That feeling came all of a sudden, grew exponentially within me, and soon I was a slave to it. It was a stroke of pride, an aura of doing something that made my relation to this country firm. In more simple(and dull) words I was filling up the Aadhar UID form.
Such feeling ‘patriotic’ ,if I may call it ,arise seldom these days. For the last 7 months , when life has been categorically defined between work and weekend , fewer have been times when I have thought about the Matrabhoomi…the land,our mother, where we are born and raised.
A month has passed when I met that guy for the first ,and the last time. He was a friend’s acquaintance ,new to Mumbai, and naïve to the zeal ,the spirit that the city sets in you. He was here for a job , and was looking out for a room. For the last two days he had toiled hard,but, without any success . Still , he had a kick, that was driving him, in those torrential Bombay Rains, to look out for more and find a place in the Maximum City which beholds all. The way he finished his tea, the amicable tone of “Bantu bhaai..ghar kab jaaoge”…it was all raining optimism.
I have not met that guy since that day, but a week later I found out that he didn’t get a flat. Well….he was a Muslim The feeling that I had at that very moment was an even mixture of amazement , frustration and helplessness. The picture of Bombay, of majestic Marine Drive and picturesque Powai, which defied tradition and embraced all ,started fading from my mind. I wanted to do something I knew I could not and was sure that I would not. A caricature of that lad came to my mind. A jovial guy, a nice guy slowly immersing in the shallow waters of religious extremism, the waters are getting deeper , the guy is falling, loosing control. Sometimes he could not do anything , sometimes he does not want to do anything……..Suddenly the rain, like lashes , started again…..I ,muttering “saala koi kaise kar sakta hai aisa” came to the serenity of my room.
It was 13th of July…the bus had not come for ½ hr….depression was looming large. I was in a dilemma whether to wait for the red beast or start walking. In the midst of my fondling with the two options,I received the news,” Bantu ,bomb blast ho gaya hai”. I, sure, that the building behind me is going to explode , turned backwards. It didn’t explode, I started walking.
I decided to walk till I found a bus. Amma’s phone came “ Dadar kahaan hai..Bantu, un logon ke area me mat jaya karo”. My phone was constantly ringing. And again I was caught in a blend of emotions- first, a black one of fear of death and destruction , and second , a more colorful thought with a more childish flavor in it- of being in the limelight.
I finally got a bus,no. 27,coming all the way from Worli, which had passed through the bomb affected areas. It was a crowded bus. Infused with the air of sweaty odour and bad breath was a hush of fear,of stories of panic. I finally found a place to stand beside a seat where a kurta clad ,old bearded man was sitting. I made out it his religion from his attire. I clenched my fist, was perplexed. Thoughts were high in my mind that the bus is going to blast. The old man’s phone rang, he said ,”blast ho gaya” and I found my nightmares coming true. I was trying to get rid of such thoughts, I was helpless, those thoughts were like gushes of wind trying to break open my logical doors.
A little later , my stop came, and the bomb blast became an incident and the bus incident was now a matter to laugh at in the office the next day.
When I started writing this article , I wanted to give it a dramatic ending something abstract, yet out of the world, like Tyson’s punch. But now , I realize that conclusion is something we don’t really want , what we need is a start.
Most of us might not have gone through the same incidents, but yes, we all go through the feeling that those incidents created inside me. We feel proud of our nation, we desperately want to do something for it, and when needed we believe in sitting in a couch , eating home cooked food getting entertained by those sensational headlines……….and throughout the bottom line remains…” Kya Kare”
Frankly speaking , I can’t believe that a nation of 1.2 billion cannot rock the whole volume of the parliament in full strength. The fact of the matter is, that most of the times we are the ones who don’t want to change. We are the ones who don’t want to throw cigarette butts in a dustbin, and we are the culprits who are reluctant to opt for a long route to get things, general things , like passport registration, Driver’s License registration, getting flat,systematically done. That guy didn’t get a flat not because of a corrupt government , but because of a sick mentality. Mentality that causes the 2-g scam. The bomb-blast , again a result of that ‘stinking mentality’….and the result of that blast…in huge amount …’stinking mentality’.
The problem is that India is not ruled by government, or by a bunch of bureaucrats . India is ruled by a mindset, That which nurtured by poverty , dreams and religion in such a way that being an IAS doesn’t mean to be changing the system, but, bringing fame and money to the family.
Anything bad that happens , is the case of a psychology. A psychology has been there, be it Babri, 2-G ,13/7,26/11,11/7……..
Solution, well , I am too small to give one. Personally I won’t opt for a revolution. But yes, of introspection. I would like it, many would disagree , but in the way of Gandhiji. We will get there slow, 5 years, may be 50 years, but then, we will be getting to something, maybe a better future, a better nation, a better mother.
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