This morning, I found myself having brunch at a neighbourhood cafe with friends. It’s a beautiful, sunny autumn day in Berlin, and yet my heart is not here.
It’s drifted away to the heavily-cordoned and militarized streets of Delhi, where protestors are currently being manhandled and detained. It’s in freedom songs and anti-fascist art and the unbelievable courage of the Indian youth. I sit here in a wonderful city I’ve grown to call home, and for the first time in a long time, I miss India. Not because I miss being there, not really. But because every time I see a people’s movement on the rise back home, I realise I actually do love my country. And it’s a feeling that’s alien and surprising to me.
Right now, people in my country are fighting for one of the most basic rights of a democracy: the right to vote. The right for women to move freely. The right for students to have systems that work for them. The right for farmers and tribes to have dignity and justice. For the last several years, we’ve seen our democracy, right to speech and freedom of media crumbling under an insidious and draconian government. A government that runs on hate and divisive politics. And the people have decided they’ve had enough.
At times like these, I think of my grandfather. I either inherited his traits in utero or imbibed most of his values growing up. Probably a combination of both. He was the only member of my family who did not support the saffron party. He spoke of how Nehru and our founding fathers drafted a constitution that felt fair and just. He talked about how they weren’t perfect, but they managed to get a lot of things right including setting up some of the biggest government hospitals and colleges, which are still some of the finest institutions of our country. And all this, when the country was left in shambles by the British, and we were struggling for food and resources.
Now we have a government that has all the power and connections in the world, but its apathy knows no bounds. They clearly don’t care about doing their job, they don’t work towards the safety, security and well-being of its people. In true narcissistic fashion, they only care about themselves. Since 2014, religion and caste-based violence, hate-crimes and lynchings have gone up significantly. It’s truly dystopian to be governed by uneducated, hate-filled, bigoted men who have never held a single press conference and who only dictate change through sudden, mass announcements.
I really wish I could sit down and have a conversation with my grandfather now, as an adult. He never failed to question any system, including the religion he believed in, and that’s something I’m proud to have learned from him. I wish he could see what’s going on in the country now. I’m pretty sure he and I would have loved to join one of the protests.
I see many middle class people in India, suckling the teat of their television screens, sitting on their soft mattresses of privilege, dazed and drugged by this fascist government, questioning every single protest movement. It’s not even their fault, not entirely. They’re force-fed a constant stream of pro-government, anti-protest content.
Muslims? Terrorists. Farmers? Khalistanis. Students? Naxals. Now the entire country is coming together. What will you call us next?
I watch people getting thrashed, beaten up, arrested and controlled by police on my tiny digital rectangle, and I experience a range of emotions: disbelief, rage, sorrow, frustration, pride, joy. I don’t even have a quarter of the courage these people have, and the only thing I can do right now is voice my sentiment. Right here. With my words. That’s all I have right now.
But what I do know is this: there is immense power when people come together as one. For now, I take heart in the fact that this movement has woken up scores of people who were scared to speak out. This has given the entire country, every religion, generation and community, a reason to unite. The music, the poetry, the creativity coming out of this is beautiful. How human and moving it is to create beauty and art out of oppression and sorrow.
And as I scroll through my Instagram watching people expressing dissent (because mainstream channels aren’t allowed to show us the truth), my insides are swelling up with hope. I feel anguished, but also excited. Something big is coming. The path to freedom is not easy, but the fact that we have a path now, is worth celebrating.
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