On August 16 last year, a friend visited me in Delhi. He was touring the national capital for the first time and was excited. “Let us go to India Gate and Jantar Mantar. Delhi has got a vibe,” he ended with a millennial phrase.
We both belong to a generation that had grown up obsessively patriotic watching films such as Border and Rang De Basanti . Singing the national anthem was routine in the school assembly every day, and we stood with our heads held high. Independence Day and Republic Day parades instilled in us patriotism, so much so that we longed to grow up and be of use to the nation.
But in the rat race to get into a good course and college, we became ignorant of the happenings in the country. When we became eligible for voting, we had no idea what the political scenario was and who to vote for. Nor did we feel the responsibility that came with the right to vote, for which millions had fought for hundreds of years. Our ignorance of the political scene did not, however, stop us from voting.
Two years later, I was fortunate enough to realise the mistake and feel the responsibility bestowed on us by the right to vote when I stumbled upon Orwell’s 1984 in a book store. I read it in a day. A part of me died that day, and a new seed of consciousness was sown. It was like coming out of a veil of darkness.
I gave the book to my friend. After he read it, we discussed the nexus between religion and politics, what constitutes a “nation”, growing polarity between majority and minority communities, and the saffron- and green-themed debates on television news channels. We were two young men trying to clear the vagueness now that we were out of the darkness. “We will have to read more and articulate better,” was the conclusion reached by midnight. Read more and articulate better!
We slept, dreaming of driving on the Raj Path and saluting the India Gate as DJ (Aamir Khan) and friends did in Rang De Basanti . The next day, we went to the India Gate and saw the government buildings around. The sky was cloudy all day, and while roaming on the streets, our conversation still maintained the patriotic-political character. “Religion in politics is a problem that our fathers gave us. If we give it to our sons, it will be our fault,” my friend’s comment has stayed with me ever since.
One might think that dreams are not what politics is made of, but who knows maybe that is the problem. Anyhow, it would be abnormal for me in my early twenties not to be a dreamer. A song that another friend of mine loves comes to my mind, “You may say I am a dreamer/But I’m not the only one.”
veer.raj.veer0700@gmail.com
