Brainwash Bosh

“We do not want people going

against Muslims or Kashmiris.

We want peace, only peace...”

— Himanshi Narwal

(wife of Lt Vinay Narwal, killed

in the Pahalgam terror attack)

When a childhood friend recently backed out of our regular annual getaway to the hills, saying he was afraid to travel because he is a Muslim, I was left speechless and ashamed – in equal measure. I wouldn’t like to dwell more on my feelings. That’s because we have plummeted to a point where every Indian needs to take a hard look in the mirror and admit that we are responsible too. My friend is not alone in his fear or sense of alienation. And India has 20 crore Muslim citizens.

When bullets rained down on tourists in Pahalgam, it was not an act of terror, but a macabre dance that marked the death of collective conscience. A numbing reminder of man turning into predator, fuelled by collective hatred and religious indoctrination. It was evidence of a decayed society that nonchalantly sculpts dehumanization. Proof that we have descended into the depths of obloquy. India lost 28 people and global respect. And our Kashmir was stripped of more of its soul.

Days after blood was spilled on the grass in a meadow in Jammu & Kashmir, one family’s call for peace was far louder than all the cacophony we have been hearing from those attempting to sow a divide on communal lines. Himanshi Narwal, wife of Navy Lieutenant Vinay Narwal – who was killed in Pahalgam – garnered an entire nation’s respect and support. Amid the bedlam, she and her family were the true, original voice of reason and sanity.

Tale From My ‘Muslim’ Friend

Before I write more, let’s visit what my friend the ‘Muslim’ said to me.

“There are moments when being a Muslim in India feels like carrying a fragile secret. I am not ashamed of who I am. I was born Muslim, raised Muslim and I cherish my faith. But sometimes, the air doesn’t feel safe to breathe. I have travelled across India – from the hills of Uttarakhand to the drought-hit fields of Bundelkhand, from dusty highways in Gujarat to remote villages in Madhya Pradesh. I have met scores of people, shared meals with strangers, heard countless stories. Most are kind, warm and welcoming. Some are not. I have stayed in homes and heard whispers like ‘Yeh Musalman Log’ (‘these Muslims’), followed by adjectives quite degrading.”

“I have gritted my teeth and smiled bitterly, learning to sometimes bury my name under a Kevlar shield of self-preservation. A shifty look, a shift in tone have made me hesitate, forced a lie – I have pretended to be Hindu and said my name is Ravi or Rahul. Such names don’t invite a second look or lead to shifty glances. I am not proud of doing this, but it is sometimes necessary. Your instincts can scream at you and tell you things are different when you walk into a room.”

The Troth On The Ground

The admission above is not out of bounds or sorts. In our towns, cities and even remote villages today, WhatsApp forwards can have greater credibility than books, with some forces slowly managing to turn religion itself into a suspicious activity. Caste has not been spared and can alone make the air tense. Places of worship that sport fluttering flags of any colour or creed are not just symbols of peace today, they can be unspoken warnings too. They can be pillars of coloured pride, even when they stand on the back of unmentionable pillory. Many a time, the fear witnessed by people, regardless of their religion or faith, is not direct. It is not a threat. It is simply a reality that one’s very presence can trigger an unpleasant question.

This should make balanced and straight-laced people think and ponder; perhaps trigger shame or anger over having created a land where we are forced to live a duality. That our Indianness is being tested against our religion. That we have to be extra-everything now – polite, careful or quiet – just to avoid giving anyone a reason to doubt us. But were we raised to hide? Our elders drilled into us the narcissism to be proud of ourselves, be respectful of all beliefs and put humanity above religion or colour. But is everyone in our world conforming to such courtesy anymore? Why is it that we are allowing fear to visit us, define us?

It happens in highway dhabas (desi restaurants), in train compartments, during election season. The scary part is that the fear is not irrational. After all, we have succeeded in getting our own to lie about their name, haven’t we? And forced some people to carry their personal truth parcelled away in hidden catacombs?

Needed: Kindness & Iron Hand

Today’s India needs interlocutors without personal or vested interests. The last few decades have given birth to many with an opposite bent of mind, those who have viciously and deliberately driven a wedge between communities to further their narrow agenda, be it political parties and organizations, conniving individuals or self-proclaimed sects, swamis, babas and bhakts. Such people of fractured beliefs and thinking are causing a deadly divide, digging a dangerous chasm.

Some do this shamelessly and blatantly, even when there is media presence and cameras pointing at them. I personally witnessed and heard their statements a few years back. Their words left me mortified not because they were doing so despite the presence of cameras, but because they were doing it only for those very cameras. In a quest to achieve narrow personal goals and objectives, these people turned a blind eye to the damage they were causing in India, a nation that has always symbolized tolerance and togetherness.

Wake up to a quote by Joseph Campbell: “Every religion is true (in) one way or another. It is true when understood metaphorically. But when it gets stuck in its own metaphors, interpreting them as facts, then you are in trouble.”

Soliloquy: Forget people, let’s talk of my cat Ballu (Bella, as my wife named her). At the height of the COVID lockdowns, I got Ballu the kitten from Shaheen Bagh, a Delhi locality that was then riven by religious protests. I visited the area frequently over the next few months with Ballu – to show her birth mother that their daughter was doing fine. People around Tayyab Masjid learnt to wait for Ballu every Sunday.

As I was their first human son-in-law, they showered me with sherbet, naan, qormas and sheermal. As Ballu would meet her birth mother, us humans would celebrate, pet her, even dance – Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Christians. Safe distancing was maintained, but only because of COVID. An hour of rejoicing would fill us with kebabs, warmth and love – all thanks to Ballu, and because of the wonderful person that the average Indian is.

I still go to Shaheen Bagh. I still eat and dance there. I have made friends, admirers and found a mélange of brothers and sisters. Thanks to Ballu, who is more than a cat. Ballu is a manifestation that all is still well where it counts, regardless of what we see on TV and sections of the media. The averagee Indian remains rooted, meeting and greeting people with respect and decency. For a few moments each day, we need to remember things that matter – those who we grew up with, the fond memories of growing up in peace and harmony, and Ballu. We need more Ballus.

The writer can be reached on [email protected]. Views expressed are personal