By Dr. Benedicta Sthuti Kumar
This evening, as I flowed along with the traffic on NEEPCO Road, I stopped right next to a street vendor and his stand of Independence Day merchandise. Flags bearing the tricolour stared down at me in multitude, and I surprised myself when I let out a deep sigh. I felt, what I can only describe as, conflicted.
I know how this symbol of my country is supposed to make me feel. I know how it has made me feel in the past. I have a vivid memory of being twelve and standing at attention in a neatly pressed brass band uniform, my snare drum strapped to my waist. It was a Republic Day assembly and the speaker quoted Nehru, “The children of today will make the India of tomorrow”. That was probably the first time I felt a sense of duty for something bigger than looking after my little brother. The speaker talked about the brain-drain and, looking at all of us, said, “Children of India, we need you.” My mind was made up. Before I could ever venture outside the borders of my motherland, I knew where I would always return. This flag and the country it represents were my responsibility, for better or for much worse.
A few years down the line, even while the rich sights of London, New York and Amsterdam were dancing temptingly before my eyes, I kept hearing it. “Children of India, we need you” like a clarion call straight from the lips of Mother India herself. No longer a child but newly graduated and raring to go, I came back ready to serve wherever I was needed.
It’s been six years now, and as I stared at the flags on the vendor’s stand, I didn’t try to fight the conflict. “Does India really need me?” “Can you help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves?” I allowed myself to ruminate. The rose-coloured glasses and castles in the air had long been smashed and thrown away. Any adult in India has their eyes wide open to our flawed governance that can simply move the goal posts to create “data-backed” claims that all Indians are thriving; our flawed political system that allows for the weaponisation of religion and the demonisation of minorities; our flawed justice system that checks a rapist’s parentage, pats them on the back and sends them on their way; our flawed health system that turns away women in labour for lack of an Aadhar card and on and on, the list of flaws drones. The conflict in me definitely includes frustration, and on some days, all-out rage.
Maybe, just maybe, this is what India needs from me – the rage! Maybe she’s demanding dissatisfaction over resignation. Maybe frustration will force me to work harder than patriotism can.
Let me not forget that rage on its own is a forest fire, dangerous and consuming all in its path whether good or bad. How do I wield it? How do I make it a hearth, an essential, bringing warmth and light to the coldest, darkest corners? I do this by tempering rage with reality.
The news reports and the injustices are real, but the reality few see is the people I meet in rural India. There is the eight-year-old girl in the Meghalayan village on the Bangladesh border who jumps out from behind a mud wall of her house to scare me and flashes the brightest smile. My guide tells me she can’t hear or speak. Then there is her mother who makes me drink at least three cups of, what has to be, the sweetest tea in the world, a gesture that means a lot more when I’m told that sugar doesn’t come cheap for the family. Of course, I must mention the Anganwadi worker who just spent her whole day walking around villages with me, translating and assisting, while her youngest was at home with a temperature of 103°F. Every person is a new story, a new sacrifice.
This is the India I know now. The clarion call is coming from them, the ones who don’t yet get a piece of the pie. Their faith in the future and their genuine kindness temper my frustration and make it usable. Conflict is a good thing. The conflict of rage and reality, of politics and people, of passion and compassion, is a dual motivation placed into my hands and yours. It is placed as a tool and we will use it to shape the India of tomorrow, just like Pandit Nehruji said we would.
(The author is a One Health Fellow at The Indian Institute of Public Health, Shillong.)