Yesterday, I watched Firaaq, (yet another) movie about the Gujarat riots of 2002. Like any well-made movie, it made me think, prompting questions and introspection long after the credits had rolled. With Nandita Das as director, I had a hunch that the movie would adopt the popular Leftist lens. And although those shades exist, I think the movie is especially strong because it is ultimately human.
For this post, I am not going to dwell upon why riots that massacre Hindus, Sikhs or other non-Muslims in India do not become a fixture in public (read media) consciousness. Instead, I am going to wonder aloud about the one thing that has been pounding away inside my head since I watched this movie -- what would I do in a riot?
And my question is not about whether or not I would participate in a riot but about my role as a bystander. In the movie, it's about Deepti Naval's predicament. A meek housewife, married to one of the rioters, Deepti is haunted by a desperate face begging to be let in to escape the rioters. As far as the viewer can tell, Deepti does not let the woman in, and continues to be shaken by the memory (and presumably, guilty conscience) a month or so after the riots are over.
And I have been asking myself - what would I do? If helping a stranger puts my family's life in danger, is it worth the risk? Clearly, this was the question that many non-Jews answered in Nazi Germany one way or another. And one that many people continue to be forced to answer across the world today.
I guess the question is important to me because for some reason, I came away from the movie feeling that everyone's vulnerable -- riots and violence can hit any of us. As an Assamese, I have never really been the member of a 'majority' community wherever I have lived. Today, living in a Western country that continues to be racked by race, I have an honest (possibly, irrational) apprehension of being lynched, because I look different. To counter this, I choose to live in a 'diverse' neighbourhood, instead of the homogeneous ones many of my compatriots prefer. To me, the only safety net that humans have, is living with others who are not a replica of ourselves.
My Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, who continues to be blamed for the Gujarat riots, said in a recent TV interview that international relations today are not just about governments but also about people-to-people relations. I think that applies within a country as well, especially one as truly diverse as India. Whether it's religion or language, caste or race, humans don't really need a reason to build barriers.
But getting to know individuals who are different from oneself and recognizing that other perspectives exist, is probably the only chance we have of saving ourselves from annihilation at our own hands. And maybe if we do this long enough, one day, that stranger won't be a stranger any more and we'll never have to ask ourselves the question I pose to myself today.
For this post, I am not going to dwell upon why riots that massacre Hindus, Sikhs or other non-Muslims in India do not become a fixture in public (read media) consciousness. Instead, I am going to wonder aloud about the one thing that has been pounding away inside my head since I watched this movie -- what would I do in a riot?
And my question is not about whether or not I would participate in a riot but about my role as a bystander. In the movie, it's about Deepti Naval's predicament. A meek housewife, married to one of the rioters, Deepti is haunted by a desperate face begging to be let in to escape the rioters. As far as the viewer can tell, Deepti does not let the woman in, and continues to be shaken by the memory (and presumably, guilty conscience) a month or so after the riots are over.
And I have been asking myself - what would I do? If helping a stranger puts my family's life in danger, is it worth the risk? Clearly, this was the question that many non-Jews answered in Nazi Germany one way or another. And one that many people continue to be forced to answer across the world today.
I guess the question is important to me because for some reason, I came away from the movie feeling that everyone's vulnerable -- riots and violence can hit any of us. As an Assamese, I have never really been the member of a 'majority' community wherever I have lived. Today, living in a Western country that continues to be racked by race, I have an honest (possibly, irrational) apprehension of being lynched, because I look different. To counter this, I choose to live in a 'diverse' neighbourhood, instead of the homogeneous ones many of my compatriots prefer. To me, the only safety net that humans have, is living with others who are not a replica of ourselves.
My Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, who continues to be blamed for the Gujarat riots, said in a recent TV interview that international relations today are not just about governments but also about people-to-people relations. I think that applies within a country as well, especially one as truly diverse as India. Whether it's religion or language, caste or race, humans don't really need a reason to build barriers.
But getting to know individuals who are different from oneself and recognizing that other perspectives exist, is probably the only chance we have of saving ourselves from annihilation at our own hands. And maybe if we do this long enough, one day, that stranger won't be a stranger any more and we'll never have to ask ourselves the question I pose to myself today.
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