Just take a good look at the photographs of the Indian migrants in the wake of the pandemic ...
What do they say?
WE THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, that is BHARAT!
Only the Other Day they were pelting stones at each other, because you, Mr Know All, were inciting them, invoking your caste and creed to uphold your exclusive version of azadi, i.e., FREEDOM!
And while they hurled bricks and stones and Molotov cocktails and slit each other's throats at your bidding, you poetically ranted:
‘Sab yaad rakha jayega.. Sab kuchh yaad rakha jayega.’
Little did you realise then that these ‘small people’ preserve memories that go back to the dawn of time.
Which is why, today, these The People of Bharat, are going back home to where they came from before they took to pelting your stones at one another.
And you, with all your memory, can no longer recall who among them is...
a Muslim...
a Hindu...
a Jain...
a Sikh...
or Isai.
It can’t get more surreal than that!
Small wonder, you are screaming louder than ever before. And you are screaming because you are scared...
Please hold your breath a little while longer (no pun intended), and I will tell you why these folks scare you ... so much ... so suddenly ... so shockingly... than ever before!
For now, just let them walk back home ... alone ... in ones and twos and threes... in dignity... in peace... in grace. And when they get to the highway, without your jaw dropping traffic interruption, they will actually be walking six feet apart. You have my word on that. For years, I have watched them walk the (six-foot) talk on kawar yatras to Haridwar and Urs to Ajmer Sharif.
They always maintain a discreet distance. Among themselves...
And from you.
So, you will do them a great favour just doing that. Keeping your trap ... well, shut. This is not an occasion to curse your stars.
Now, look at these people once more.
Some will die.
But most will live long enough to recount these days to their grandchildren...
Just the way our grandparents recounted theirs to us: ‘Once upon a time there was a Princess ... who left the castle of Prince Charming in the Big Bad City... and walked back home to her hut in the village at the edge of nowhere. Because a monster named ‘mahamari’ lurked around town, where our Prince of Fantasy alone was having a ball.
You haven’t lived the era of smallpox that consumed millions ... this day... this time... another age!
And the age of plague before that...
But I am sure you have heard all about them because your grandma lived long enough to tell you those tales.
About how they built temples to goddesses and dargahs to pirs and made saints out of mortals to name their churches after, because the blessed among us stood up to nurse them and ameliorate their sufferings, at a time when the overworked which doctor, oops! Witch Doc, wasn’t at hand!
And just like your grandma, most of these people too will live another day, though some of us might die.
And worry not, most of them won’t spread the deadly virus that you and I brought home.
Do you know why?
It’s because, in any case, most of us kept them six feet apart, every day, even before the monster came visiting our homes.
If you find me hard to believe, just cross your heart and ask this one question to yourself: When was the last time you hugged...
your kudawalla (scavenger) ...
your newspaperwalla ...
your subziwalla (vegetable vendor) on the other side of the reri (cart) ...
your mochi (cobbler)...
Your dhobi (that guy who ironed your shirt)...
Your nai (who designed your hairstyle)...
Your chowkidar (whom you dressed in the smart garb of your private security guard).
When was it last that you shook hands with that cute but distant salesgirl at the glitzy shopping mall in your town.
It’s them who are walking back home to sanitise themselves from your touch... just in case!
So, show them the respect they deserve. They are doing fine. For they know what’s best for them. Just as each one of us know what’s best for us.
And trust them not to spread your infection when they get home. Their home!
Not your home...
...where, all these days, you were having a ball, Prince Charming! All alone by yourself...
... while they were serving you, six feet apart...
your maid... who followed you to the neighbourhood restaurant to mind your kid but was denied a meal on the table at which you sat. Incidentally, she was the first to leave, when the quarantine was announced... unless, of course, you have her under house arrest, because your home must now be her home... while her folks back home stare at a stark future.
And now, look at the swarm down there... again. In the picture made famous by the ‘swarm’...
There go...
your scavenger,
your gardener,
your vegetables and fruit vendor,
your teaseller,
your laundryman,
your grocery help,
your security guard,
your barber,
your electrician,
your plumber,
your masseur,
your cobbler,
your autorickshaw driver,
your cabbie...
They are all going back home.
Because, it’s not the government, but it’s you, who did not care.
Just ask yourself how many of those Johnnies you can spot in this picture. I bet, Not One. How could you when you can’t even recall their names?
Because from six feet apart before the monster walked in, you kept calling them all sorts of names: kaamwalli, kudawalla, maali, subziwalla, chaiwala (Oh not ‘cheeya vola’ made famous when the visiting President Trump-eted that sound), dhobi, kiranawala, chowkidar, nai, mochi, bijliwala, nalkewala, maalishwala, autowalla, Olawala...whew!
And all you did was pay them wages at the rate of x-rupees per day. Deducting for the days when she couldn’t turn up for work without a valid show-cause.
And while you enriched yourself at work, raise after generous raise with ever-rising perks of office, you never quite bothered about their PF or health insurance.
You were busy having a free lunch all this while on an expense account that reduced your Man Friday to prisonerNo24x7x365... with cost deductions.
And that’s what’s costing you now that they are gone.
Costing you your valuable time doing the dishes, cooking the meal, walking the dog, washing the clothes, manicuring the lawn, pedicuring your feet, hanging your undies out in the sun, ironing your shorts, securing your home, dusting your room, scavenging your filth, doing the do. DOING YOUR DO!
Which is why YOU are scared.
And...
You better be scared.
Because the world of dark humour you built around yourself is now closing in on you.
And you are shouting yourself hoarse. Screaming STOP!
You can’t let them go?
Just let them BE!
You are spreading the grand hoax that they are taking the infection home. Their home.
And that’s The LIE!
Sorry, they are leaving the infection behind.
And that infection is YOU!
Could The Revenge of The Proletariat be any better than this?
PS: Don’t worry for them.
Only the other day, a flock of ‘migratory birds’ returned home to Purulia from Chennai. And they have quarantined themselves atop trees outside their village for 14 days before entering their nests to be back with their folks who matter.
That’s Dedication.
That’s Self Discipline.
That’s the call of Self Preservation
Meanwhile, the government too is doing its job quite well. It’s placing an armada of air-conditioned railroad cars on tracks all over the hinterland where your planes and nightmares can't fly... turning them into fully-equipped QUARANTINE STATIONS to treat patients beyond the line of your vision.
Now, don’t start screaming all over again ... because I told you this... painting detention centres into Nazi concentration camps and rail cars en route to Auswitz!
India, that is Bharat, has long called out your bluff!
You can now work at ease. Back to Essays