Courage & Compassion
In
conversation with the Believer a few weeks ago, he said to me, "Whenever
something bad happens, everybody keeps saying 'God is watching'. There's this
assumption that God will 'fix' everything. What if I am meant to be God's
warrior? Maybe I'm the one meant to avenge all the bad shit in this
world."
His
anger wasn’t misplaced. He’d just finished working on a horrific, disturbing
story, and this inclination to begin believing that violence might be the best
way to ‘punish’ violence seemed to be his only source of salvation. What was
disturbing was a gentle, happy-go-lucky, God-loving soul gnashing his teeth in
rage and frustration. Destroy the demons.
 |
A
few days later, I found myself standing on the other side of a glass door, squinting
at a 150 strong crowd of social activists crammed into a conference room.
Sickening curls of claustrophobia. So many people. Such a small space. Deep
breath, step inside. Walk past the crowd. Slowly, DON’T run. Silly grin stuck
in place. Cheeks hurt. Ears burn. ‘Namaste.’ ‘Johar!’ ‘Kaise ho?’ Eyes burn
holes in my shirt. Smile. I step into a corner, feeling rather like a rat. Smile.
Scanning the crowd, I begin to recognise faces, smiles. Manju. Mohan. Nirmala
didi. Sajad. Reena. Deena.
Heart rate slows. I recognize people from videos, silently checking names off
my ‘final CC list’ excel sheet. Kashmir. Bangalore.
Sundargarh. Uttarakhand. Latehar. Raigarh.
I was looking at what is possibly India’s largest community media network.
Over
170 ‘community correspondents’ representing some of India’s most marginalized
communities. In the group, I can
identify various social movements and occupations - farmers, daily wagers,
manual labourers, theatre artistes, social workers, tribal, dalit, Resident of
Backward Area, Pahadi, Primitive Tribal Group, religious minorities, sexual
minorities, think of the combinations, they were all here. Districts and
addresses, jan andolans and networking
partnerships start spinning circles in my mind, when the 'boss bro' steps onto the
podium. Sudden silence. In a single, near coordinated move, more than a
hundred cameras rise to capture the moment.
Your perception of me is a reflection of you
The UnQuiet One recently introduced me to ‘Rick & Morty’, a bizarre
cartoon show where grandpa Rick, drags his grandson Morty into parallel dimensions
in pursuits of things of supreme irrelevance. In one episode, the family dog, Snuffles’
intelligence is enhanced. He realises the cruelty of human beings and creates an
intelligent dog army to take over the human world. Morty always loved Snowball,
and was his friend, and so was spared from being caged, leashed and punished
for peeing on the carpet. Snowball slowly spirals out of control, Morty’s
illness engineered by Rick snaps Snowball back to reality with the epiphany,
‘We are not them!’ He uses Rick’s dimension diving galactic door to transport
the intelligent dogs to a kinder, more compassionate one, where pet insurance
is mandatory. (I kinda wanted Snuffles to take me with them.)
Since dimension diving isn’t really possible, I guess not being them is our only option. It takes a special kinda courage to
channelize anger and frustration to recognise and acknowledge a more
compassionate way out of every situation. One of the sharpest lessons I’ve
learnt while working with this network of correspondents has been to be who I
want the person across me to be. If I expected a professional working
relationship strengthened with mutual love and respect, I’ve had to open my
soul and reveal my true self to the person sitting across me. I’ve had to be
willing to hear their strong, unfaltering voices narrating death, violence,
starvation, torture. I died a tiny death, skipped a small breath, every time
they enumerated children who disappear on a daily basis. They tell us of those
who are beaten, raped, abused, on any goddamned accusation. Their eyes burned,
steadfast gaze, holding eye contact as they spoke of people being cheated,
robbed, bombed and burnt, because they are who they are. And when they told me
of the price on a local guerilla’s head, (25 lakh INR, no less), I fumble with
frustration, because I know the region this guerilla operates out of hasn’t had
access
to clean drinking water in three decades. Yes, three decades. Caught
between the guerillas and the benevolent state, this community is confused – if
their government can afford 25 lakh INR, why is there no clean water yet? I would
imagine the community would have taken up arms, or done something ridiculous,
desperate, radical. With the help of their local correspondent, they documented
their struggle for water. They built roads,
documented organic
farming. They proved, that they are not
them.
My reaction to you is an awareness of me
Having spent hours lying around in the grass marveling at clouds
racing across the sky, or reveling in the explosions of colour below my bare
feet, the mysteries of the human mind no longer bemuse me. I no longer
question, or seek to understand the billions of bizarre things human beings
indulge in. The origin of this universe has to be one of the greatest unsolved
mysteries ever, and humankind is nothing but a tiny, irrelevant speck on this
planet. And just as ‘the moon is a souvenir of the violent collisions of a
thousand stars[1]’,
we too, are souvenirs of multiple hurts, agonies, wounds and suffering we
encounter. In our daily dilemmas, many of us forget our origins. We are made of
star stuff. Exploding stars release the oxygen we breathe, the calcium in our
bones, the iron in our blood …it is up to us to channelize the stardust of our
souls in the correct way, with courage and compassion.
“True resistance begins with people confronting pain...
and wanting to do something to change it.[2]”
and wanting to do something to change it.[2]”
Standing with the Community Correspondents, in the midst of all the coordinated chaos, I was inspired. Again. I was standing amongst individuals who have accepted the challenge of changing this world. I was shoulder-to-shoulder with activists who’ve shut down firing ranges, stopped child marriages, risked their own lives to film mob violence, acid attacks, police brutality, rampant corruption and caste based violence. These activists have set aside personal lives & challenges to change 1.5 million lives, and amongst them, have created more than 500 stories of change in their communities, taking a stand and changing things right where they are. I found myself standing right beside the man who, when he had first met me years ago, truly believed that women had a designated place in society – the kitchen. We’d forged a deep friendship over two weeks of incessant arguing about gender and society. Seeing me beside him, he gently twined his fingers with mine, knowing I am afraid of large crowds. He whispered he’s glad to see me. I smile; squeeze his fingers gently. I feel empowered. I am again able to believe in the possibility of peace. I think of the wild creepers of the Goan monsoon, always stretching, straining for sunlight.
So, my little Sungta, violence isn't the answer. You are never alone in your anger. What is important is how you assert it.
Never be afraid. Rise up. Resist. Tell the truth. Fight for freedom. Always stand courageous, always be compassionate.
[1] Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey.
oh boy!!!!!
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