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Exposure and Outrage

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A week back, I sat on my chair to write upon caste and rape realities in India. It was a time where the case struck amongst a vast majority and erupted protests all over the nation. Today, I sit again to continue where I left off. I would provide clarification as to why I left it off. The thing is, I couldn’t fathom how one may walk on the path of rectification of this cruelty after it has taken us by its throat. Our outrage against it comes off as a squeak while the monster keeps us pinned to the wall. I’d come across call for ‘justice’ for Manisha only to sigh at the fact that we’re asking justice for her from a world that failed her. I’ll talk about how this monster is so much bigger than us but first, let’s look into the dynamics of its coverage. Morbidity of this alleged caste rape surfaced our timelines and yet again gave us another chance to get rid of our collective guilt by showing support that mixed so well with the public fervor. We looked at it horrified with disgust
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A Dalit

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I would distance myself from an identity of mine which I had been shameful of for most of my life. I had been shameful of the fact that I availed something called reservation and got through universities like I did. My shame, for some comfort to me now, did not come from within in me but from what I had been taught and told through existing in the urban setting of a seemingly egalitarian cityscape. It took me some beating from the feudal lords in some not so feudal circumstances to realize this is the only thing I have inherited. What I have in me is generations of torture, pain and tragedy. Something I would continue to bear until I take strength from the trauma to shatter this abominable setting.   I am a Dalit who forgot her place. My place as a warrior in the shadows of misery to come up and take your insolence by its throat. Suffocate it until it speaks of the truth it so fastidiously hid from under the banner of ‘Umbridge’ eyes and disgusting pitiful smiles. Don’t you realise
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Pain is infectious.

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Wonder how many times we have shed our tears off of at the misery of the other? Wonder how it makes our blood boil looking at the gross injustice popping upon our news feed daily in an amount which rather makes us guilty of our own not so bad existence? To garnish these lowly human emotions instigated through sufficient information overload we have this innate feeling of having no control over what’s happening to who, akin to us or not. Do you not get into this rut? The rut of misery showering upon you wherever you look at. Does it seem ideal? Catching upon the infection and tormenting yourself through the disgraced state humanity has put itself in. Speaking upon what is observed, analysed and accepted by the writer, it is a clear case of some unknown global mission to make us sadder and sadder as a collective. They somehow bring you to this world, put you in an education system best fit for parrots and push you into realizing yourself as a capital generating machine. The salt and pe
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Standing with Indian Muslims - SAY OUR NAMES

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Safoora Zargar is a Muslim student-activist who has been charged under the draconian UAPA on the basis of ‘evidence’ that shows ‘a conspiracy to at least block the roads (chakka jam)’, and is currently being held in judicial custody at Tihar Jail. Between January and April this year, more than 50 activists have been served notices for their involvement in the anti-CAA protests and 8 have been arrested. Safoora is one of them. What marks Safoora Zargar’s case as that of immediate urgency is that Safoora is 5-months pregnant and according to her family and lawyer, has a medical history of PCOS and UTIs which make her vulnerable to having a miscarriage. The Honorable courts see this as no matter of immediate concern. The Honorable courts do not see the governments exploiting the lock-down and panic created by Covid-19 as a means to surreptitiously charge and arrest Muslim activists as a matter of immediate concern. Having only the judiciary to turn to in these terrible times, we are despa
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