish. Our days and timings coincided. The weekends were less crowded. On a Saturday morning, some times it was only Przemek and I in the gym. We talked about weather; we discussed Catholicism and the Polish pope, the unreliability of Polish (and in general all) women, on how bad communism was and how lucky the current Polish generation was to become part of free Europe. His bass voice matched his overall personality. From our conversations, Przemek appeared to be good-natured; though his appearance was capable of instilling fear in anyone.

The other top-end hotel in Warsaw, the Marriott, has a sports cafe – the Champions Sports bar. It has more than fifty televisions, a couple of billiard tables, a satellite dish that catches key sports channels, and Mexican and American cuisine. I usually went there to watch cricket and football. I would order a double grapefruit juice that allowed me to sit for hours.

I had gone there with Gosia, my Polish friend, to watch the world cup final between Germany and Brazil. The place was crowded, and I celebrated the Brazilian victory by eating more than I needed. When Gosia and I left our table, and were about to exit; I suddenly stopped at the sight of a large portrait. It was hanging right above my head at the entrance. Though I had come to Champions before, I had never noticed the portrait.

                                                            

‘‘What is it?’’ Asked Gosia, who saw me staring at the man in the picture.

‘‘Who is this man?’’ I asked her. ‘‘Do you know him?’’

‘‘Saleta? That is Saleta.’’

‘‘Saleta? What do you mean Saleta? Is that a Polish name?’’

My heart was beating faster.

‘‘Yes. He is the kickboxing champion.’’

‘‘Przemek is... the kickboxing champion?’’                        

‘‘Yes. Przemysław Saleta.’’

‘‘Przemek?’’ I asked again.

‘‘You talk as if he is your personal buddy.’’ Gosia did not know what was so exciting about a portrait of a kickboxing champion.

‘‘Well, not exactly.’’ I said. ‘‘But I certainly know the design of the tattoos on his arms. I can also confirm to you that arms are the only part of his body where he has tattoos.’’

I was relieved to know Przemek was neither a bodyguard nor mafia. My research revealed he had been a Kickboxing World Champion in 1993. Currently, he was the Polish and European champion.

‘‘Przemek, you never talk about your profession. About the fact that you are the kickboxing champion.’’ I said casually when we met the following week.

‘‘Everyone else talks to me only about that. Talking to you is a breath of fresh air. You never asked me for my autograph. People give me undue respect when I speak to them. That makes me awkward. You treat me as a human being, not as a kickboxing champion, and I am thankful for that.’’

‘‘I understand.’’ I said. I decided not to tell him that until my visit to the Champions bar, I had not known who he was. If I had, I would have probably given him undue respect as well.

A few days later, I was at a car rally in Warsaw. My company was the sponsor. Ten Polish winners of a competition run by our company were the key guests. They had come to Warsaw from all parts of Poland. I was standing with those guests and my colleagues. Suddenly from the VIP stand located far away, I saw a figure waving at me. I waved back when I realised it was Przemek. He came pacing with his long legs and greeted me.

‘‘What are you doing here, Ravi?’’ He asked.

‘‘We are the sponsors of this rally.’’ I answered.

We exchanged a few words.

‘‘I’ll probably see you tomorrow morning.’’ He said before going back to the VIP stand.

I noticed the Polish guests and my colleagues were all gazing at me in awe. One of the guests asked in a respectful voice how Saleta happened to know me.

‘‘Oh that!’’ I said. ‘‘We train together, you know, in the same gym.’’

After saying that, I felt everyone was watching my biceps with undue respect.

Ravi                                                                                           

The Gentleman with a Dog

While psychologists may have written volumes on human memory; I learn about it from my own life.

The image of the elderly Polish gentleman with a brown hairy dog re-appeared in my mind; only because my earlier story was set in the Powazki cemetery. I had seen him seventeen years ago, in July 1987. When I remembered him this week, I could vividly see his vacant eyes and the brown dog which sat silently at his feet day after day. I don’t recollect any longer the dress he wore. I could, of course, lie; use a fiction writer’s privilege and describe him in detail.  But I won’t. This is a true story and there is no reason why I should add anything more to it than what I recall. What fascinates me is that I do remember his blank eyes. The dog was definitely brown – but I can’t tell you what breed it was. As a matter of fact, I don’t like dogs – hairy dogs in particular – they leave behind hair on car seats and leather sofas. I find it disgusting and unhygienic. If the elderly gentleman did not have the dog, I would have gone with Zosha in the very beginning to ask him whose grave it was.

I think I am causing confusion here by not writing the narration in the right sequence. It is partly because while writing I don’t want to lose his face from my memory’s eye. I had not seen it for many many years. Secondly, I am assuming you read my story from last week called ‘Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust’. Since both stories happened in the same cemetery in Warsaw, I am not going to repeat here what I have already described before.

