Someone I know, recently shifted to an old age facility. Another resident, (in his nineties incidentally), asked her within days of her arrival , what languages she was conversant with. When she named Bengali in the list, he snapped, “I will report you to NRC people.”
Hate you see gives a sense of purpose to those who have none. You can do nothing and still feel your existence has meaning because you hate with single-minded determination. And hate can make you feel powerful if your side is winning elections, crushing dissent, humiliating and dehumanising those you have been taught to hate and laugh at. But for all its current popularity, hate corrodes the insides of those who contain it. Hate can storm universities, shoot RTI activists and rationalists and writers, drive Dalit students to suicide, enter the spaces of even a Jamia Millia Islamia to break the bones of its unarmed young but hate does not, cannot build anything of value.
Hope however is different. It brings people together. It inspires and uplifts. I saw it today at Bangalore’s Town Hall, at the protest meet against the Citizenship (Amendment) Bill 2019. I heard it in the young voice that repeatedly entreated, “We are the land of Gandhi..please stay calm..this is a peaceful protest.” So yes, Gandhi lives on much to the disbelief of his detractors.
This was not one of those protest gatherings where you wished there were more people. You wished there was more space to contain all the anger, all the pent up grief and yes, hope. I felt it unfurl within when I saw a young couple cradling their infant at the fringe of the surging crowd. And when I heard young people cheering for Ramachandra Guha and Kavitha Lankesh uproariously.
Guha’s presence reminded me of Girish Karnad. He would have been here, illness or not had he been alive. And Gauri Lankesh. This was her sister’s first protest though. Kavitha said, “Gauri would always ask me to join her.” So yes, Gauri lives on too.
As Guha left after his speech, young boys and girls with shining eyes stopped him to say something . To ask something. He stopped every time. He spoke to everyone. He held shoulders. He offered courage.
People of all faiths held up home made signs, shouted Iqbal’s “Mazhab nahin sikhata..,” and the by now famous Rahat Indori sher about just who can claim ownership to Hindostan. As a young boy said, “India belonged to my father and it will belong to my children. We will not let our country be divided on the basis of religion.”
For me, the most poignant moment was when a young North-Eastern boy, excited to add his voice to the slogans, clutched a pole wrapped up in electric wires. A young woman caught his eye and said, “Be careful, you can get hurt.” He looked gratefully at her and pulled his hand away.
As girls tried to make their way out of the melee, scores of men made way respectfully, gently. Gentleness. That is all it takes to be human. To build something that can not be broken because despite soul fractures, it will always find its way back into wholeness at the call of, ‘Awaz do hum ek hain.”
**Reema is the editor and co-founder of Unboxed Writers, the author of Perfect Eight, the editor of Chicken Soup for the Soul-Indian Women, a translator who recently interpreted Dominican poet Josefina Baez’s book Comrade Bliss Ain’t Playing in Hindi, an RJ and an artist who has exhibited her work in India and the US . She won an award for her writing/book from the Public Relations Council of India in association with Bangalore University, has written for a host of national and international magazines since 1994 on cinema, theatre, music, art, architecture and more. She hopes to travel more and to grow more dimensions as a person. And to be restful, and alive in equal measure.