"This Too Shall Pass", I Won't Say

 They say, Delhi rises from its own ashes, like the legendary Phoenix-- probably a statement with some semblance of historicity. This imagery is often conveniently used to refer to how the city was destroyed and ravaged numerous times in the past, and how it showed immense resilience in rebuilding itself and regaining its lost self. But I ask, what about the people? What about the lives destroyed, shattered and forced to rehabilitate again and again?

There is not an iota of doubt that these experiences of the peoples of Delhi have been disruptive and transformative, not to mention, prolonged and painful. The present devastation of Delhi, my beloved city, is unlike its historical precedents. Indeed, the situation seems to have acquired warlike emergency and the piling bodies of dead brings to mind at once the victims of war. All of this makes me believe that probably it's true that we have come to view the limits of the anthropocene. What about those who didn't die? Those who were left behind to mourn the dead and yet, having to be mentally and physically alert enough to be battling the deadly pandemic. What about those who are charged with curing diseases, healing lives, bringing relief? Or those who engage with the dead at their last moment of earthly existence--the cremation workers. I ask, what about us, who are sitting far away from our beloved city, reading about the ravages and yet, feeling utterly helpless and almost fettered.

Through all these days, as Delhi, like many other cities, has been struggling with the worst of calamities, going through the worst of times, I got to read about hundreds of newspaper articles and special covers on Delhi's peoples. The peoples make the city. These are stories of peoples who reached out to one another in times of need, without caring about one's own life. There were volunteers and self-help groups investing all their energy in arranging for oxygen cylinders, masks and beds for the affected and the needy. The city ran short of the precious live-giving gas, and looked forward to these peoples who would lend an helping hand. Assuring the one's in distress is probably the greatest act of charity. I have seen students, teachers, children, adults, young and old--reaching out to those in need. Serving cooked food, offering mental solace and checking in on mental health, collecting and organizing donation drives and funds--every little act of their kindness helped breathe life into the city. Its people stood beside one another in rage, sorrow, passion, anger, joy and anticipation.

The university that I was formerly a part of,
has its own closely knit group of students, teachers, staff persons and alumni. I got to learn about so many of the teachers, students and staff persons who lost the battle to COVID. My heart sank. I saw students and teachers speak against the thoughtless dictates of the university. It becomes immensely difficult to bring oneself together and get to focus on academic or some other professional work when so many others around you are dying every other moment, crying for help.

Among the many volunteer efforts that I have come across all these days, I might write a line or two about Pinjra Tod. Our college authorities always had an uneasy relation, and quite a reactionary approach, towards this organization of women's rights movement. Obviously, I couldn't expect more from a strongly patriarchal and exclusionary administration. However, many of my classmates had been and are still active members of this organization and over a period of time, I have keenly observed their struggle and aspirations. Their struggles have meant much in shaping the way Delhi, or at least a part of it, looked at gender relations and structures of oppression in the contemporary times. Their protests were mostly staged at the very heart of the city (not necessarily geographically), aiming to transform and pull down the structures of patriarchy that held women captive. Pinjra Tod become a major force in organizing the students and women-led anti-CAA/NRC protests in 2020. They have been instrumental in helping rebuild the innumerable lives and households ravaged in the North-East Delhi riots of February 2020. They have worked tirelessly in helping migrant workers secure relief and now, in arranging for the basic necessities for the needy, amidst the pandemic. In other words, Pinjra Tod has always been there when Delhi needed it the most.

The death of Mahavir Narwal is an irrecoverable lost for the Pinjra Tod community. Much ink has been spilt about this man and what all he meant for the women's rights movement in Delhi, and in India. I have never seen him in person, nor have I met Natasha, his valiant daughter. But their stories and struggles have proved beyond doubt how much they loved and cared for the city and its future. They exhibit the true spirit of the Dehlavi.

And while all this happened, what was I doing? What could I do? I couldn't help my friends at the time they most needed. I didn't call them up, or even check up on them. No comforting words came from me. I couldn't help them seek verified leads for essential help. I couldn't join them in times of mourning. But I only observed all that happened. All that the city and her people went through. And I thought about it. Perhaps the city never failed to rise from its own ashes because her people never failed in reaching out to one another. Perhaps it's not as much of the Phoenix as of the selfless love and voluntary zeal of her people that got Delhi back to its feet.

I believe and I pray Delhi and her people heal and stay strong through these times. This too shall pass, I won't say. I know the process is painful and disruptive. I would rather pray Delhi and her people stay together, beside one another, in happiness and sorrow, in joy and rage, in pain and anticipation, healing and getting well together.