An aftermath of Pulwama
Pantomimes and Demagogues ruling the masses has become the order of the day in India now. This is common knowledge and I do not intend to present an overtly critical rhetoric for my readers on this topic. The objective is to share a very personal experience, something which was a direct fall out of the Pulwama attack. 14th February 2019 was supposed to be another mushy Valentine’s Day for the nation replete with love prates and fist fights between the culture police and lovebirds. But it turned into one of the goriest epochs in the history of our Republic. The death of 40 CRPF personnel in Pulwama in one of the most horrific terrorist attacks in the history of mankind shook the nation and forever turned 14th February into a day to be remembered for all the wrong reasons. As the nation quaked and seethed in outrage against the perpetrators there were calls for war with Pakistan. War-cries echoed in every alley — posh or dingy — across the nation. The public sentiment was neither frivolous nor manipulated. Love for the motherland is what keeps this demographically diverse nation together; it is that essential glue, which is neither injected nor fomented. But then something interesting began to happen.
When the initial rage had dissipated some people began to think. It occurred to them that although a crushing blow to the terrorist camps was the call of the day, and political heavy handedness needed to be replaced with a swift and stern action plan on part of the Government of India, a full scale war with Pakistan was a costly bet. Two nuclear capable countries simply could not afford a face off in a battle theatre. The jittery state of Pakistan, where no one knows who is in charge of the nation, was the root cause for concern. In a war situation they could react first and a full blown nuclear war could ensue. This was THE SITUATION to be avoided at all costs. Now, these thinkers, who were opposed to the idea of a full scale war with Pakistan were not limited to the Parliament. The complex ranks and files of the Indian society had a handful few of such people. And this presented a volatile concoction inside the country. Social Media sites like Facebook and Twitter began to flood with patriotic chants of every degree imaginable — while some of them were logical and aptly sensitive, some were outright maniacal. In this mess arose a few meek voices imploring for restraint — not against the terrorists but against the declaration of war. These were the voices of some common men and women who were reading the situation rather closely.
Hate is the new language that the world has begun to speak now. World history is chequered with eras of burgeoning hatred with calm patches in between. I guess we are going through one of the rougher patches now. In the deluge of spiteful social media posts these few voices asking for peace and patience began to be targeted. In a country as populated as ours, there is collective depression. The toothy competition for dwindling resources has turned us into the most depressed nation in the world and that is sad. The immediate catharsis for depression is adrenaline rush and what can be a more potent rush than to enjoy a carnage from the comfort of home! The clear majority rooting for war was in reality looking for such a chance. So, it was obvious that anyone willing to deny them that chance was to be branded a villain, a TRAITOR. And the witch-hunt began thus.
My residence is in a tier two city now deemed a “smart-city” — a fancy moniker gifted by the GOI to “upcoming” business centres across the country — and its name is Durgapur. Once the epicentre of Nehruvian industrialisation in West Bengal, Durgapur has now receded into the backwaters with the Steel Authority of India controlled behemoth Durgapur Steel Plant losing steam consistently in the past few years. The demography is largely made up of simple office goers whose office hours routinely stretch beyond the stipulated eight hours. The living costs are at an all time high and the collective debt of the population has only gone skyward. You don’t need to be a scientist to gauge that my city grovels under the weight of depression. Gloomy faces lurk in the nooks and bazaars and shopping malls. The small talk is mostly about how difficult it is to make ends meet. Amid all this the Pulawama incident was an unusual respite, a detachment from the mundane thoughts. Beneath tree shades and on office floors loud voices began to discuss the necessity of teaching Pakistan a lesson. Then the streets began to pour with silent candle light marches in solidarity with the Indian Army and the families of the martyrs. I participated in at least two such marches. But the scene quickly turned ugly. First it began with verbal spats between the warmongers and the few meagre voices in such marches looking for a peaceful end to the Kashmir conflict. Then every proponent of peace was chucked out of such rallies. The unthinkable happened when a certain gentleman working in a Life Insurance Company was targeted for his Facebook post and his residence was stormed by a mob in the middle of the night. Apparently he had written a caustic post demanding the politicians on both sides of the border to stop using the Kashmir impasse as a ruse. In his post he squarely blamed the politicians for the loss of army and civilian lives in the valley. But unbeknownst to him he had lit a fuse. Contorted interpretations of his post went as far as him taking a decisive stand against the GOI in times of national crisis. The quintessential traitor had been discovered — the perfect effigy of Pakistan to be burnt alive at the stake! Fortunately for him, he was out of town that night and the mob came back empty handed. The whole incident took another bend when his employer gave a tacit nod to popular sentiment and suspended him from active duty. The notice of suspension was pasted upon his closed door.
I was enraged by what was unfolding in my hometown and in a few personal blog posts called out the madness. My wife quickly followed suit. But we were in for a big and bitter surprise. From Facebook messenger to Whatsapp, our inboxes began filling up fast with choicest expletives and suggestions of boarding the next plane to Pakistan. The witch hunt was at our doorstep now. Old friends suddenly became foes and with each sharing of our Facebook posts we became more and more reviled TRAITORS. This climaxed to one fateful day when a close confidante called me to tell that some fanatics were planning to lodge an FIR against us under grounds of sedition; this never materialised though. But we held on steadfastly, sticking to our views on peace. It became increasingly clear that in the new India the name Mohandas Gandhi was an expletive and Satyagraha was cowardice. Then news began to arrive from other places of West Bengal of teachers being beaten up and sacked for “instigating” peace. Nationalist gangs were out on a purge spree everywhere. The pent up frustrations of a lurching economy was oozing out in charring lava flows. Unemployed bearded men with twirled moustaches were out for blood — if not Pakistani a fellow Indian’s blood was good enough to drain.
As I write this article now, the situation has fizzed off and India is gripped in cricket fever now. The national focus is on Television sets as the GOI struts and lurches, but casually yawns at recurring incidents of mob lynching in the name of Lord Ram. But what if another Pulwama happens? Will Indians be safe? Will Article 19(1)(A) a.k.a Freedom of Speech and Expression still continue to be a fundamental right? Are we heading towards a martial society?
