Every. Single. Word.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦-𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 “𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪-𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭”. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘦.
Indian Express, 4 July 2025
My childhood—and upbringing—was divided between an orthodox Muslim home, a Roman Catholic, and then a Jesuit Christian school. Each ethos gave me what it could, but I was never sold on any of them and I knew what I liked or disliked about each, my own included. For example, I thought it grossly unfair that everyone “except us” was doomed to perdition and I have never been able to get my head around that. As children, we went to Pushkar, to the magnificent Jain temple and, of course, the dargah where dreadlocked sadhus in saffron shared a chillum with green-robed Sufis; Sikh pilgrims and Hindu pilgrims abounded.
Namaaz in the Adhai Din Ka Jhonpda surrounded by Hindu sculptures I thought was the coolest idea. The great Shankar Shambhu sang the praises of “Khwaja ji” accompanied by qawwals from all over the sub-continent, and even by a Baul singer. I never thought of myself as a Muslim (ergo different) and nothing in my surroundings made me feel I didn’t belong, no matter where I was. This was my country and I miss it.
The gradually rising tide of jingoism, hatred and, of late, war fever here, cannot but have encouraged all “right” minded citizens to no longer bother disguising the bigotry that has been latent in them all along. At the same time, it has been cause for concern for those who worry about the direction in which our country seems to be headed. The touchiness of the offence-taking brigade has begun bordering on the absurd. Criticising the quality of Hindi movies makes you “ungrateful”, a plea for sanity and brotherhood makes you “a traitor”, a grouse that Indians don’t obey traffic lights makes you get advised on where you should go, speaking up for a fellow artiste is “speaking against the country”.
Anything that is remotely critical gets twisted to sound “anti-national”. The actor who plays the lead in the beloved TV serial 𝘈𝘯𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘢 tartly enquires whether Pakistan “allows Indian artistes to perform there?” without knowing that not only do they allow us, they welcome us and honour us. And then is everyone who listens to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan or Mehdi Hasan or Farida Khanum in India a traitor? Obviously, it’s only the Prime Minister who can go across the border to embrace his counterpart. For us ordinary mortals to do that is a sin. Is it in any way beneficial to us to hate every Pakistani citizen for what their government (read, army) does? Or, does it simply satisfy some feral urge?
In George Orwell’s book 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟒, there exists a daily ritual where everyone drops whatever they are doing and abuses an Opposition leader: It is compulsory to participate in this “two minutes of hate”. Despite it having now become 24 hours of hate, no longer confined to the leader of the Opposition, the palpable poison in the air does not cause me despair or fear. It saddens me. Hatred is self-destructive but evidently it can be sustained indefinitely if one is to go by the continuing actions of some “cow vigilantes”.
Besides, new hatreds can easily be created. I am an easy target for “nationalists” and paid trolls (who really could do with some help in spelling and grammar) because I feel no need to wear my love for anything, including my country, on my sleeve. I know what I feel, I trust my feelings and they are no one else’s business.
If this is taken to be a justification of my Facebook post (which has been taken down, not deleted by me) in support of Diljit Dosanjh, so be it. But the fact is I need to justify nothing. I said whatever I had to say and I stand by it. Nor am I discouraged by the lack of support from the film industry. I wasn’t expecting any — they all either have too much to lose or they disagree. And to the trolls, particularly the one who said to me “Pakistan nahin ab kabristaan”, I can only quote Jigar Moradabadi: “𝘔𝘶𝘫𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘻 𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘬𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘢𝘯, 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘫𝘭𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘯, / 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘩𝘪 𝘢𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘢𝘯, 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘩𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘢𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳 (Don’t threaten me in anger, let lightning strike a thousand time/ My nest is my domain, these four feathers all I own).”
