The Chaiwalla

I'm going to put it right out there - I'm not a fan of Modi. Given what happened under his rule in Gujarat, and how divisive his policies have been, I don't agree with him, and I don't like him.

And given our new age media that tends to show us news related to our existing beliefs so as to make us feel like the whole world agrees with us, lately, I've been coming across a lot of anti-Modi posts. Most of them are warranted. The economy is struggling. The CAA-NRC is discriminatory at too many levels. And generally, the country is a mess.

But there's one criticism of Modi that I find myself disagreeing with, and that's the use of the term 'chaiwalla'.

Factually, it's not incorrect. Modi did sell chai when he was young, so I'm not disagreeing with the accuracy of the claim.

What I disagree with is using the term 'chaiwalla' as an insult.

Because if 'chaiwalla' is an insult, then you're basically insulting every single person out there who has or does sell tea. And along with them, you're also insulting all the people who take whatever job they can get to make ends meet and support their families: basically, a large portion of our population.

It's an insult based on class, and it's not a far jump from the insults we're already used to hearing based on caste or religion.

I know. It's hard to fathom that a person who used to sell tea, and whose educational credentials are up in the air, is now the prime minister of the nation. Growing up, I used to wonder why there was no 'educational criteria' for politicians.

But honestly, having been part of our education system for all these years, I no longer feel that I can place a high degree of trust on educational credentials. You can have the most educated of men committing rape and other heinous crimes. And you can have the most 'uneducated' people showing utmost kindness or giving the best guidance you could hope to get. The seal of an education degree doesn't often add much to you as a human, except an item on your resume.

Moreover, while we like to think of education as a right, in reality, it's a commodity to be purchased. And only people coming from a certain amount of class privilege can afford to purchase it. I don't mean to insult anyone who feels proud of the education they've received and worked hard to get, but my point is that the education we boast of is a privilege. And to look down on someone because they were unable to afford this privilege is unfair. Especially if it's coming from a group of people who claim to be fighting for an equitable and just society.

As much as I disagree with Modi, I'm actually proud that our country gave a 'chaiwala' the opportunity to become the Prime Minister of the nation. It's the one part of his story that I actually find inspiring.

Critique Modi. Critique his policies. It's our right, and our duty. But don't bring your criticism down to the level of attacking him for once being poor, because that's not so far from insulting someone on the basis of religion or caste.

He was a chaiwalla.

That's a fact. It shouldn't become an insult.

Educated: Change the Narrative

पढ़ लिख कर अच्छे नंबर तो ले आया

बस, थोड़ी इंसानियत सीख न पाया।

Topped his class

Became CEO

Beat his wife every night.

Learnt the language

Became a great orator

Led a mob lynching.

Cleared medical school

Became a doctor

Overcharged every patient.

Got the best marks

Became a professor

Raped his student.

Cleared the entrance exam

Got the big house she always wanted

Abused her maid every day.

History

As I read history

About the wars, the atrocities, the genocides

I often wonder

How did people just stand by

And let it all happen?

And then I realize

That one day 

Maybe not that far into the future

People will wonder the same thing about us.

The Heroes

You read stories all around you

Stories of people who've faced poverty, war, violence, 

Rock bottom of every kind

And have emerged as icons 

Of pure grit, courage and inspiration

And amidst this inspiration

A strange realization strikes:

You already have a life devoid of these obstacles

So what are you going to do with that life?

The Perfect Blend

One cup of coffee. One cup of chai.  Spontaneous conversation.

Failure

She traveled the world.

She rescued animals.

She wrote several books.

She ran her own company.

She spread smiles everywhere she went.

But still, she was considered a failure.

She wasn't married.

Choice

To invest, or to donate.

My future, or someone's present.

Hate

Hate

It has a domino effect

Spreading uncontrollably

Destroying everything it touches

Until, before you know it

Nothing is left standing. 

Rebellion

In a world constantly trying to pull everyone down, her biggest act of rebellion was falling in love with herself.

Rumours

Fake rumours spurred them into blind rage. 

Reality seldom did.

Lynching

Lynching

A word I had heard for the first time while reading about slavery.

A word that made me reel with horror and sadness.

A word I associated with history - of a time long gone.

A word I now see every day in the national news.

Friends

"What's life without friends?!" she blurted out randomly.

