A late, confused, unsure, and somewhat reluctant supporter to the cause, I finally stepped out of my comfort zone and joined in the peace rally today. Turned down the volume of my car stereo to let the arousing rythm of the slogans by eager volunteers float in, gave a quick crash course to my kids on what was happening before them, turned off the ignition, told my kids to pick up their water bottles, and that's it...we were out, crossing the road over from being a passive armchair commentator on all things wrong with us to actively lending my support.
Why did I step out of the car? Do I believe a Lokpal can cleanse our deep rooted corruption? I don't. Have I been following Anna and his crusade closely for the last couple of months? Not much, indeed. Do I see myself as a staunch supporter of Anna and his satyagrah? Not in the least. Does a beaming Anna being led away from Supreme Enclave stir up a patriotic fervour in me? Unlikely. Did the charm of the TV cameras' flashing lights lure me to my one minute of photo-op fame? Ha! Good one! So then, why?
Because those many many moments of frustration and irritation with the corrupt bribe-ridden state machinery flashed through my mind today in that split second when I saw the enthusiastic young college-going students doing what thousands around the country have been doing for the last couple of days: doing their bit symbolically by lending their voice of support to a selfless cause by one selfless Gandhian and spreading his word around...Bhrashtachaar hataenge / Anna teri jung hum jeetenge...in its tone and tenor, the words felt impactful, simple, even sincere, perhaps, and oh-so-different from the loud, high pitched proclamations of undying love for the motherland one is used to hearing from the rowdy supporters of various political parties. I thought of the thousand bucks I had shelled for my passport renewal, of the innumerable rounds I had had to make to the government offices to get an NOC out, of the (newly laid) pot-holed roads which steadily wreck my car, of the clogged drains and overflowing sewers in most localities each time it rains, of the several trips that my father has had to make to the RTO to obtain some basic clearances in a car-sale deal. Of every such instance when I have shrugged, sighed, seethed within, and moved on.
So I stepped out, and crossed the road over to the other end where I suddenly became a miniscule part of a pan-national movement, almost a forest-fire that looks like it won't get appeased in a hurry. I knew that if there was one moment there was to speak out, it was this.
It was a heady concoction of pride, a lump-in-the-throat kind of nationalism, anger, satisfaction at finally raising ones voice against a national malaise, and the sheer joy of belonging...somewhere. What standing there did to me is not difficult to fathom; the crowds and noise do that to me, anyway. I saw my 6-year-old daughter excitedly light up candles along with a few other kids, while my 10-year-old son clutched the water-bottle, looking a bit unsure about how our being there would bring corruption levels down in the country, and played the watchful big responsible brother to his butterfly little sister, alongside.
And then I saw the PCR vans with the cops standing there, helpless at having to be a mute witness to the protest, with pretty much nothing to do, and yet, a lot to do. I saw the abundant patience and politeness with which they were conducting themselves, every single one of them, and I wondered what would be flashing through their minds right then.
And then, just as suddenly as old frustrating memories had come flooding to me in the car of the corrupt state machinery, there was a sudden surge of those many many many other occasions when I had been pleasantly surprised, even taken aback in a nice way, at the efficiency and smoothness with which a job had been done by a government office, with negligible fuss. Of those several occasions when a government servant had gone out of his way to assist me with to the best of his ability. I knew it was time for me to head home.
Not because i had suddenly lost interest in Anna's cause or saw the state machinery with fresh tinted whitewashed eyes, but because I realised that the answers to matters of this gargutuan proportion were far far more complex than my lighting a candle. And just as I knew I had to raise my voice against corruption, I knew I had to do something else...
'Thanks for ensuring a free-flow of regular traffic here, and thanks for making it easy for us. You'll are doing a great job...!' I smiled and said to the policemen standing there as I walked back to my car, got the kids to belt up, and turned on the ignition...
'Take care madam, andhere mein theek se jaaiyega,' said one of them, coming up to my car as it inched its way forward.
On our way home, my kids asked me if I would join the car protest happening tomorrow, starting at the same place.
I didn't reply to that.
Because I still don't know whether I will or I won't.
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