The Selfie vs The Selfless

On a recent trip to Amritsar, I had the opportunity to visit the ill-fated site of Jallianwala Bagh- a piece of land that played hapless venue to the massacre of over a 1000 Indians who had convened there to deliberate over the repercussions of the Rowlatt Act and other atrocities levelled by the British Government to ensure subjugation of its Indian subjects. A quick brush up with history lessons taught in school would remind you that the Jallianwala Bagh episode till date is considered as one of the most cruel demonstrations of the inhuman depths that the British rule made permissible in India.

Bear with me as I reel back to that day and age. In the wake of World War I, much of India’s wealth and manpower had been exhausted to aid the British armoury. Unjustified taxation and the insolent curbing of civil and political liberties had meant that protests and unrest across India were intensifying. Particularly in Punjab and Bengal, a series of acts of non-co-operation and disobedience had begun, giving steam to the emerging class of freedom fighters who were willing to lay down their lives to unshackle their motherland from the stifling grip of the British empire. The perceptive Britishers were constantly wary of the emotional upheaval that aimed to turn ordinary Indians in to violent and non-compliant demonstrators of protest. In order to nip a brewing conspiracy to catch the British guard unaware and begin a trend of revolt across the country in the bud, public gatherings were banned in the holy city of Amristar, fearing aggressive mob behaviour in the aftermath of the arrest of Indian leaders who had the power to sway public opinion towards rebellion. The estimated figure of people who had irrespective of such a curfew or ignorant about it assembled at the Bagh, is believed to be between 15000-20000. This included people who had come together to celebrate Baisakhi, devotees from the neighbouring Golden Temple and those who wished to silently understand the reasons for the British Government’s rising intolerance for its colonised population. It was a mixed crowd with Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs in good measure. Giving vent to rage against the commencement of this meeting despite the recent ruling out of public gatherings, and in remonstration to the violent attack on an English missionary woman, Miss Marcella Sherwood by an angry mob in the city, an instigated Colonel Reginald Dywer decided to open fire on the crowd present at the Bagh on April 13, 1919. The unfortunate targets of this massacre were unarmed men, women and children who had no clue what was on Col. Dywer’s mind and fell prey to the 1650 rounds of firing by 90 Gorkha soldiers under his command. Armoured cars with machine guns were also part of Dywer’s artillery, unused as he later revealed, due to the narrow size of the entrance to the Bagh, which prevented such an attack. The Bagh is further enclosed by walls that are over 10 feet high on all sides, and has one narrow opening that served as both entry and exit to the congregation area. The wounded were no freedom fighters or rebels- they were commoners including farmers, businessmen and pilgrims. Dywer’s gruesome act of force, was condemned by a sizeable number of Britishers themselves including Secretary of State for War Winston Churchill who called it ‘monstrous’ and led to the subsequent retiring of the Colonel in question. This was not before ample evidence was gathered as to the said act of violence and Dywer’s self-acclaimed will to teach the Indians a lesson for daring to protest against his country.

The Jallianwala Bagh massacre is an important chapter in history because it caused a significant stir in the general mood of both the ruler and the ruled and continues to resonate in our perspective on unchecked violence that we have imbibed from it till date. It was an incident that shook Indians to their very core, irrespective of class or region.  Validating this point was the great literary figure Rabindranath Tagore who was bound by his sense of  nationality and spirit of patriotism to renounce his title of ‘Sir’ and who was compelled to write to the then Viceroy Lord Chelmsford saying, “The enormity of the measures taken by the Government in the Punjab for quelling some local disturbances has, with a rude shock, revealed to our minds the helplessness of our position as British subjects in India ... [T]he very least that I can do for my country is to take all consequences upon myself in giving voice to the protest of the millions of my countrymen, surprised into a dumb anguish of terror. The time has come when badges of honour make our shame glaring in the incongruous context of humiliation.” Closer to the present date, Queen Elizabeth II in 1997, made a visit to the Bagh to acknowledge the severity of the memory of that fateful day, calling it a ‘distressing example’ of a ‘difficult episode of our past.’ David Cameron, the then ruling UK Prime Minister on his visit in 2013 in turn addressed the massacre as ‘deeply shameful’ and a constant reiteration of why we must respect peaceful protests, universally.

The Bagh is also host to a well from which were recovered 120 bodies of those victims who threw themselves in to avoid the open firing. A peek in to the now preserved well will tell you that just looking inside its plunging depths is dizzying, leave alone the temptation of jumping into it. So why did so many unerring, probably even religious, God-fearing and responsible citizens have to sacrifice their lives and turn martyrs for their country? If the same situation were to exist today, would we react in the same way as them, only apart from us by a couple of centuries? At this said visit of mine, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the deep chasm that was now left between that and our current generation. We might have come a long way from the British rule and our freedom struggle and as thriving youngsters of a progressive independent India, we feel pride at having moved in the right direction. It still however deeply troubles me to think the ease of life the sacrifices of the past have bestowed upon our present. Reliving this experience sent up shivers down my spine. Retelling it leaves me with pangs of sorrow, for the terrible losses suffered on the count of a seemingly apathetic foreign rule which did much to instill regimented discipline, developed infrastructure and stringent administration but also ensured constant strife, dissatisfaction and deprivation.