Her friends sitting around couldn't help but smile widely at her sudden display of affection and cheesiness.

That is, until they realized she was talking about the show.

Blame

How stupid was she, getting on that bus alone at night?

How stupid was she, wearing that dress with the high slit?

How stupid was she, going on a solo trip in this country?

How stupid was she, having so many drinks?

How stupid was she, walking alone at night?

How stupid was she, stepping out of her house alone?

How stupid was she, thinking she had a right to live.

The Day The World Didn’t Explode

As the three friends shuffled to their seats, the national anthem soared through the theatre.

One stood straight, singing the words loudly and clearly, eyes shining in pride. Another stood quietly, shuffling now and then, looking around at the people. The third remained seated, silently waiting for the song to end.

When the final notes died down, the three exchanged a look, smiled at each other, and began watching the film. 

Commute

"Travel", he wrote excitedly in his bucket list.

Seven years later, stuck in traffic again on his daily two hour commute, he looked upwards and rolled his eyes.

Someone up there had a really bad sense of humor.

Scrolling

A mass shooting.

A video of a playful puppy.

Farmer suicide.

Smiling selfies.

Gang rape of a child.

List of beautiful places to visit.

Mob lynching.

40 new likes on your profile pic.

Communal clashes.

The latest meme. 

And in the mix of all this, is my mind, trembling, yelling at me to stop.

The Navigator

It was cold, not such that it had you shivering from head to toe, but enough for the three-year-old girl to be bundled into a knitted, pink sweater. Sonu picked at it uncomfortably, as she gazed out at the big lake around her. Boats dotted her vision, moving slowly across the water as the grown-ups who sat in them huffed as they pedalled.

On her own boat, her parents sat across her, pedalling the boat with an unhurried ease, while her dad kept one hand on the long stick behind. On Sonu’s right, her older brother chatted away excitedly. The four of them were on their way to Mussourie, a few hours away from home, and had stopped for boating on the lake that had become customary to these trips.

As Sonu listened to her brother going on and on about his own skill with pedalling the boat (he had done it for a minute at the most!), she tried unsuccessfully to enjoy the wind and the water. Finally, feeling that enough was enough, Sonu decided that it was time to speak up for herself. Plastering a frown on her puffed-up cheeks, she folded her arms for extra effect, and heaved in annoyance.

“Even I want to pedal,” she said.

Her parents looked at her in surprise. “But you’re too small for this,” said her mother, while her brother sniggered on the side.

“You let bhaiya do it!” she persevered. “Even I want to try.”

“But – “

“Sure,” her father said, cutting off her mother’s objection. Her mother looked surprised, and was about to say something again when her dad gave one of those grown-up looks that she seemed to understand. 

“Really?!” the little girl asked, trying to mask her nervousness in excitement.

“Yes. But you’ll have to switch seats with me,” her father said, and proceeded to show her where to place her footing as the two of them carefully switched seats with each other.

As Sonu plopped down on to the seat of power, she suddenly wasn’t too sure about what to do. Her mother, who was now sitting next to her, spoke up.

“Okay, now put your feet on the pedals. And start moving them forward, like this,” she said, as she continued pedalling calmly.

Following instructions, she put each of her buckled shoes on the pedals, and then pushed.

And pushed some more.

And a little more.

But the pedals wouldn’t move. Not even when she scrunched up her face from the effort, and put out her tongue in the unconscious way she always did when trying to concentrate on something.

The pedals just wouldn’t move.

Trying to ignore her brother’s snigger, Sonu glumly looked up at her dad. Thankfully, he wasn’t laughing. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “It takes a lot of strength. You’ll be able to do it when you’re a little older.”

And with that, he took over the pedals from his own seat, and motioned for her brother to take over from her mother, and the two started pedalling the boat in reverse.

Turning to her side, she pretended to look at the lake as she fought off the urge to cry, as the feeling of uselessness spread all over her, ringing deafeningly in her ears. In fact, it took her a couple of seconds to realize her father was talking to her.

“What?” she asked, turning in front.

“Can you turn us a little to the left?” her father said. “We’re getting a little close to the edge.”

Confused, she asked him how.

“That stick,” he said, motioning to the stick behind her that she had noticed earlier. “It’s for navigation. Turn it towards you.”

Turning sideways, she put her hand on the navigation stick and pulled it towards her, half expecting it to stay where it was. To her surprise, it moved easily, and slowly, the boat also started to turn.

