Burning India: Did we get freedom or still slave?
By Nikhat Mushir
It was amidst the most unfortunate and heart ripping twin incidents of 21st century India, the chilling Godhra train burning followed by the gory Gujarat communal riots that my higher secondary exams were to begin or probably had already begun. My memory fell into a bit of haze, when it comes to precise dates. I am not sure about how mother would react to this piece of information, probably she would cry, you aren’t even married, handing down a jar of almonds but surely it would bring a great respite for my groom-to-be (pun intended) !! How could even I forget the year 2002, oh nooo, I am not beyond hope. I might not remember the dates but the memories remains. Don’t think me hopelessly forgetful since those spiralling news channel stories and experience that I am going to try to share were etched in my memory like an epitaph on the tombstone.
The unrest one way or other, casually or seriously, diagonally or tangentially was encroaching everywhere, was approached by everyone, affecting everyone’s perception, and finally touched one and all…..either by breaking their hearts and further making them anxious. I was anxious too! Since the unrest was still on, the intensity of worseness was yet to be unfolded in months to come, however were not fully realised at the time. One didn’t know or never knows how to sift news from rumours. Pessimist believing every rumour to be factual news and optimist hopes the otherwise. All of these were enough to make just anybody as anxious and I was no exception. I was anxious too. But, of a different sort!
You might think that I am just taking the liberty of assuming my anxiousness differs from others. I better share with you the whole story and let you decide whether my anxiousness indeed was different and in doing so I will take you on a short car ride.
It was the day of our first exam for higher secondary, English literature, year 2002. My friend had offered to take me with her to the examination centre as her father would be taking her….cutting the crap – they had a car and my family didn’t had and it was a goodwill gesture from my good friend. What makes something as mundane as going to the examination centre, so special that you want to actually share it and write it?! It’s simple – you don’t want to share any mundane activity it’s the insightful experience that you want to share and write to preserve the memory. Not one, two or three but it was rainbow of emotions that I felt that day on such a short journey. I and my friend, lovingly called Pooh were on our way to the examination centre to write our first and the most important exam paper of English literature, finally.
Why we or probably the rest of students would have also considered it to be the most important subject lies in it being “the only compulsory subject out of total five subjects”. To those who might have forgotten the importance of compulsory paper, let me remind you the rules. Rule 1: Failing to pass compulsory is equal to fail. Period. There is simply no option of compartmental/supplementary examination for compulsory subject. You fail this one, you waste one precious year. Oh no no, don’t even think that way! I am not stressing on the subject because we feared failing in the exam. There comes another rule. Rule 2: Absenteeism is always equal to disqualification which again is another form of failing. Ahh, you get it now, smart indeed. Putting it all crisply, I and my friend were worried about the chances of us not being able to appear for our exam and we will be marked absent and fail.
Hope I have brought your attention back to the prelude – the unrest of 2002. It began to sprawl viciously to other cities. I and my friend over the phone an evening before the exam day were discussing the very same thing, what if, hell broke out here followed by a curfew, how on earth we would be able to survive!!..Nay… how on earth would we be able to reach our centre and appear for exam? That moment I wish our teachers could have listened to us and see what dedicated students we were unlike their unrealistic assumed reality of us (pun intended). Dedicated we were so much so that we almost became paranoid by the end of our telephonic conversation, when we discussed all permutation and combination of unlimited imagined possibilities.
Our worst worry was what if unrest broke out in our own city which is generally followed by a curfew. Would they allow students to go to exam centres, at least 10th and 12th students? Would students be compensated by the AISSC in some way? I talked to one of my cousin and told my friend that AISSC/CBSE hold exams the same day all over India and certainly will not cancel it just for one or two cities. Grappled in our hyper imagination, we totally ignored the fact that our parents and institutions are also there and we need not burden ourselves. Finally, we desperately wished that nothing untoward should happen in the first place as if we had report from intelligence department that something was surely going to happen. Hyper imaginative, worrisome teenager trait as I call back those moments. We could not even bear the thought of missing our exam for obvious reasons. Alas! We felt as if we are forced straight to hell (lost one year) not even getting a chance to purge (no compartmental exam) for the sin (absent for exam) not intended by us but the circumstances that might force upon us.
While most of our evening’s conversation was about our imagined possible threats to our exam and possible solutions, it also made us a little self-consciousness in directly naming the real cause of concern. We tried to keep the distasteful at bay, only referring peripherally when inevitable. However, sealing the decision of commuting together to the examination centre which we also decided months before and she would be picking me up nearby my place, instantly we both fell silent for a moment coincidentally at the same time. I could feel some troubled thought past her too but I cannot say for her.
What crept up in my thoughts, what were they? While sealing the commuting pact with my friend, instantly our religious identities became so pronounced in my mind. I – a muslim and She – a hindu. I swallowed hard as having such a thought and with the second realisation I was almost hit by guilt. We would be driven by uncle (her father) and not by her driver, who always used to wear Tilak on his forehead and that would make his religious identity quite apparent. The route from her house till my neighbourhood and from my neighbourhood to the examination centre saw some neighbourhoods which had populations of single communities and was not interwoven which are more than often the case in north India. All this was splashed onto my senses like cold water. Never had I been exposed to such, ever in my life but paranoia. None of us said a word for a while and much to our chagrin, we finally said it, even if little tension mounts up by next day still we will go together. We were grown up girls and could understand the situation, following the local news.
