It’s good to be back home. Although my bags are still in Bangalore. The Airlines had some issue. And after landing, we waited another hour, only to be told the bags did not make it. And we would have to fill a form, give it etc. It was a chaos after that. People were already tired. One ground staff, a young girl came holding a bunch of forms in her hand, and no pen. She was immediately surrounded by 20 passengers all asking questions at the same time. She was trying her best to be polite and patient and efficient at the same time. She was failing miserably.
I kept a distance. Waiting. I have become good at that. I found it amusing, human behavior. Back on the plane, a few people gave looks of annoyance to each other when they came ”too close” or stood not 5 feet away, while lining up to get off. Fair enough. But now, nobody cared. Everybody was jostling touching pushing to get the red and blue forms. Rules were convenient that way. As was social distancing. People made up a set of their own rules based on what suited them in that moment. Everyone was suddenly wanting to talk to this lady, after all she had their bags. I wanted to desperately take charge and organize this mess, none of us would get anything done like this. Keep quiet Rhea. Whats your problem.
My problem, I could see. I was tired. The girl was being pushed round and intimidated. She was being spoken to in a loud voice. Don’t run your ambulance service. I continued to sit it out.
I understand social behaviour but these were people who behaved “so cool” just a few minutes ago were being rude. She was just doing her job, or trying very hard to. People found her an easy target to vent their four hours of frustration. Also understandable. Not new. I prayed the girl would take charge. Another 15 minutes went by. Judging by the dozen or so forms that she was still handling, and trying to fill atleast 4 simultaneously in her hand on behalf of some people, we would be here for another 3 hours.
I looked around a few more elderly sat on the suddenly abandoned trolleys. Tired. Also waiting.
Then something happened. Somebody was trying to get her attention, and suddenly realized for the first time in an hour, she had a name. She was wearing a name badge, but nobody bothered to read it before. Tasneem. A voice called out her name. She looked up, but obviously could not see who had called. There was as sudden shift in the group behavior. A few more people said her name and some more sharpness came in their voice. And some people shook their heads and were suddenly moving away. I desperately hoped, I was imagining things.
But I started to feel something rise in my gut. I got up. And slowly moved towards the crowd. Wondering what happened. I was looking at the faces of the people who were moving away, silently asking what happened. One guy, dressed in a blue suit, made eye contact, shook his head with a look of disgust and said under his breath loud enough for me to hear, No wonder.
Against all my self restraint and better judgement, I stopped him and muttered a confused disbelieving What !! , that was all that came out of my mouth. He was not expecting to be confronted. But both of us were beyond pretence now. He stopped and looked directly at me, so did I. He said, “they” should just go back to their country. The inference was very clear. I watched him walk off in self righteous huff. Hot anger was rising inside me. Disbelief written all over my face. I could not believe it and yet I did.
Just beneath the veneer of “sophistication” and education, lay, Irrationality, inhumanness and wounds that would never be allowed to heal. I had tears of anger and frustration. All I could whisper was “I can’t believe you just said that”. But there was no one around. A Crowd had no identity.
I got up now, no longer able to wait and watch. And bulldozed my way through the crowd to Tasneem. And, told her to stop filling other peoples forms. I had to now take charge. I had to raise my voice over the din of this mayhem and tell people to get in a line, asked her to hand over the forms to people, let them figure out where to get the pens from. And give the form filling instruction to all, at once.
Some people looked at me and did the same head shake, I am used to this. How ”uncouth” they would say, if they could say it out loud. Uncouth, untamed, unbridled. I have heard many versions. I am ok. In an ill-mannered crowd, uncouth was the appropriate response in my mind.
I had had Enough.
What was more important, In 20 minutes people had handed over the filled forms to her and got their answers and left.
I sat there for a few more minutes. Shaking. It had all happened very fast. Very quickly this behaviour got masked but not too quickly. unfortunately. Feeling utterly disgusted, pained and confused about what just happened I just sat there. We are in 2021 for gods sake. And yet we still carried hate buried not too deep.
I had many questions burning through my heart, that had no answers. How we treated each other based on their religion. How must Tasneem be feeling I wondered. Did she not raise her voice because she was Tasneem? Did her religion have a bearing on her personal power or was it her gender or age? Was she told growing up, that she had to keep quiet and just do what others told her to do. Were others told to distrust based on names. Were they frowned upon if they had ‘other’ friends. I was not sure. Would it have mattered if her name was something else or If it was a man or if she was taller. It left a really bitter taste in my mouth for sure. And tears running down my face.
Part of me wanted to scream. Part of me wanted to cry. I looked up at the Grand India painted on the Airport ceilings. Free Country, really ?
This is an old wound. This story of division based on religion. “Has something happened toYou?” people have asked in response to my reaction – Yes It has happened to me, if it has happened to another human being, my heart cries.
How long will we go on like this. How long before we realize how we are played and used in the chess games of politics. How long before humanity wakes up. How long before our own intelligence and mind starts to think for itself. How long before parents stop telling their children who to be friends with and not. How long before fear mongering is pulled out of it’s fancy gift wraps of “protection” and care. How long before we call out the spreading of hatred and violence through innocuous “jokes” and forwards on whatsapp, under the banner of solidarity.
I am very proud of some of my school friends. In our whatapp group, when the India Pakistan match happened, some people started to share ugly messages. Couple of them stopped it right there. And said something to the tune of, let us not be part of the problem. And remember the sportsman spirit. The ones who were sharing apologised. They also seemed to be doing it on auto pilot. Maybe to feel they had to say things to to prove their allegiance? Or so I hoped. But it stopped. Somebody, somewhere had to say it. Call the elephant out. I was happy, we did not try to please each other. Or keep quite in order to be liked and belonged.
