Sons of soil: narratives of secularism, nationhood and citizenship in contemporary India
At the outset I apologize for gender stereotypical title in the article: sons, which indicate patriarchal voice of male dominated Indian society. Let me begin this article with an apologia of defense of an Indian woman, which is me, who find an important narrative in the stories of these three males. I knew two of them very closely and another I think I never met in person. Two of them were celebrity while they were alive; another one became one when he achieved martyrdom. But as I weave their stories, these three set exemplary episodes through their lives in which they displayed empathy for poor and oppressed in their own way. These men were kind, empathizing and soft hearted something which is often associated with women. Calling them son is a deliberate attempt to highlight this useful paradox, much needed by our Indian or for that matter any society. These three men who crossed my life with their exceptional stories display examples of extraordinary courage to fight oppression in their manly ways which brings kindness, each of different shade.
The similarities and departure in these three stories force me to call these three as sons of soil, sons of mother India. This is the story of a historian, a soldier and a photojournalist: Prof Rizwan Qaiser, a noted historian a senior colleague at Jamia Millia Islamia whom we lost to COVID. Second is my brother Captain Davinder Singh, KC (P), a younger sibling the kind hearted benevolent being who joined Special Forces to lay down his life while fighting insurgents in Kashmir. Lastly, photojournalist Danish Siddiqui, I think I never met him, but his dying in action was so similar (even though he was not soldier) to losing my own brother that I was compelled to write this piece.
Another important thing, as I write this my mind goes back and forth in historical concepts of secularism and nationhood which these stories strengthen by challenging the current extreme religious ideology that overpowers the commoners. It also tells that how concepts are written in society constantly, as much we are alarmed with quoting or misquoting of the past, it is created by current narratives. As I see them influencing my life, I see them creating a path for many.
As the article is criss cross between these three, I pick up their noteworthy courage to empathise and contribute to narratives of nation. I talked a lot to the first two about country, society and unity but I can hear Danish what has been written about him. Though his father is my senior colleague, I have no courage to face him at this time. I have sketched him through news reports and whatever we kept on listening about him since the time he received Pulitzer prize and did us all proud. Jamia Millia Islamia, the place I work, has way of togetherness where we feel proud over each other’s achievements as our own.
Historian, friend and fierce speaker
I remember meeting Prof Rizwan Qaiser on one of my much delayed orientation programme in Jamia Millia Islamia. Our association began in 2015 much late after I joined the university nearly a decade back, but it lasted till his physical departure. But his presence in our lives and mine would continue for longer while. While I penned his obituary and I attended the prayer meetings, I realized more about his popularity and the issues he used to grapple with. All noted leaders and academicians associated with progressivism spoke about his intellectual zest, which was mystical and unsophisticated. He could reach out to many people and current implications of great historical facts. He would always pull out some new information to tell that our past has been rich and plural. We have lived an all encompassing life.
What came as a surprise to me while attending these meetings that he lost his parents in a communal clash (manisha sethi). This was even narrated by another colleague that in his JNU days he was found sleeping on bench (almost in hiding) in the hostel; on being asked he told this is what he do when this pain took over him. It also tells that trauma that our destiny gives, which is due to political social clashes, is a constant suffering. Less is done for it even for the willful acceptance. I cannot recall if Rizwan sir ever told me this, he was mindful of my loss. Now I feel it is likely he would have told me but his warmth never let me feel as a loss. He always boosted my moral for the reticence I displayed on my personal loss. I always found him very warm and must I say again roaring with life. In fact another colleague Sohaib told that he helped many students to give fees and even sign document after the due date to fill form. One of our students also narrated that Rizwan sir asked for his account number and added that he did not want him to feel that he is being helped. When the student denied for help, as he had no job and he needed to support his family, he was told that he can come anytime. This empathy and academic rigor made him stand out.
Soulful sibling and soldier
This section about my brother can be perhaps the longest, I never felt like writing about him in order to celebrate him in isolation. He was never like that, never wanted attention. I was there to grab it and he happily gave it to me. He always advised me to be calm, heard me endlessly and rather oriented me to accept my adventurous nature which was recognized by his sweet silence smile which was hidden before his ‘jimmy whiskers’ ( a title given to him by his fellow soldiers in the forces). I know how he smiled behind his dark haired foliage. I know exactly that it was little different when he came for the last, in his frozen being was so much life. People do not look dead when you have seen them growing in front of you. My mother innocently often said, why are not dead kept, who knows they can come back to life! This might be quite naïve thought but to me it just tells the difference between life and death is of fraction of second but the small space encompass sea of universe for individuals who wade through this.
