Something about 5th January night’s state sponsored attack on students and professors in JNU hostels left me completely shaken up. Because I felt a lot of things, for the first time.
For the first time, sitting in my home in Mumbai, I felt unsafe. When I saw videos of a mob with weapons marching brashly at night in private living spaces called hostel rooms and corridors, I felt a chill run down my spine. I realized it wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone banging the door of my home any time in the coming years. I never felt so unsafe even in my solo travels across the remotest corners of the country.
For the first time, I saw a glimpse of how a riot is planned and executed. Faceless well-organized masked men and women with lathis, hammers, and iron rods, attacking students and professors leaving some bleeding from the head, while the police stands outside campus gates allowing them to attempt the murders with clinical precision. I was instantly transported back in time to 2002 when I was that young girl sitting in Lady Shri Ram College’s library, flipping through the newspaper with terrifying images. I remember them so graphically, as if they happened yesterday. For the first time I felt what it means to be fearful of the very people responsible for my safety.
For the first time, I realized that all this while, it was never about whether a citizen was pro- or anti- or neutral to CAA or NRC. The resentment was actually against the common man’s ability to think, the ability to use their tongue to speak, and god forbid, their audacity to differ.
For the first time, I felt that the pages of the Constitution of India that I studied with glowing pride during my law college days, every word of the Preamble I adored, each time I felt wowed by the Drafting Committee for its rich ideals and ethos, was being burnt to ashes, article by article, clause by clause, page by page.
For the first time, as the daughter of an army officer with strong sanskars to be a selfless member of the society and deeply respectful of elected institutions, I felt each ounce of my DNA revolt as the core of my upbringing, my idea of India, my love for its spirit, was beaten and wounded last night, with shameless impunity.
For the first time, I sensed that if I didn’t raise my voice now, the blood of those students and professors will be on me. Because for the first time, I understood, whatever the consequences of speaking up be, bearing lacerations on my body is way less painless than bearing lacerations on my soul due to continuing neutrality or turning a blind eye.
An Indian woman jolted, and wide awake.
Anusha Singh is a lawyer turned corporate communications consultant and nonfiction writer. Lady Shri Ram College Alumna and LL.M. Gold Medalist from Faculty of Law, Delhi University, her writing on gender and life’s nuances appears in leading dailies and platforms including ‘Hindustan Times,’ ‘The Hindu,’ and Jaipur Literature Festival. She is a columnist with ‘Thrive Global India,’ senior writer with ‘Women’s Web,’ and independent writer and consultant for cross-functional initiatives in companies such as the legal services firm ‘Vahura.’ She also moderates panel discussions and emcees events that inspire social change. www.anushasingh.in
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