What do you say? - Part 2

Several years ago, I had written about how uncomfortable I get with having offer condolences to people who have lost someone. My point back then was that me telling someone how sorry I am for their loss is invariably about me, not them.

My grandmother died four days ago. We had known this was coming, we're all so relieved her suffering is at an end, and we're all grieving. And in the midst of Lockdown 4.0, we're grieving from a distance, since we can't travel to Kolkata to participate in the rituals that come with the death of a loved one.

All week, my mother has been on the phone - informing relatives, talking to her brother and sister-in-law about what rituals we have to carry out, and receiving condolences from sundry friends and family. And invariably, as I hear her have these conversations, it seems to me like she ends up consoling the other person more than the other way around.

It's easier for me - my friends all know me well enough not to call. I texted some friends about the news, and they all texted back, asking me to call or tell them if I feel like talking. I haven't, because I don't know what to say, and they get that. But my mother, who is much nicer than me, picks up the phone, or returns calls that she hasn't been able to pick up, and talks to each and every person who wants to tell her how sorry they are for her loss. 

And I don't know how she does it.

Where I wonder about symbols

It's been a very difficult few months, with everything going on in India. Of the nine years since I've moved away, the distance has never felt greater than it has since December. I've started and stopped writing a number of rambling posts since then, and even the ones I've completed are still sitting in my drafts, because it hasn't felt right to publish them. But I overheard a conversation yesterday that intrigued me, and prompted this set of ramblings.

The first anti-CAA protest I went to was on a freezing morning last December, in front of the Indian Embassy. It had been organized pretty much overnight, in response to the early violence that had taken place in Jamia Milia. Maybe 20-30 people had shown up, heard a few speeches, chanted a few chants, and rolled our eyes at the embassy officials peering at us through the curtains. One of the moments that has stayed with me from that cold (very cold, and I'd forgotten my gloves) was a gentleman who was wearing a black overcoat and a saffron scarf, who spoke of reclaiming the saffron - why should this colour become associated with a movement so filled with hate and bigotry? It's a colour with beauty, with meaning far more than what it has become now, and so he was reclaiming it.

I was back at the same spot yesterday evening for another protest; fifty or so people had shown up this time. This time, as it happened, I was wearing a saffron-ish scarf, which I realised much later. But there was a conversation that took place that I overheard, and wanted to think through.

The protest was pretty much over, but most people were still there, and the crowd was trying* to sing Hum kaagaz nahi dikayenge and Hum honge kamyaab. Then someone suggested singing the national anthem. And there was immediate push back - if you sing the national anthem in front of the embassy, it'll seem like we're singing in praise of the government. And the same gentleman from last time asked why that should matter. Why should we, as Indians, give up singing a song that means something to us, because it's been turned into a symbol by those who stand for hate?

One of the most traumatic videos from the past week - and there have been so many - is the one of a group of boys, beaten, bleeding, being forced to sing the national anthem. By cops. One of them has now died I believe. Unsurprisingly, there has been no action taken against the cops who did this.

I still stand for the Indian national anthem when I hear it. I stand if I'm in a crowd, in a movie theater**, or if I'm alone in my living room watching a cricket match or the Republic Day parade. One of the most beautiful sounds in the world is 52 seconds*** of listening to a full stadium sing the anthem.

And just because the notions of what counts for nationalism and anti-nationalism no longer has anything to do with patriotism or actual love for your country shouldn't mean we give up singing this song that still means a lot to many of us.

A lot of us who have spent the last several months alternating between rage and despair are in those states because of our love for India, and because of what people are doing to India in the name of nationalism. And it's a pity when we have to stop and think about whether singing the national anthem, or showing any symbol of love or pride for our country, our religion, our culture, feels wrong because of what they've been turned into by those we're opposed to.

I don't know how the conversation yesterday ended, because I left soon after. But I hope they ended up singing the national anthem.




*I say trying because tbh you guys, these weren't the best renditions I've heard. Points to us for trying though?

**I stand, but I do absolutely think forcing people to stand for the anthem before a movie, especially when they're navigating holding popcorn and drinks is one of the stupidest ideas in the world.

***I also just remembered that I ranted 13 years ago about how they created a much longer version of the anthem and I did not like it at all. I stand by my position.