If not now, when. If not me Who.
As I sat, This felt like a repeat telecast.
“With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil – that takes religion.”
― Steven Weinberg
Years ago, I was waiting for someone to come and pick me up from school. All other children had left except, me and my friend Rukhsana. We both waited for our respective uncles to come. Mine came before her. I was in class 4. I could not just leave her to wait alone, so I waited. After a while, uncle said we would have to leave. Rukhsana’s family had not yet come. I was worried about leaving her alone, so I asked her to come home with me. She came. As children, we really did not think too much. My house was a bus ride away. We reached home, and that was the time my dad was home.
As I entered he asked me who this friend was. I told him the whole story. He heard and said we would have to call her parents. Then he asked her name. Rukhsana. Slap!!!!. This was one of the two times in my entire life, I remember him slapping me. He slapped me. He suddenly got furious and started to shout at me. I was confused.
Did I know who she was, yes I thought with my ears still ringing, she was my friend. – What was I thinking when I got her home, That it was the right thing to do, that we could drop her to her house, I was crying and not able to speak. – Are you stupid? No, I was a friend
I did not know what had I done that was so wrong. That day, for the first time I knew what “religion” was. And that there were different ones. That Christian and Muslim and Hindu were “things” that separated us. Till then with my grandma, we celebrated everything, including Eid. It never occurred as something “different” to me. I felt such deep anger for the discrimination. That day I silently vowed never to keep quite about this. And Never again would I let someone tell me who my friends could be or not. Or let religion decide loyalty and care.
I was very conscious while bringing up my son. This India Pakistan story was right here at home. His grandparents are Sindhis and some of them had bitter stories of the partition. And to let him know he did not have to let a version of history let him decide his present or future. And yet, also be sensitive to the stories of suffering which were real. But we did not have to conveniently dump the blame. It did not, in anyway lessen the pain. Masked it with anger, sure. People suffered. People lost their homes and lives and bearing and belongings. And that was worth feeling hurt and anger for.
But today, people should not be losing their dignity and voice over what happened 70 years ago. I am very proud of who he is and how he can stand up and defend if need be, his own feelings and convictions. Without polarising.
There are no good people and bad people. We are both. It bothers me to think how we participate in the Violence from the comforts of our homes and phones. It bothers me to see, how our voices are quietly silenced by “culture”. How we have delegated thinking to Media.
At the airport in Bangalore, I was browsing the cosmetic store, I was generally looking at labels of body lotions maybe as Diwali gift for my son, I thought. The advertisement placard in the Men’s section said, Be strong, Be active. The ones for Women: fragrant, misty, sensual. No Verb. Just some disjointed Adjectives.
And just like that “Media” differentiated. What it meant to be a man and a woman.
Perhaps we need to really wake up and engage and not sleep walk. Perhaps we need to say what needs to be said, when it needs to be said. It’s not ok that we sell our conviction in order to buy “peace”. Perhaps that is the problem. That we sit back slide down and let it happen.
Why does he need to fight like this all the time, I have heard this about my son, who gets up and raises his voice for what he believes in. Because He is sensitive , I tell others. His way may not always go well with others, who are ok to continue to pretend things are OK. When they are not.
When he gets up and asks questions, which are uncomfortable, he will get labelled as “trouble”, ‘Aggressive’. And he will need to learn to navigate on his own, I think as a mother. I pray he gets the strength and wisdom to walk his path.
“Why don’t you try to tell him to calm down, he will get into trouble”, some of my friends advice me. I know they mean well. Does pretending everything is ok keep you out of trouble? I want to ask them. I know the answer. I have done that. And the answer is a NO. It has only delayed the storm a little. Eventually your inner voice cannot be “calmed” down. Drowned out by distractions and self lies, maybe.
I am reminded of Shamsia Hassani, an Afgan artists. Armed with cans of spray paint, 28-year-old Shamsia ventures into the streets of Kabul to create peace murals on the walls of abandoned, bombed-out buildings. She has to work fast — only 15 to 20 minutes before she flees. Some works are left incomplete. But her message is Complete. Loud. and Clear. And eventually it cannnot be ignored.
Again, how far in does something have to go – till it becomes personal?
When will be start to change the narratives in our own homes. Perhaps we think we cannot do anything. It’s too big an issue. Yes its true.
But all these “big issues” show up in small acts, like the airport bag fiasco. In these small acts, we have control to choose a different response.
Those who know better must do better.
We really need to stop to think what kind of world are we building for our next generation. Does it not bother us to wonder, how will the next generation look back and think of us?
Going by what the next generation is going through, I am worried. Most of them, young adults in the their late teens and early twenties are suffering from depression. We just need to look around in our circles to see this.
I believe, these Children, our children, have come differently wired and they can’t relate to the world of differentiation, lies and hate, we seem to be forcing them to adhere to. Their depression, as a response is then is our doing. They are asking questions that we will not be able to answer without lowering our eyes.
Perhaps it’s time to wake up. For the sake of our future we need to heal the past, now. Perhaps we need to drop the “Baggage”.
Definition of Uncouth is “socially unacceptable”. When disrespecting human dignity based on religion and gender biases is the “social norm”, Uncouth should be more in fashion me thinks.
If not NOW when. If not ME who.
It’s 3:23 in the morning
and I’m awake
because my great great grandchildren
won’t let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the Planet was plundered?
what did you do when the Earth was unravelling?surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?
as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?what did you do
Drew Delinger
once
you
knew?
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