The steady sense of entitlement we feel towards our freedom is appalling. The nonchalance we bear towards our glorious past that earned us global recognition as a country united amidst all odds and that was able to form a democratic government in a backdrop of partition and regional disharmony is baffling. Would we as a population be able to rise up to the occasion if faced with military opposition, nuclear war, political machinations that lead to civil unrest or natural disasters of cataclysmic proportions? The ordinary middle class man and woman today are caught up in a daily mechanical grind that necessitates a personal battle- one fought against society, community, class, religion, the digital revolution, technological invasion, insurmountable domestic and professional responsibilities, caught in a never-ending race against time. We all wish to live in our glass bubbles- be it the channel surfing homemaker, the errant teenager who refuses to walk the career path oft-trod, the struggling entrepreneur who has just tasted success in his first start-up, the time-crunched corporate executive who wants to scale up that ladder at a fast and furious pace, the wife turned mother in a nuclear family who is walking the thin line to achieve the perfect work-life balance, the retired grandfather who wishes to visit his future generations abroad on a yearly visit....do we have the time or mindspace to wean ourselves out of our comfort zone and think how it would be to give up our dreams, wishes, goals and lives for the single-minded purpose of defending our country and its sovereignty?

May be I am just getting whimsical, seduced by the travails of nostalgia and overwhelmed by the stories of our past. May be I am just an emotional fool getting batty as I get old. It is however important for me to know if I have that much will-power and resolve to go out there and give up everything just like that. We may not have those freedom fighters anymore but we do have lion-hearted men and women standing to protect all that we guard in the name of our country- its borders, its identity and its rule. Our soldiers in the army, navy and airforce are doing just that and while it is a choice they make to enter these frontiers and are compensated for the same, they still have a life very few of us can envision, let alone live it!

So when I treaded down the Attari-Wagah border that links and at the same time, divides India and Pakistan, two nations forever caught in the cross-fire of communal tension and political disparity, I was at once humbled by the sheer determination and valour of the Border Security Force to man the first line of guard. I have always been in awe of our line of defence- whether it is watching the Republic Day parade to see the new innovations and additions in our defence forces, the technological and human dexterity of our armed guards, the unhindered zeal and pride they take in sacrificing everything they own including their lives in the line of duty...it is all immensely inspiring and incredible. My father has a lot of friends in the Indian Navy and having lived in Mumbai for most of our lives, he was a regular guest at the US Club, the Navy Ball and enjoyed free use of the Naval swimming Club thanks to his ‘influential’ friends. In fact that is where I remember getting in to a pool for the first time to be trained by a rather rough and tough retired septuagenarian naval officer turned coach. One of my dad’s friends took us inside his submarine, he was a high ranking naval official who regularly took off on several naval sojourns to guard the Indian shores. The sheer magnanimity of his task, the girth of what lies beneath inside the belly of the black monstrosity, the eagerness with which his unit took us through the work they do everyday, the precision with which every move is planned, it was all a man-made marvel for me.

Since then I have seen soldiers in many a hill station, city or state which shares its border with other neighbouring countries and each time, been impressed by their chivalrous and reticent but regimented stature. Their level of commitment is even more palpable at the freezing borders of Kashmir, the ruthless rocky terrain of Sikkim or the arid landscapes of Rajasthan. I remember standing at a high altitude to take a glimpse of the mersmerising Gurudongmar Lake at 18,000 feet above sea level in North Sikkim, right near the Indo-China border and staring agape at a turbanned soldier quietly standing as cool, still and tranquil as the placid lake. It was unnerving to see his resolute stance at a place where I could barely stand (without my knees crackling) or breathe. I remember insisting on taking a shot with him with my husband because he was no less than a hero for me and I wanted to preserve this memory of meeting him for posterity. I almost envied him his astute confidence, composure and strength of will. At the beating retreat ceremony that takes place twice at the Attari-Wagah border, I was not so much moved by the patriotic songs that played out, the raucous din of the audience assembled to witness the sight, or the number of people who had gathered there. It was rather the inanimate gates that defined the borders for both countries, the colours of the uniforms and emblems, the people’s motivation to cheer for their respective countries and how elegantly the garrisoned officers on both sides conducted the whole ceremony that was striking and at once, thought-provoking.

I wondered amidst the din if we had not sown the seeds of countless divisive misgivings with the partition, how easily we identified ourselves as us and therefore good and Pakistanis as them and therefore bad. We may have overpowered the British, but would the constant threat of war and tension ever leave us alone as a nation with a neighbouring country labelled as foe forever? Were we justified in calling ourselves Indians and therefore right in deriding anything that is Pakistani? The ceremony beautifully reiterates how glorious our BSF’s efforts at the borders are, how adept they are at handling the humongous responsibility on their shoulders and the fact that we might shake hands with the other country today, but we are ready and indomitable as a force if pressed upon by a threat. We have valour, pride and power on our side. We will fight till our last breath if needed but will not let a foreign entity deter our country’s able march towards progress and the future.

If we have such bravery protecting us from attack, isn’t it our duty to do all in our power to ensure what they guard is worth guarding in the first place and a genuine asset to be treasured for eons to come? But guess what, I didn’t feel proud to be an Indian at all that day because while our armed guards were putting up a show for us to prove what they do for us everyday, we were busy proving what we like to put up on show everyday ourselves through our manic habit of clicking selfies! Everywhere I looked, the crowds mostly made up of youngsters were busy clicking pics not so much of the marching infantry but themselves against this pulsating background because you see, it is more important to show off that we were there in stead of saluting those who are there day after day, come storm or hail, so that we can live our selfish lives, cloistered in our comfort zones, oblivious to what they face. So I made sure I took a picture of them with my toddler because she needs to know these heroes, these men of real mettle and perhaps one day, be able to appreciate what they mean to us. All I hope is that she is able to look beyond herself to realise this. Our freedom fighters may have left us a legacy, we are fortunate to have martial strength to preserve that legacy. How we contribute to its conservation is up to us. Time to let go off that selfie obsession then, look in to that wide angle lens and indulge in some self-introspection, may be?