On the Rebels with a Cause

Late in the night yesterday, I was having a debate with my father on the anti-corruption protests led by Anna Hazare sweeping through India. My contention being that the Jan Lok Pal Bill being advocated by Anna and his team is inimical to the interests of the society at large. Earlier today, after initiating a conversation on the issue at my work place I ended up being pillared for not supporting Anna.

There are many arguments that can be made against the creation of an unelected body overseeing the operations of all branches of government and the statute governing which, the civil society in general and Anna group in particular claims should be dictated by them to the parliament. I stand by the arguments that I have made in this regard over the past month or so and agree with most that I have heard from others who have similar reservations. But this post is not about these arguments, for today evening I saw something that has made me realise that these protests are not about what I thought they were.

As a young boy I rued being born in an age when my country had already won her independence. Despite being inspired by reading about the great acts of freedom fighters, there were no britishers for me to fight against. In fact my generation witnessed growth and increase in prosperity which historians tell us is unprecedented in the recorded history of the country. There was a feeling of being a rebel without a cause in those days, which I have since found was shared by many of my age.

I did take up cudgels when I eventually did come across something worth fighting for. I fought for having free and fair student elections, against homework, against stereotypes held my teachers and my fellow students, among others. But for the odd exception I found that it is difficult to garner support in a fight against the establishment. People are willing to (grudgingly) admire a rebel, but not to stand beside him. A similar claim was famously made by Nana Patekar in the iconic movie Krantiveer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-DNavQ5l9w).

Eventually I discovered that I did not have the stomach for such struggles, it requires too much effort, its too lonely, you can never please everyone and more often that not they dont have happy endings like in the movies. I retired to a more convenient life of relative comfort. In fact now I think I have become one of the arm chair critics that I used to detest so much, once upon a time.

Then again, most of us are arm chair critics, aren't we?

But the events of today evening have forced me, despite myself, to think beyond criticism. During a protest march of roughly 100 people, I saw a group of old ladies, most of whom I am guessing were troubled by arthritis, waving the Indian tricolor and shouting patriotic slogans and those in support of Anna, as enthusiastically as the younger participants. On route of the march were a group of 4 hooligans, who shared a thunderous round of laughter at the expense of the protestors. They were left alone and their mockery went unchallenged as I guess most of the well meaning folk thought it better than to waste their time with these rowdy boys. But the old ladies did not give in to any such considerations, they rounded up the 4 boys and gave a rousing lecture on why all this is for them. So that, when someday when they take their kids to a government hospital, they clerk will not turn them away with empty beds, someday they will have the freedom to drive to roads that are not riddled with potholes, someday they can ask for their rights with dignity and honour. As it all this was not enough, the boys hung their heads in shame through most of the monologue (although initially they had tried to run away from and later shoo away the ladies). They apologised, took the flags that they were offered and joined in. Now, I know these boys. There usual lair is the ground I used to football in and never ever have I seen them conform to any norms of civility.

In that moment I realised, maybe a little too late, that this movement is not about Anna or the Jan Lok Pal Bill. Anna is the focal point around which the movement has gathered steam, but all movements need leaders. Jan Lok Pal Bill might be Anna's agenda, but that is immaterial. What got these old ladies to leave the comfort of their homes, was not any undying love for Anna (not that it would have played a part), but the want to create a better society.

Everybody in this country, at some point or the other has seen the ugly face of corruption, but so far, their indignation was hidden beneath the, by now famous, 'chalta hai' (anything goes) attitude. But this movement gives them hope that things do not always have to be this way. Maybe this movement will fail. Maybe this time agenda will trump the desire for real change for the better. But power of knowledge cannot be undone.

As I sit in the comfort of my room, I can hear the chants outside. As the blue billion rises, will I (and you) still be warming our chairs? 

       

On a Bunch of Problems

I wish to start this piece thanking the poor souls who have read my blog posts over the last couple of months. The stats available on blogger say that this blog has been viewed 290 times in the last one month (accounting for repeat views that should give us a reader base of about 30 people). Not a very impressive number, but enough to keep my hopes up. As one of my school teachers reminded me the other day, in the days gone by when driven by the romanticism of being a rebel, the energy that having a slim frame more often than not endows one with and naivete of a 16 year old; I would tell anyone who was willing to listen that - All it takes is small spark inside one individual, the rest will follow!

But times have moved on and though things dont look as simple as igniting a spark inside one individual, I still consider it a goal worth of aspiring for. While the goals might be praiseworthy, I realise that my writings suffer from a worsening short term memory, lack of energy and remnants of mild dyslexia. For these and other issues that you might have observed with these posts, I apologize..

A particular incident, thinking about which has consumed most of my waking hours this past weekend, concerned admission interviews at my current place of work. I had been asked to be part of an admission board which conduct admission interviews; though why someone who has barely taken7-8 classes be accorded such a privilege is beyond the realm of my understanding.

My opinions on being an interviewer was for a long time predicated on experience gleaned from the times when I was the interviewee and I had arrived at the conclusion that taking an interview would be a lot of fun. After having been part of three such admission interview board remains unchanged - taking an interview is a lot of fun. Though I am not sure but I think the release of endorphins is caused by the sadist inside me, or maybe by a feeling of gratification brought about by putting others through what I had been through or maybe it is the knowledge of the power that you command sitting across the table. However, irrespective of the source, I have found conducting interviews to be a very joyous experience.

This time however, I came across a student who woke my conscience, rather rudely too, from the stupor that it has fallen into off late. Visually he wasn't much, as unremarkable as they come, but rarely have I seen someone be so tense and calm at the same time. The first sign of trouble was signaled by his silence following the usual - please introduce yourself request. It was followed by a half hearted attempt by him to partially cover his face with sweaty and trembling hands.

I sat there, across the table (with the chair person of this 2 person board sitting next to me), transfixed,  unable to figure out what to so next. My colleague, who was apparently not so afflicted, continued his investigations and discovered that the boy had travelled for 2 days, on foot, car, bus and train to get to delhi from his small town somewhere in the great hinterland of India. He was tired, could not converse in english and had not known how to prepare for this interview as no one he knew had ever taken an interview. All of these answers came from behind the thin, sweaty and shivering hand that had created an inadequate veil almost as if to shield himself from us.

He was taut like a drawn bow string during the course of the interview, which lasted not more than 7-8 mins. He left dejected with our brief interaction, but did not seem disappointed, maybe he knew what would happen. I on the other hand, reflect on the incident with a lot of disappointment.

Did I pity the boy? Maybe. Did he pity me? Maybe. Should either of us pity each other or should we carry on reveling in the possibilities that our society offers for such interactions..