His going away was like a flight of bird with a call that, ‘I am leaving!’. Several of his songs echoed in my ear which he made to hear me. Abide with me, wake me up when September comes and many more. We both just enjoyed the stupendous lull in these songs. I sometimes feel bad that I had to listen them alone, but I had rarely complained that after such lovely partnership during my childhood till my adulthood, I had to fend for myself to be understood. We had our ways to understand each other since we had a common umbilical cord.
Happening Hero
Three things attracted me about Danish like for my brother: audacity, exuberance and carefree. I was always praying for my brother that he should be safe, any news about Danish made me do the same. The fact he was Prof Siddiqui’s ( a colleague we all held in high esteem) son always added an extra attachment. I think all colleagues at Jamia displayed that identification. Alas! It was also evident when experienced the void he had left so suddenly. Ten years of his career, narratives of his classmates reveal a happening (hu)man with eventful thoughts and career. Most of the pictures that later on we saw I did not know it was his work. His classmate describes him so well.
The only thing that came to my heart when I heard of his demise was his father. Like my father he was alone in home to receive the news via media or a phone call. It is shattering to hear the news of your dear ones like this. I felt the same experience and prayed that he has visitors, though no one can fill that void. I have felt it for all these years. Prayers for safe arrival of his body was another thing and same what I felt for my brother. It also reminded me comment of my student who called me up, two months back, when she lost her father, that will this trauma make her cry later if she could not cry now. I consoled her at that time to pass through it but the fact is yes it does. It does not matter we cry or not. Mostly we remember our dear ones sometimes with awareness sometimes without awareness when someone else dies. Acceptance is a severely retarted response in humans, it matures but with lags.
In case of Danish awareness of acceptance was more like that of my brother. His paraphernalia was large, my brother had his brother in arms and Mr Siddiqui had fan following all over the world for his honest photographs which spoke truth to millions. No I never find him meant to earn money like the infamous case of Sharbat Gula of National Geographic frame. I could see he saw himself in those photos or in his words he wanted an audience to see himself or herself in his work. This statement is sharply honest and speaks millions for an artist, which is rare to be found. Yes Danish was an artist. A human is an artist to live through circumstances of their lives. Vulnerability of our existence was evident in the works, vulnerability that finally took him away to another level of existence.
Like my brother I felt he achieved what he wished to: a meaning out of an otherwise meaningless life but through proximity with death. Is it death which forces us to find the meaning. Departure of my brother always made me feel proud and lines of Sri Aurobindo echoed in my ears: Soldiers defeat death. Mr Siddiqui defeated death, his departure upholds traditions of unity in this country. For the trolls I only feel the fear to face truth has been on rise among the masses. We dodge reality, it is good to averse awful brawls but not truth. People like Danish and like my brother have a different starting line to start race of their lives. No wonder it takes an unbelievable different trajectory.
As he arrived for his final journey home on July 18, 2021, I was reminded of Feb 25, 2010 when a large convoy came to bid farewell to my brother. Masses want to catch the last glimpse, feel solidarity and find traces of this life and their last journey. Such is humanity engulfed in personal and familial bonds feel largeness with these Heroes.
These lives teach us real meaning of life and its paradoxes. I was moved by sheer contrast which is only probable but one has to live through memories with different level of awareness seeking the real. A society and nation is constructed by several shades of human life, unsung crusaders of daily life which Rizwan sir was and Danish empathized with. My brother left his desk job to live the life he wanted to. Only if we find a warrior in all of us fighting for common good and to uphold the truth. These stories are very important for us today and for future. It reminds that people do not look for life experiences in text books. While the recent uproar over text books is justified, but these pressing times tell us to be seekers of truth and live it. To me these and many more form part of my teaching and raising young minds.
Gendered identities are complicated for all of us. These are further complicated of national identity and that of, plurality of experiences and groups in a country. Instead of being stuck in binaries, it is important that we search for estuaries of our experiences. A nation is thus not in jingoism or binaries of communities or proving one’s identities with papers and more papers, a nation creates stories of its own.
Jai Hind Jai Bharat!