If for some reason, you didn’t read that story which was about an English girl Lisa finding golden teeth in a grave, converting them into a ring, and losing it in New York; I must quickly rehash the setting so that you are not confused any more.

In the summer of 1987, I travelled around Europe as a volunteer on behalf of ‘Volunteers for Peace’. The jobs included building a house in Austria, working as a volunteer nurse at a London mental hospital and restoring coffins in the Powazki cemetery at Warsaw. I worked in Powazki for a month, and it was there that I saw the Polish gentleman with a dog. I saw him at the very beginning of the camp, maybe even on the first day.

There were fifteen of us from as many countries. The leader of the camp was Zosha (Polish way of corrupting the name Sophie), a young girl with glasses who was a language graduate. She spoke impeccably correct English, and pronounced each word phonetically as Eastern Europeans are wont to do. The foreign volunteers, including myself, did not know any Polish. So Zosha had an additional role of working as our interpreter.

Many volunteers who arrived in Poland on the weekend, stayed at Zosha’s small flat in central Warsaw. On the camp’s first day, she took us by bus to the Powazki. You may want to know why any young students of sound mind should opt to do voluntary work in a cemetery. Well, we didn’t ask for a cemetery. When you apply, you give your choices for countries; but you receive from the organisers specific venues only later.

As an Indian, I have always associated cemeteries with morbidity; provoked by all those ghost stories I have read, and seen on screens with special sound effects. In India, we cremate. You burn the body and the person is gone for ever. Coming from a culture where living people have little space to live, I find the giant graveyards extravagant. Burying the dead with grand ceremony, and relatives visiting the grave ever so often to bring flowers and other paraphernalia I consider to be an excessive display of sentiment. I think the grief, when real, is prolonged unnecessarily simply because of the existence of the burial system. If the relative was asked to open the coffin and witness the transformation of the dear and departed, he would probably run away screaming.

These were, I think, my thoughts when I saw at a distance this elderly man sitting next to a tombstone. He would bring a folding chair. The dog sat at his lap without barking. On most days, the man was already in his chair before we reached the cemetery. When we left late afternoon, he still sat in the chair. We did not work very long hours, but the time he spent, sitting next to the grave of his loved one, must be considered unusually lengthy.

‘‘Is it not abnormal for a man to sit the whole day in a cemetery?’’ I asked Zosha. Being an Indian, most things which are none of my business make me very curious. I was annoyed when nobody else at the camp thought anything about the man.

‘‘He must be retired.’’ Zosha specialised in stating facts without offering theories. ‘‘He is not the only one here.’’

Yes, the Powazki cemetery had visitors. I must clarify, after a couple of days I no longer associated any morbidity with it. It is a very nice place, if such term can be applied to a cemetery. Groups come here as part of their sightseeing tour. Once I saw a middle-aged lady sitting on a bench and reading a book. It must be hot in her apartment, Zosha said. If she lives nearby, this is as good a place to come and read books as any, she said. In short, Powazki had people other than us - the volunteers - but nobody came on a daily basis as the gentleman with the dog did.

My first theory was that he had lost his wife. That too very recently. Maybe just before our camp had started. The gravestone which we could see from distance looked fresh. On two separate occasions when we went to Powazki earlier than usual, I saw him in action.  

The man had a small tiled plot in front of the gravestone. When I looked from far, he was scrubbing the floor. A water bucket lay on side. The second time, he was cleaning it with a broom. I guess he did the cleaning each morning on arrival.

‘‘Is it common that you clean the space in front of the headstone of your wife every day?’’ I asked Zosha. ‘‘The only thing I haven’t seen is a vacuum cleaner.’’

‘‘I don’t know. My knowledge of cemeteries is limited.’’ Zosha said. ‘‘But it is possible he loved her much. He wants to spend time with her and keep the house clean.’’

I don’t think the man ever read anything. He just sat in his chair, his dog next to him. I imagined him going through a long married life, and replaying in his mind scenes – mostly those that had brought joy to the couple –, while his partner lay in the ground lifeless. Silence was his form of communication.

I was desperate to check the name of his wife on the headstone and the year of death. I was almost certain she had died that year, but confirming it would set my mind at peace. If the dog was not there, I would have checked the name long ago, but the dog always sat there. It did not bark, but each time I see a dog, I think of the injections you need to take in stomach if it bites. I thought I would rather die of curiosity than take injections in stomach.

Having said that, in the third week, I decided to venture passing by his plot. It looked as if the dog was sleeping. I tiptoed my way, still keeping a fair distance from the grave, but managed to see the name on the stone. I quickly went ahead to avoid the man think I was spying. I returned to my co-workers through a detour, and gave the headline.

