For several weeks now, the concept of putting words out there in the hope that someone, somewhere, may find a gem of commonality that will bind total strangers, has become more and more distant. From the numerous blogs emanating from South Asia, it seems to me that more have found platforms for fear-mongering and gossip than any semblance of debate. The recent Mumbai Shootout has driven scores of Indian bloggers to their keypads, feverishly bludgeoning the fragile peace in the region, as they point fingers squarely at their neighbors (a polite euphemism for Pakistan). The aftermath of the last few days has the world tensely waiting for the backlash on Indian Muslims that is sure to emerge over the next few weeks.
Notwithstanding the conflicting reports coming from official channels, by now the Indian people are well-trained to detect the words “Pakistani” and “Muslim” (even though one report clearly states that an intelligence official was puzzled by the sacred thread tied around one of the gunmen’s wrists – normally something a stoic Hindu would be wearing. Muslims have no such sacred ornaments) amidst the noise, and it’s unlikely any of them will wait for corroboration or proof of either. We’re in for a lot of fires this Eid. The thing is, this could be avoided.
I have always felt that words, once released, have a life of their own. They collide with the atmosphere and explode, mutate into something else entirely, as they absorb other words, ideas and sounds. They reach multiple destinations, most of them unintended, and cause untold harm, or good, depending on what they are. Having understood this, the words we choose and the order we release them in becomes incredibly important. No one understands this better than a population of 6 million people who, using the simplest of words and pictures, have ruled over a population of 6 billion people bowing under their collective guilt for more than half a century. Indians have been quick to pick up on this talent, and have spent decades cultivating it themselves. Witness the world’s total lack of interest in the multiple human rights violations against Kashmiris, or the numerous insurgencies within India, or their atrocious rites and rituals that burn human beings alive, and force women into slavery. In stark contrast is the Western world’s obsession with rights’ abuses in China and Muslim countries, which are often subjected to microscopic scrutiny.
The venom spewed upon Muslim countries by bloggers, more on Pakistan now, is vividly expressed – but while their words are nauseating, their numbers don’t bother me. They may be in the thousands, but their ignorance shines through as they securely align themselves with the sheep, the Greek chorus, the nameless, faceless masses that walk on the line already drawn, the path clearly marked.
What does bother me, however, is our response.
I expected the weak-kneed drivel that came from the nation’s politicians. Their subservience is linked directly to a fairly large begging bowl that is attached to their intestines. They can’t afford to antagonize anyone lest the bowl fall empty at their hungriest moments, so they bow a little lower than normal, and lick foreign boots whenever the chance presents itself. Good for them. They’ve adjusted to their status in life, and take solace from the crumbs of self-created importance.
On the other hand, there is a segment of Pakistanis who don’t believe in begging, and who have a measure of pride in themselves. And there is a large segment of Pakistanis who care less what politicians are in power, or what games the world is playing with them – they work hard, they feed and clothe themselves, and continue a daily struggle for contentment. These men and women comprise a majority in this nation, and it is to them that I have one appeal: Stop loving India.
If nothing else, these last few days have clearly defined the blast of contempt that comes from our eastern borders. This isn’t a Victorian parlor, and India is not going to send us an engraved card asking us to desist in our support for terrorists across the border, imagined or not. The possibility of violence is very, very, real, and yet, across this nation, we pay homage to Indian music, Indian TV, Indian stars and films and clothes and cultures. Across this nation, children believe that the correct term for family in urdu is ‘pariwar’, for father is ‘pita’; their walls are plastered with various Khans, none of them Pakistani, and their favorite tunes may have originated from Pakistani talent, but our children recognize them only as Indian; our industries are blindly patterned on ‘what has worked in India’ and our TV industry has just spun 180 degrees from being original and intelligent, to being baseless and superfluous.
Two cable operators that I know of, fill their line-up of 80-odd channels with Star Plus, the Zee Network, the Sony Network, myriad Indian music and film channels in addition to countless in-house channels that play Indian movies without break – movies in which Pakistanis and Muslims are always the villains and Hindus are always the saviors. Already burdened with a century-old gora complex, this nation without an identity has supplemented a crippling load with the ‘Indian complex’ – we have begun to believe their propaganda. While India flourishes in the comity of nations as a modern, independent, thriving democracy, our greatest resource, our people, stare mindlessly at the idiot box and slowly absorb India’s new truth – Pakistan is a nation of terrorists and beggars.
When we stop believing their fantasy, its possible we will actually be able to create our own. Stop loving them. We need to wake up, now.