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In our ordinary human ability to sweep the debris off the pavement and set up stall again lie our greatness and our strength. Why make it more than it is? For in so doing, we end up making it less than it is.

Farah Naqvi

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D
elhi’s pre-Diwali dhamakas had me reeling. In shock at the blasts andrevulsion at the spin—by politicians and media alike. "India Shall Not beDefeated", was the anthem put out by the PM’s office. In the grand languageof good versus evil. In rhetoric borrowed from George Bush and 9/11 we elevatedthe miserable, criminal killing of civilians to black majestic heights of DarthVaderesque power. The attacks were a cowardly crime. The anthem made them grand,converting, in an instant, lowly bombers into vanguards of the evil empire. ButI wonder if the nation, in the hands of its spin-doctors, lost some of itssheen. Surely India does not need to grandstand in tired, leftover language? Or,be spurred on to make extravagant statements of its invincibility? Surely Indiais greater, and truly more invincible than that? Denounce the act. Even do it inarcane language of ultimate condemnation— call it ‘dastardly’ if you must.Then find the criminals and punish them. But spare the nation the Rambo spin. OnOctober 29, Delhi was briefly a frayed city. 

It needed soothing with dispassionate news and simple fact. But news networkswent scrambling for sensation— little substance, a lot of noise. Bystanderscaught like deer in headlight glare. Mikes thrust at unsuspecting faces. ‘Eyewitnesses’ given five seconds of fame, in return seeing more than they did.Grizzly limbs and charred bodies making it past the edit table. The same newsclip running on auto feed, as 24-hour television waited like a salivatingmonster for the smoke to clear, so it could forage amid the debris for a tastyhuman-interest story. Thank the constellations for making Diwali and Eid suchcosy cousins this year. Otherwise I fear a communal tilt may have been oneoutcome of this determined scramble to the feast. 

Delhi fights back, Delhi won’t be defeated, defiant Delhi—screamed TVnetworks on October 30, the morning after the blasts, as shops in Sarojini Nagarand Paharganj opened for ‘business as usual’. A grand crime demands a grandresponse. And because the tale is ultimately only as good as its teller, newsreporters bristled with import at performing a national duty. In truth,shopkeepers wanted to off-load their Diwali stock. And Sarojini Nagar shops pre-and post-blast are great value for money. People are curious. Even heartless.Life goes on. We can be fatalistic about death. We also carry around deep beliefin our immortality. But that day, early bird TV reporters imbued our everydayacts of life and living with soldierly mission and meaning. 

Mundane consumerism found a higher purpose. If you had a mike thrust at youby Oprah wannabes asking ‘probing’ questions like—‘Why are you wanderingamid the war zones of Sarojini Nagar or Paharganj? Would you dare say somethingas banal and utterly real as, "I am here to buy pant-shirt for dewarji?" No.You end up saying, "I am shopping in the service of the nation. I shall not becowed down by dastard terrorists!" You may even believe your spin. Yes, Indiais resilient. And Delhi won’t be defeated. In our ordinary human ability tosweep the debris off the pavement and set up stall again lie our greatness andour strength. Why make it more than it is? For in so doing, we end up making itless than it is. 

One Hindi TV channel collected Delhi’s noteworthy notables— ex-CMs,current ministers, socialite-activists and sundry poets—in its studio the dayafter the blasts. A sort of cross between We the People and a Mushaira. What agenius idea— make Delhi bare its wounded soul in verse. A collectivetherapeutic frenzy of pain would splatter the studio walls with beautifulpoetry. Raw emotion unleashed on national TV. The socialite-activist struggledwith, "Yeh log toh bachche ko bhi mare hai!" in a curious aspiratedaccent. Then the healing touch of secular profundity, "Yeh koi dharam kabaat nahin hain. Jo burra hai, so burra hai." That’s about as deep as itgot. What’s bad is bad, she said. I amen, because the whole show was prettybad. An insult to emotion and a travesty of language. But if pain was theintent, it worked. This country’s soul runs deeper than 24-hour TV canpossibly plummet. Spectacle and spin will only sell us short as a people.

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This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, November 30,2005

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