Matters Of The Heart

As we watched the visuals of Kashi Vishwanath Dham unfold before us - unimaginable only seven years ago - millions of Hindus in this vast country had to deal with emotions with their chest prised open. 

Joy, that Kashi, has risen once again as a symbol of our unity which we are constantly told we don’t possess. 

Endurance, that every time it was destroyed, we rebuilt it. 

Somewhere, somehow over the ages remarkable Queens, Maharajas and Rajas understood the civilisational significance of Kashi and put their all to restore this immortal city.

Unspoken sadness, at what our ancestors must have borne to see a masthead of their faith humiliated and destroyed repeatedly… the memory of which, perhaps carried through generations. 

Anger, that hiding behind weak excuses, we allowed our Kashi to be reduced to a derelict, dirty, labyrinth.

And finally hope. 

Hope, that this is just the beginning of a resurrection and renewal which will reclaim traditions, knowledge, and glory.

One has only to speak to the ordinary Indian to understand deep faith, belief and confidence so lacking in his ‘arrived’ compatriot who, as I wrote in a previous blog-

“Having spent a large part of the last two centuries, working hard to please new masters by distancing themselves from this vast land and its unwashed masses, they stood apart in identity, culture and language.

However, in the steadfast belief that once the invaders and colonisers departed it was their birthright alone, to rule or at least have the ear of the ruler.”

“Imagine that moment when you are more Sahib, than the Gora Sahib with generations having greased that path and a man with none of the markers that you seek, but with an astounding endorsement takes over to lead the world’s largest democracy.

Definitely not to the manor born but comfortable in his own skin -

never having been apologetic for who he was or is.”

So how do these Coolies and their Leftist, Islamists sidekicks fight this newfound self-realisation in a large section of our society? How do they put it down? 

They have, time and again shown themselves to be unprepared for this scenario with their half-baked understanding of their own people, culture and an embarrassing nowhere-ness. 

Never having imagined in their wildest nightmares that the man on the street who they had kept defeated and beaten with the business of life, deviously divided by caste and region, brainwashed with whitewashed history would actually have ideas of his own. 

----x----x----

As we saw for ourselves, only a few days ago, when from every corner of this vast country, India came out to grieve unabashedly and pay her respects to military men who had lost their lives in a tragic helicopter crash.

It seems deep emotions lie just below the surface and only have to be tapped to surge and burst forth, to the surprise of those who don't have a feel of the Nation's pulse.

It was in the aftermath of Pulwama when I realised the enduring connection of ordinary Indians to our Armed and Security Forces. 

Who would have thought in one little workshop in Delhi at least two people were directly affected by that terror attack in far off Kashmir?

Now amplify this more than a million times over and only then can one begin to understand how every home and hearth that offers its beloved son, husband, brother, father and now even daughters are touched by anything and everything that concerns our Forces. 

Every victory, snub, every tragedy, homecoming, proudly walking or draped in a flag carried by pallbearers, ties this humongous family together. 

Not going as far back as 1971 when the political leadership wasted a defining victory and the blood of Indian soldiers on the negotiating table thereby condemning Kashmir to a killing field for soldiers, generation after generation in a kinship of grief.

But more recently in 2008 when the government of the day by not giving a Field Marshal due respect on his demise insulted a million soldiers with him. Just because the newspapers glossed it over don’t underestimate the collective grief of a million grandmothers who bore witness to the affront meted to their Sam Bahadur.

The chavvani-polticos who never stood up for anything but loot, declared soldiers were paid to die or worse the one who called a COAS of the Indian Army, a goonda were noted and remembered by parents who live with the dread that their sons defend this country with their hands tied behind and will be fed to the wolves after every stone-pelting incident or terror attack. 

It was thus but natural that they came out on the streets to mourn the tragic demise of their own and a Chief of Defence Staff who publicly and openly stood up for theirs.

The outpouring of grief and respect was organic, dredged up from deep, unspoken recesses of the heart. Because if there is one institution that binds us together as a country, from the remotest corners to the cities, and that has rarely let us down, is the uniform.

As simple as that, no matter what gibberish intellectualises it. 

Unfortunately, the ones with a platform and a voice are clueless when it comes to the aspirations and dreams of their countrymen or what gives them joy or breaks their heart.  They have little understanding of India, it’s people and judge everything through jaundiced eyes and cocooned lives. 

This week has taught us that a billion voices can boom and reverberate in every corner of this planet, fearlessly and unapologetically.

More important, we are learning to feel comfortable in our own skin, without waiting for others to signal approval.

So do stop asking -

What has X to say on this?

Why is Y silent?

Why has Z buried the story?

Does it matter?

Yes, demolish their drivel with facts.

Mock their embarrassing understanding. 

But seek their opinion? No way.

And please don’t tag the same twelve fools. 

Why on earth would we hand over the keys to those who don’t know the way when we can see the path ahead as clear as crystal?

Har Har Mahadev! Veer Vanakkam!

~Reality does not go away when ignored ~ Thomas Sowell