A few days after “the hanging” (no need to explain which one), when passions were riding high and Mumbai was busy decoding the mixed signals on the street, I participated in Barkha Dutt’s popular show We The People. I did so with a great deal of reluctance and many reservations. Generally, these sort of broad based discussions go nowhere and generate more noise than anything else. But this was about Mumbai. Or, was meant to be. And I was still pretty shell shocked. That should have been a warning to stay away.
It isn’t advisable to share views on a public platform when one’s own state of mind is fragile. But I did. And no regrets. Because what I heard from the folks in the audience was of far greater importance than all the hot air we panellists produced, to say nothing of the uncivilised and uncouth behaviour of one or two participants. The same old clichés were trotted out. A shrill lady screamed, “Terrorism has no religion... no caste...” Another aggressive rabble-rouser screamed right back at her. For a while, mayhem ruled. All the while, the people in the audience displayed exemplary behaviour and kept their cool.
Studio audiences can make or break a show. And this is where the resourcefulness of the research team makes such a big difference. While panellists indulged in a verbal slugfest and tried to outscore one another politically, the studio audience displayed far better manners and waited patiently to be heard. But when it was their turn to speak — nothing else counted. These Mumbaikars had suffered directly... lost sons, taken bullets, barely survived. And their stories were so deeply moving that it was hard to hold back tears.
A father had come carrying the school tie of a 13-year-old son who was killed when the bus he was travelling in was blown up during the 1993 blasts. Another father graphically recounted the tragedy of watching his 17 year old son being dragged out of their home by cops and shot in the ribs while his mother watched helplessly from a higher floor. The mother, who was seated next to her husband in the studio, was incoherent with grief as she heard the sad narration of that ghastly day in 1992 when communal riots flared up across Mumbai and over 900 people lost their lives.
Then came the turn of a man with sad, sad eyes whose story made my skin crawl. He was shot at by a policeman while he offered namaz in a local mosque. After spending days in a lock up, followed by some more days in a public hospital, it’s a wonder he’s still alive, given that he had taken a bullet. When he spoke, slowly and with deliberation, there was no anger, no bitterness in his voice. He spoke in sorrow. But ended on an uplifting note when he paid Mumbai a fantastic tribute. He said Mumbai was the kind of city that picked up a person who had fallen down and made him/her stand again. Nobody walks away... nobody asks the religion of that person... that is Mumbai’s greatness. Bravo! I want that Mumbai to be recognised and applauded. His words were about Mumbai’s insaniyat. Mumbai still has it.
I would like to believe his version of Mumbai. Because, deep down in my heart, I know what he is saying is true. There have been systematic attempts to strip Mumbai of its insaniyat by people who stand to gain from a divided, polarised metropolis. Yes, there is complicity and a nasty cover-up. Politicians have worked hand-in-glove with anti-social elements, hardcore gangsters and a few rotten eggs in the police force, to cause havoc in Mumbai. The rift is visible. The rift is ugly. The rift is dangerous.
The average Mumbaikar does not want to be a part of this lethal conspiracy. But feels helpless. People get tossed around in this artificially generated war... people lose their lives... lose loved ones. What crime have they committed? It seems so grossly unfair. Despite that, they hold very little resentment in their hearts, even against the very forces that directly cause harm. They prefer to focus on the inherent goodness they find in fellow Mumbaikars — the deeply entrenched insaniyat that keeps the city from going up in flames each time trouble-makers try to incite the mobs.
How does one communicate the simple philosophy of insaniyat to young Mumbaikars, to Young India? We have incredibly talented people working in the field of mass communication. Some of the public service ads on television are superbly visualised and powerfully scripted. Government agencies can easily tap into this talent pool and take the message of humaneness forward. This is our only hope at a time when emotions are running high, and the smallest trigger can unleash the worst form of violence against innocents.
I keep going back to that wise man’s gentle voice and profound words. He has understood something far deeper about survival than most of us — the truth of life is not all that difficult to grasp if you accept that our redemption lies in simply reaching out and helping one another.
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