“You mean I can control where we’re going with this?” she asked, as the smile slowly started to find its way back on her face.

Her father nodded, explaining how the direction of the turn would depend on which side they were pedalling from.

The three-year-old nodded as she listened. “So, you mean that if mamma and I were pedalling, I would have to move it in the opposite direction? Hmm…that makes sense.”

Then, as though suddenly remembering her own age, she turned to her mother and asked her if she wanted to navigate. Smiling, her mother shook her head slowly. “Why don’t you be the navigator today?” 

The words seemed to drop a load of responsibility on her, but for once, instead of feeling like shirking away, she sat up straight. Now this, I can do.

With a big smile on her face, she turned to the other three passengers. “Alright, I’m going to get us to there,” she said, pointing to the far end of the lake with one hand, while the other firmly moved the navigation bar in the proper direction.

“And after that, papa you tell me where you want to go, and I’ll take you there. And bhaiya, you tell me where you want to go, and I’ll take you there. And mamma you too,” she rambled along.

“I’m the navigator,” she said proudly, oblivious to the tired looks exchanged by the others. This was going to be a long day of pedalling.

The Great War

Link to story with illustrations on Storyweaver

Sonu stared at her plate. There they were. Those round, green, yucky, things. 

Sonu hated them. She had always hated them. They tasted so bad! 

She tried telling papa that, but he would not listen. “They’re good for you,” he would say, and that was that. 

So, every other day, Sonu would find herself staring at the green things - those terrible peas! 

Sometimes, she would put one in her mouth, and chew it from side to side, but would not swallow it. Other times, she would gulp many of them down quickly with water. But most of the times, she would just sit there and move them around on the plate with her finger, hoping they would disappear. She would look at them carefully, squinting her eyes. 

Sometimes, she could imagine little eyes on them, staring back at her. And mouths too, with an evil smile. It was as though they knew how much they bothered her. 

She could almost hear the leader shouting to the rest of the group – “Hold your ground! Do not give in!” And just like that, all of them would stand at attention, their weapons ready. It was a battlefield! All those green, round monsters were on one side, daring her to fight back.

Now, if Sonu had to choose her own army, it would have been potatoes. Big, strong and tasty!

All in different shapes! Some long and thin, good for hitting the peas. Some large and chunky, good for sitting on the enemy and squashing them. And some would be mashed. They would surround the peas, stopping them from escaping. 

A great war would take place! Oh, what a fight! What a courageous fight! Both sides would put up a strong offense. But in the end, only the potatoes would survive! The green monsters, defeated, would disappear forever. Forever and ever. And never show up again! 

And th- Sonu jerked. She blinked. The battlefield was gone. She was back at the table. Her father was staring at her plate in disgust. 

The peas and potatoes were all over, crushed and smashed and mixed and forming a gooey paste. Sonu couldn’t help giggling at the sight. 

But just then, to her horror, her father took out more peas from the large bowl and put them on her plate. His look clearly said, “Eat”. And just like that, Sonu went back to staring at the little, round, green monsters.

The decision - (an analogy for CAA)

You're on a boat in the middle of the ocean. There are people around you in the water, struggling, drowning, looking for safety. Many try to come towards the boat.

What do you do?

Do you let them in?

The humanity in you says yes, save them all. The practicality in you says no, the boat isn't big enough for them all - it will capsize. And the rationality in you admits that you can't save them all, but can still try to save as many as possible.

I get it. It's not an easy decision, especially if the boat has your family members - it's a choice between saving yourself and your family while definitely letting many others drown, or letting them all in and possibly risk everyone drowning.

But I can't fathom how, in the midst of all that, you would let people of a certain religion in and not others. You would sit there on that boat, knowing you have let a whole bunch of people drown, only because they prayed in a way different from yours. Logic might have told you that you can only save a few, but it never said to do it on the basis of religion.

You say there are other boats around, doing the same. So why shouldn't you?

Because, in one of the proudest moments of our history, this country pledged to be better. To treat people equally, regardless of how others do it. To not discriminate on the basis of religion.

Yes, you have a decision to make. Not an easy one. People are drowning. You have a boat. Maybe you can't let everyone in. Maybe you need a way to figure out who gets on, and who doesn't.

But religion, cannot and should not, be the basis of that decision.