‘‘It’s a man.’’ I said. ‘‘The name on the gravestone is of a man, not a woman.’’ I don’t remember now what the name was. With no knowledge of Polish, I could still differentiate between male and female names. I think I checked with Zosha it was indeed a man.

‘‘That adds a new complexion to the mystery.’’ I said. ‘‘It’s not his wife.’’

‘‘Maybe his father?’’ Zosha suggested.

‘‘Father? First of all, look at that man. He must be in his sixties. So his father must be at least eighty plus. Now can someone really mourn for a father day after day? And clean and scrub the floor in a cemetery? I think it may be his brother.’’

There was a week left before I was due to leave Poland. A dead wife would have been a perfect explanation. A man can’t overcome his beloved wife’s death, comes to her grave every day, and spends days in her company. That would have made sense to me. I would say it even had a touch of poignant romance. If I had to leave Poland without knowing who the dead person was, I would have been happy to go along with that story. Perfectly plausible. The man was sentimental but normal. One day, he would get tired of mourning and then stop or reduce coming here.

But it was not his wife. The male name had created complications. A Dutch girl on the camp said he must be gay and the dead man was his boyfriend. That shocked Zosha, who hastened to say Poland was a good Catholic country, and in this man’s generation these things were unheard of. Not because Zosha said it, I myself thought the theory was far-fetched. It could be either father or brother.

Then the presence of dog struck me. What was the significance of the dog? I had checked with dog-lovers at the camp that keeping a dog for a whole day in the cemetery was unusual. A couple of times every day, the dog would disappear; presumably for biological comfort. Other than that, it sat there all the time. Again I don’t remember, but I assume its owner brought food both for himself and the dog. I formed a new theory. The dead person, in fact, was attached to the dog. The old man had promised that person – brother or father – that he would bring the dog to the grave every day. He was carrying out somebody’s final wish. The death wishes can be weird. If you are superstitious, you want to fulfil the commitments given to a dying man.

By this time, I had managed to make everyone at the camp curious. Even those who initially thought of me as a pain in the neck, now began offering their own theories about the man and his relationship with the dead whose grave he guarded.

‘‘Look Zosha, we are all leaving tomorrow. I am afraid the unsolved mystery of that man will torture me in the coming months. I will not forgive myself for leaving the cemetery like that. This is not a book of Agatha Christie suspense. The man is sitting right over there. The easiest thing is to go and ask him.’’

Zosha had shown admirable patience with me for a whole month. But she raised her eyebrows.

‘‘What do you want to ask him?’’

‘‘Ask him who is the dead person, what is his relationship with him, why he comes here every day, cleans and scrubs the floor. And yes, the dog. Why bring the dog?’’ I thought maybe we should all have little bets on the answers, but I did not say it. Betting in a cemetery may look a bit impolite.

‘‘I don’t think we should ask him anything. That is his private mourning. I don’t think he will like it.’’ Zosha was uneasy.

‘‘In the worst case, he will refuse to answer. So what? Go, Zosha, go. Please. For my sake, please ask him.’’ Everyone supported me. An Agatha Christie novel with its last pages missing is an uncomfortable experience.

‘‘I?’’ Zosha looked surprised. ‘‘If you are so keen, you go and ask yourself.’’

‘‘Look Zosha, I don’t know Polish. You know that. You also know how much I hate dogs. My heart was thumping the other day when I passed by it.’’

Zosha would not agree to go alone. In the end, the group forced me to go, with Zosha coming as my assistant, as my interpreter. Zosha would take care the dog does not attack me. She will introduce me to the man and clarify she was only translating. I agreed.

I followed Zosha cautiously. All others watched. I must admit the dog was gentle. He hardly moved even when we approached the chair in which the man sat. Zosha said I was a student from India, and if the gentleman did not mind, I would like to talk to him. I think the man neither smiled nor protested. Zosha looked at me.

‘‘Good afternoon.’’ I said. ‘‘I have been working there...’’ I pointed to where the group was. ‘‘... and I have seen you here for the past month. I was...er... wondering whose grave is this.’’

Zosha translated and waited.

‘‘Whose grave? Whose? Mine.’’ He took his hand to chest.

‘‘I mean,’’ I said, ‘‘whose name is that on the stone’’?

‘‘My name.’’ Zosha while translating added in conspiratorial tone that the stone had only the year of birth, and not the year of death. The old man then lovingly looked at his dog, and began talking even without my asking anything.

‘‘You know, I have trained my dog, a lovely dog she is, to sit here. I have agreed with my neighbour he would leave her here for a few hours every day to give me company, once I am there... under the ground. I hope the dog outlives me.’’ He looked fondly at the sleeping dog. ‘‘I like my house clean, and she keeps me company. Why any of that should change once I move to Powazki?’’

I think after saying that, the Polish gentleman with the dog smiled in a very benign way.

Ravi Abhyankar