Inquilab (revolution) in times of suppression
Red. The colour of revolution. The colour of freedom. This is the colour I represent. This is the colour I believe in when freedom and revolution seem like hypothesises, in times of constraint. Five summers ago, the old me wanted to fly away to a different country, where opportunities are aplenty. She thought that this country was alien to change and development. Today, change in this country still feels distant, but I want to be a part of the revolution that is in the making. 7th grade, it was when I came across the words ‘Inquilab Zindabad’, with a picture of Bhagath Singh below. I was so inspired by his thoughts, that I topped my class in History, not because I loved the subject. It was because his thoughts were so rejuvenating amidst the greasy promises of the right. My tryst with the slogan did not stop there. Every time, I rebelled against the system, I said to myself ‘Inquilab Zindabad’. When we were forced to clench our teeth, our voices hushed, censored and washed away in the colonial past, we told ourselves ‘Inquilab Zindabad’.
Today, the conditions in Kashmir, the sedition laws in our country, the atrocities of AFSPA, the crimes against the minorities, the stories of political writers and thinkers being put behind bars makes me question everything around me. Everything feels like a hoax. Being born into a middle class family makes things worse, and being a rebel is unthinkable. Everyday is a struggle, sandwiched between not giving a thought about the country and wanting to question the system. It’s unfortunate that girls like me are never allowed to think and speak politically,because thinking politically is never in our culture of struggle for bread winning,especially for women. Sometimes, with a heavy heart, I say to myself that this is how the world functions in a capitalistic and hierarchical order, and you have to accept it.Sadly, Freedom feels like that dress in the showroom priced above my economic status, that I want to wear and feel.
Everyday, I’m fed with a dose of manufactured chaos, via people shouting at me through the television screen about what the nation wants to know, that it scares the living daylights out of me. Amidst the beef ban, the CBFC and their dingy brains, getting up in the theatres for the national anthem to prove my love for the country, the times when communal unrest is reduced to a petty fight by the powerful, when protests mean nothing in the end, the right wing and left wing ideologies tearing people apart, the concept of Love jihad and Islamophobia, I sit in a cozy corner of my room in a town named Coimbatore sipping chai and wonder, if freedom ever needs a struggle like this. Why should anyone protest, cry out loud and hold placards for their freedom. Why is that my friends never think of politics the same way I do. How is that the elite have the time to sip some wine and smirk to tell others, ‘ too much poverty, ain’t there?’. Sometimes, I find myself lost, lost in thoughts about justice and oppression, that parts of the real me fail to live life to the fullest. Ignorance is a bliss for sure, but for how long do I live in a parallel universe where everything seems fine with a pit in my stomach. As I write, I am reminded of the poem written by Martin Niemoller during the Nazi regime.
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.

This poem is significant even today. Freedom is powerful. Freedom is a responsibility. Freedom is in the counter voice, in dialogue and dissent. If questioning the government or the system makes me an anti-national, so be it. I’m an anti-national who shall never clench her teeth and live life in fear under suppression. I’m an anti-national who fears none, to question and dissent. I’m an anti-national, radical and rebellious. In times of suppression, the rebellion shall scream ‘ Inquilab Zindabad’. Put us behind bars, torture and break our bodies, label and abuse us, but you shall never break our spirits because we take pride in our fight, a fight for our rights as we shout ‘Lal Salaam, Lal Salaam’ ( long live revolution, long live revolution).
This post is dedicated to Umar khalid and Shehla Rashid Shora for inspiring and influencing my political perspectives.
