Things That Bother Me This Morning (Part 4)
- Once again, peace is trampled upon by audacious men, unburdened by responsibilities of the household, by morality and by imminent danger. Loud. So loud and rude. Expletives flying everywhere, muddying the environment around them, otherwise garnished with sweet birdsong and dancing winds.
2. 25th July, 2026. 10:30 a.m.
This city is coloured in sharp contrasts today. Only five days ago, on 20th July, 2026, a historic march towards the Parliament to demand accountability from a spineless government took place. The spirit of that march spread far and wide and brought thousands onto the roads to compel the system to take action. Five days later, just as it seemed that the rally might be coming to an end, a small group of students, singing to the slogan of “Inquilab Zindabad” fills the air with a new essence of ‘kranti’. They are few but their voices are strong. Their roar for justice, for their basic right, for answerability from a notoriously mute leadership reverberates through the hearts of those who could catch their song. How beautiful these children are! How brave! How very honourable!
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But, there are those who are not part of this insurgence - comrades too riddled with questions of their imminent future. Those who are under pressure, no doubt, from parents, from acquaintances, from their own promises to their future selves and the coaching mafia. They may be anxious, angry and desirous of change but they are trapped. Therefore, they put their bags on their bent shoulders and march, instead, towards their coaching centres to burn the midnight oil for yet another uncertainty. No one knows what the future holds for these tired dreamers.
Life never is black and white. The struggles of these children are as unmatched as they are disregarded. The city is stained with the colours of revolution on one side and, in those of convention on the other.
3. 25th July, 2026. 1:00 p.m.
Tens of thousands of college students, student union workers and children still in their school uniforms, have gathered to protest againts Pradhan and, now, also Modi. They have covered the roads from the Subhash Chauraha to the Cathedral. Barricades removed by the students in imitaion of their Bihari comrades were set aside safely beyond the service lane and the footpath on one side of the road. There were chants of ‘Dharmendra Pradhan istifa do’ with invocations of ‘Inquilab Zindabad’ and ‘Jai Hind’ in the air.
Somehow, inspite of the numbers and the loud cheers, the enviornment was of brotherhood, laughter and determination. They were not the terrorists of the new age as portrayed by the media houses of this great nation, no. They were young people laughing, singing and patting each other on the shoulder in unity and power. Each hand raised in the air in the universal gesture of solidarity consisted of only a closed fist; they carried no weapons, only hopes and dreams.
A thought struck me then as I stood looking at them, my heart full and eyes moist — if this government stays in power, history will probably remember this protest differently or not at all. How many times were we deliberately never taught about those who came before us so that the knowledge of our own power doesn’t revolutionise us? It is, therefore, the duty of those of us who are observing history unfold, to document it. It is upon us to remember and tell this story, in all its gory details, to the generations that come after us. To give them the gift of power against the powers that be.
