Dear reader,
Ever since I’ve disabled my Instagram, I’m doing all the upkeep/stalking by going through my WhatsApp chat list. People change their profile pictures at least once in a month so that’s a good way to assume where they are in their lives (location wise & so-many-otherwise too). I’ve been changing my WhatsApp picture more frequently too. It’s difficult to choose one considering I don’t have anyone around taking good pictures of me. It’s a naive thought going by how least important a person’s WhatsApp display picture is in today’s day and age in comparison to the kind of data that sits in their chat windows. As I simply write this (a non smoker), I’m aware of the fact that this might as well put me into trouble. After all, I now live in a country where logic has taken a back seat and everything is getting fueled by hate.
I received a wedding invite from a friend a few days back. It was nice of him to call me up and announce the good news. It was unexpected because I didn’t think he considered me in his list of close friends. Even if he called for the sake of formality, it felt important, whatever friendship we have carried through the years felt meaningful. Even if I’ve not been around him much. Even if he hasn’t been around for me much. I’ve come to realise that adult friendships remain healthy if they’re maintained up till a distance. You can’t afford to carry a big bag of grudges. You keep your main circle extremely strong and tight. Let go of unnecessary expectations and end up getting surprised by unexpected gestures as such. It feels good. I remember how this friend of mine once visited my place when I lived in Gurgaon & he was leaving the city for good. We had nothing to exchange, no forgotten items to give off before drifting apart. It was a one distant friend showing up for another distant friend signalling ‘we’re good, bro. this friendship carries a meaning worth this much effort.’ It felt genuine. Very few people have shown up like this for me. While we were on the call he was disturbed about the fact that he’ll have to move back to Gurgaon soon. He hates the city. And I believe his reasons. I hate Gurgaon for my own reasons too. But one common reason for the both of us surely is how hard it has become to survive in Gurgaon if you’re not a Hindu. Sure, it’s easy for me to say it out loud because I still get protected by this identity. But he doesn’t have that privilege. My friend is a Muslim. And if you know me at all, you know how haunting it is for me to sit with the knowledge that any of my close ones can get physically hurt in this city. It’s real. We do live in a country fueled by hate.
Let me tell you a secret. Even though I have gone off of Instagram, I’ve still created a pseudo account to go through a very limited number of accounts which bring me happiness of some kind. Art accounts. Music accounts. Stand up comics. While most of this stuff isn’t tolerated by today’s India, people are still going strong with their satire, with their grit and will and doing what they can while trying to identify themselves with this country. So on one of these Instagram strolls, I came across Munawar Faruqui’s Instagram video which left me with a broken, wailing heart. His voice, his words, his face looked broken. The boy was simply asking his haters why do you want me to go back to Pakistan? What wrong have I done to you? I shudder imagining something like this happening to me. Someone starting a trend on twitter saying Riti go back to so-and-so country because you were born in a so-and-so religious minority and we hate you. It was hurtful to see Munawar also finally break down. Jail didn’t break him. A hashtag and continuous flow of hate did. Because we now live in a country fueled by hate.
Since we live in a country fueled by hate, I think of what it would be like when I go back to Gurgaon (puke). I want to live independently. That’s my first thought followed by a second thought that I must have a room to accommodate someone in case of an emergency. These two thoughts come in a conjoined state to my mind. I remember feeling helpless when I wanted to offer accommodation to people affected by riots that broke down during Anti-CAA protests in Delhi. This was back in Dec’19 but my flatmates were not on board. Since we live in a country raging with hate, that’s how I’ve started to think. It’s a good thought, sure. But it makes me painfully aware of my privilege, of how chances of me needing an emergency accommodation are comparatively low to that of a couple who has been in an inter-religion marriage. Since we live in a country fueled by hate, most of the millennials & gen-z are tching their tongues on how low this country has stooped. Weren’t we supposed to become some kind of a nuclear power by this year? Where are we? Who is reflecting on behalf of this country? I have so many questions and no one to answer. Sometimes I feel, I feel too much unnecessarily or I’m one of those contemporary hypocrites who keeps talking about the issues but when it comes to it, they will be able to conveniently find their own reasons to act differently.
I want to leave you with an important article to read written by Rana Ayyub. It talks about how a privileged Muslim in India also remains unprotected if he doesn’t fall in line with the state ideology. It’s there on her Instagram as well. Do read it.
“Even if my life is short-lived, it’s a fight worth fighting.” - Rana Ayyub (i adore this woman)
Thinking about my country.
Riti