Yesterday, my being, my purpose in life was questioned. It was early afternoon and I was heading back to office from lunch when I realized there was a huge traffic jam just 1-km before my office. I stayed within the designated traffic lane, cursing all the people who kept breaking the traffic cordon and getting onto the opposite lane, thus creating more chaos on the busy Hosur Road. As I got closer, I saw that the road was blocked off and there were cops all around. I wondered if everyone was safe in office and if another riot had not broken up. I maneuvered through the tiny lanes and reached my office to see a huge bunch of people – men, women and children had blocked the busy Hosur Road and were seen sitting on the middle of the road, some fighting with menacing looking cops with sticks.
Spoke to a few children who happened to be from one of our partner centers, Makkala Jagriti. They slowly unraveled the mystery of the road-block. Earlier in the day, a woman and her kid were hit by a speeding truck and the kid died while the woman was struggling to stay alive. This angered the nearby slum neighbourhood who decided to take things in their own hands and protest by blocking the roads. I was not sure what their demands were, but standing on my comfortable and safe platform, I could see and sense that there was a lot of anger. For sometime, I saw the kids shouting slogans like “We want Justice, We want a traffic signal”. I guessed they were demanding a traffic signal at the busy adugodi junction to ensure such accidents don’t happen again. I was not sure if they were asking the right people since the policemen there were only concerned about security and traffic management.
I felt proud of the kids for staging this protest and whole-heartedly supporting their parents. After all, it was a kid from their neighbourhood and it could be one of them tomorrow. One slightly older kid caught my eye. Must have been about 14-yrs old. He was directing the younger kids to keep shouting slogans. As the cops control over the situation increased, I could sense and see his anger. He would stand right in front of the cop, with anger in his eyes and shout slogans. He would hold a placard and boldly challenge the cop with the stick to beat him. He would not budge from there. He was angry and he wanted to show his resistance. I was just so glad that he was not beaten up. As the cops got in reinforcements, the slum-dwellers were a little scared and as some sticks started wielding, the slum dwellers had to give in. One old man was caught by a policeman and they tried to shove him into their van. His daughter came rushing after the cops, pleading them with tears in her eyes to let her father go. They tried to scare her, threaten her, but she pleaded with helpless eyes and hands and managed to get her father freed. But, there was also anger in her eyes, anger against a system that failed to protect her, instead threw her into a corner.
Women continued their protest for sometime more, blocking or rather trying to block the onslaught of traffic. The first set of two-wheelers that managed to go past the human wall – looked on, some amused, some wondering but then within seconds sped on – to their mundane destinations. Some stopped to ask what happened to share it with their friends and family as gossip of the day but none stopped out of concern, none stopped to help and support. The women were soon outnumbered by both the cops and the vehicles and had to step aside. Their protest was over, a naught.
The fact that they managed to stop traffic for over two hours on the busy Hosur Road must have come to the notice of the powers to be, was hoping that maybe they will agree to have a traffic light at that junction, maybe the cops, the politicians would be sensitive to the fact that a small child’s life has been wasted and would want to help – unconditionally but I guess that didn’t happen.
The crowds dispersed, the road was open to speeding vehicles again, some shops opened up again, some cops stayed back to ensure there was no violence and I went back to my computer – angry, shaken, shocked, but didn’t do anything about it.
The next morning – the cops continued to stay there. There was a traffic cop managing the traffic in the morning but through the day, he lost interest, sat at a corner junction, sipping tea and enjoying a leisurely holiday while children, women and men continued to escape impending death while trying to cross the road.
Where was I in all this? I was a mute, meek spectator after all. I watched the entire drama unfold before me while I stood by the footbath next to an arguably protective cop. I saw the angry teenager and felt like holding a placard and support him, but I didn’t. I saw the women were losing ground with the cops, wanted to rejuvenate their protest by joining in but I didn’t. I felt like sitting on the middle of the road to express my protest but didn’t do it. I felt tremendously angry and wanted to pick up a stick and beat up the cops, but I didn’t do it. I was angry at the system that was so insensitive that the death of a child paled in comparison to mundane things like traffic management. I was angry at the apathy showed all around. While the poor protested, pleaded and fought – those in buildings on the other side of the road – looked on with interest as if following an Ekta Kapoor’s never ending serials on television. It could have been their kid. Thank god, it wasn’t! I wanted to break someone’s head, make the powers to be realize the futility of trying to gain mileage out of this incident. I was angry that everyone was focusing on the problem and not the solution.
But, mostly, I was angry because I was guilty of not been part of a protest that concerned me. A kid had dies less than two-hours back in front of our office and all that I did was look on. I was angry that I have cursed and ranted everytime I have had to cross this “road to death” and yet when the opportunity came to stand up for what was right, I stood back and watched. What then is the difference between me and anyone else? What is the point of empowering children when I, myself am unable to live by my values and principles. I feel guilty for showing double-standards in my own work. If I cannot even be part of their protests, their problems, their daily lives. How do I help, if I refuse to look beyond my computer? Is volunteering and citizenship just intellectual masturbation to satisfy my own need for acceptance, meet my elite desire to be popular or does it go beyond onto to the streets to fight, at times, the very system that perpetuated the injustice.
Aren’t there many creative ways we can solve this problem amicably. For instance, can I look after the traffic management and safety? Can we get a team of volunteers to do it over shifts? Can we talk to the powers that are to consider our application for a traffic signal? How difficult is to get traffic signal organized through the government.
Yet, I did nothing. Stood there as a mute spectator. Today, I realized I am fake in my values – my values stare at me mockingly today and ask me “What is the purpose of my life” for I cannot even stand for, protest against injustice, something so integral to our learning with the children.
I am left today asking myself this question – Who am I? Why am I here? Why did I not help? I have been proven guilty of being a fake social entrepreneur.
Note: Two days have gone by. Today morning I drove down to office to see a speed-breaker at the crossing. An achievement indeed, a compensation for the death of an innocent child. A compensation for the hundreds to who stood their ground and protested. Yes, this is a solution, it will make the speeding death-carrying vehicles slow-down and maybe there will be fewer accidents. A solution that I did not fight for but will enjoy the benefits of. There is power in a poor person’s anger and if we are not sensitive to it, then let us be ready for a revolution that will thwart us from our elite dwellings.
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