We could have gone separately but we decided to go together as planned months before, friends are always the most elemental part of one’s life and friendship is one of the most inevitable relationship, if you have been lucky to found even just one such friend, which we ought to unlike other relationships. And when you are just in your mid-teen years, you cling onto your friends as you would cling to your mother in much early years, you are inseparable. And there is just no reason that can explain your bond to your friend. But in this situation, there was one more element to it, how could I break my promise for such a reason. It would be a disgrace and way too awkward even to mention it. I am sure she felt the same as I did. Our telephonic conversation ended with unusual quietness as we had decided what we could but heavy clouds of uncertainly was hovering over.
The next day, I was waiting for Pooh accompanied by my Amma (My Tayee) who was clad in her usual black burqa. Both surveying the scene on street before us, on looking the passing by police and half closed shops, Amma from behind her veils as if she was some kind of secret service pro (pun intended) and I, in the full glory of my inexperience and naiveté, satisfied myself with an inward “all is well” nod. Pooh arrived, brief introduction and salutation exchanged from both sides. I said “Khudahafiz” to Amma and our worst nightmare was over, or for me it might have just begun, we were on the way – finally. I got into the car and we had moved just few metres down the road, ahead was swarming with Police on either side. And the gravity of the situation sank in. I and my friend kept silent, not knowing what to say anymore than our warm and nervous greetings which had just finished. I went silent because I was overwhelmed by the presence of police in such a number. The sight of my neighbourhood packed with police and shops half closed, was giving me a jittery feeling, not out of fear at the moment. But I was just – utterly embarrassed and eerily so. I was feeling embarrassed and as my inferiority complex re-surfacing its ugly self yet again in front of my friend – a rich one.
I kept my gaze lowered pretended revising the answer neither looking outside nor wanting to face the ones inside. Stealthily glanced at my friend once or twice to see if there is a hint of any mocking expression on her face, might she be mocking me inwardly– inferiority complex is not just ugly it’s vicious. After satisfying myself that she had no such smug look about herself. Now, I was apprehensive of looking outside because I suddenly became conscious of the fact that I was inside a car which had Mata ki Chunni tied around its interior mirror, driven by a gentleman with bold saffron Tilak, and moving at a snail’s speed, might someone recognize what they would think of me commuting with “them”. I exaggerated my worth so much, so fast that within seconds I assumed myself some sort of traitor in the eyes of others which only lasted a minute or half. The sense of betrayal quickly overcame with another one – of pride this time. I felt pride because I felt I might be considered uncaring of the topsy-turvy and still holding onto friendship. Hyper imagination, over stressing self importance typical of this age group probably got best of me and I laugh hard recalling. Who in the world would have cared for a girl going to school with her friend? But I did. I went through rainbow of emotions within minutes of crossing my street.
And we sailed through it, neighbourhood after neighbourhood changed and so some of our inhibitions, we discussed study some and a bit eased off even the situation around. It was a day of bandh, people were all gathered in and around chai-paan shops, with policemen stationed here and there. Apparently everything was fine, just a bit unusual. I felt little nervous and jumpy at few instances for no particular reason. And it might have been the case with my friend as well depending upon which neighbourhood we were passing through. Because, it was when we were crossing a neighbourhood – inhabited mostly by a particular community, famous for their craftsmanship of Benarasi Sarees, adorned into particular attire of white kurta, checkered lungi, skull caps, She said with as start, “do you know, what Golu (her brother) suggested to me yesterday at home. I asked then about what? She went on saying Goul said “Di agar raste me aapk log ko koi problem aa jaye toh ye idea hai ki jab tum log muslims ke mohalle se pass karna aur agar koi naam puche toh Nishat di toh Nishat di hain hi, tum apna naam Fatima bata dena. Aur jab Hindus ke mohalle se pass karna toh tum toh yeh kahani ulti kar dena”. With this, she finally broke the ice and we cheered as if we have just won a battle. When I take stock of that account, I feel good friends do not hide behind emotions and they deal with and talk about it, and she did exactly the same with a master stroke. Suddenly between our cheering and laughter I suddenly snapped “lekin uncle ka kya naam socha?” As soon the words left me I was regretting it. But our eyes have turned up to him and it didn’t take much to realise, no identity swapping was good enough since he was beyond camouflaging with his Tilak. And just when, we turned to face each other each other rolling our eyeballs, Pooh added with a snap of a fingers “arey keh denge driver bhaiya hain” and we just laughed it off. More often than not the stereotyping of something as simple and beautiful as a tilak, skull cap etc had created such visual effect which stands in utter contrast of its meaning and purpose. We were almost nearing our centre and I was more focussed on exam than anything else. All emotions were flooded into one and became as white as clean sheet of exam.
The city I am talking about is the holy city of Varanasi also known as Benaras and Kashi. The famous saying goes like if one is not born in Kashi, then one should seek to die here since it is a place to attain Moksha. And the day of our English paper was also the chosen day to cremate and perform last rites of deceased of Godhra incident that is to give away the ashes in Ganga. Ironically though such situations need not draw any chaos but certainly there were sparks of tension, which at least I and my friend did not want to catch fire until our exams were over. After that they might do as they please, let all hell loose. We had to survive only the exam and then we would be gone to chase a better future and make new friends. And we reached our destination safe and sound and passed with flying colours.
May we live in peace and prosperity!
Note: Nikhat Mushir is the Assistant Professor at Safi Institute of Advanced Study, Vazhayoor. She can be reached at nikhatmushir@gmail.com