No ban on day-dreaming: Javadekar on Rahul's prime ministerial aspirations

Jan 13: For the first time in years, the government of India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi is playing defense. Protests have sprung up across the country against an amendment to India’s laws — which came into effect on Friday — that makes it easier for members of some religions to become citizens of India. The government claims this is simply an attempt to protect religious minorities in the Muslim-majority countries that border India; but protesters see it as the first step toward a formal repudiation of India’s constitutionally guaranteed secularism — and one that must be resisted.

Modi was re-elected prime minister last year with an enhanced majority; his hold over the country’s politics is absolute. The formal opposition is weak, discredited and disorganized. Yet, somehow, the anti-Citizenship Act protests have taken hold. No political party is behind them; they are generally arranged by student unions, neighborhood associations and the like.

Yet this aspect of their character is precisely what will worry Modi and his right-hand man, Home Minister Amit Shah. They know how to mock and delegitimize opposition parties with ruthless efficiency. Yet creating a narrative that paints large, flag-waving crowds as traitors is not quite that easy.

For that is how these protests look: large groups of young people, many carrying witty signs and the national flag. They meet and read the preamble to India’s Constitution, into which the promise of secularism was written in the 1970’s.

They carry photographs of the Constitution’s drafter, the Columbia University-trained economist and lawyer B. R. Ambedkar. These are not the mobs the government wanted. They hoped for angry Muslims rampaging through the streets of India’s cities, whom they could point to and say: “See? We must protect you from them.” But, in spite of sometimes brutal repression, the protests have largely been nonviolent.

One, in Shaheen Bagh in a Muslim-dominated sector of New Delhi, began simply as a set of local women in a square, armed with hot tea and blankets against the chill Delhi winter. It has now become the focal point of a very different sort of resistance than what the government expected. Nothing could cure the delusions of India’s Hindu middle class, trained to see India’s Muslims as dangerous threats, as effectively as a group of otherwise clearly apolitical women sipping sweet tea and sharing their fears and food with anyone who will listen.

Modi was re-elected less than a year ago; what could have changed in India since then? Not much, I suspect, in most places that voted for him and his party — particularly the vast rural hinterland of northern India. But urban India was also possibly never quite as content as electoral results suggested. India’s growth dipped below 5% in recent quarters; demand has crashed, and uncertainty about the future is widespread. Worse, the government’s response to the protests was clearly ill-judged. University campuses were attacked, in one case by the police and later by masked men almost certainly connected to the ruling party.

Protesters were harassed and detained with little cause. The courts seemed uninterested. And, slowly, anger began to grow on social media — not just on Twitter, but also on Instagram, previously the preserve of pretty bowls of salad. Instagram is the one social medium over which Modi’s party does not have a stranglehold; and it is where these protests, with their photogenic signs and flags, have found a natural home. As a result, people across urban India who would never previously have gone to a demonstration or a political rally have been slowly politicized.

India is, in fact, becoming more like a normal democracy. “Normal,” that is, for the 2020’s. Liberal democracies across the world are politically divided, often between more liberal urban centers and coasts, and angrier, “left-behind” hinterlands. Modi’s political secret was that he was that rare populist who could unite both the hopeful cities and the resentful countryside. Yet this once magic formula seems to have become ineffective. Five of India’s six largest cities are not ruled by Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party in any case — the financial hub of Mumbai changed hands recently. The BJP has set its sights on winning state elections in Delhi in a few weeks. Which way the capital’s voters will go is uncertain. But that itself is revealing — last year, Modi swept all seven parliamentary seats in Delhi.

In the end, the Citizenship Amendment Act is now law, the BJP might manage to win Delhi, and the protests might die down as the days get unmanageably hot and state repression increases. But urban India has put Modi on notice. His days of being India’s unifier are over: From now on, like all the other populists, he will have to keep one eye on the streets of his country’s cities.

New Delhi, Jun 17: Police Surender Jeet Kaur, Assistant Commissioner of Delhi Police Surender Jeet Kaur, has held herself responsible for the death of her husband Charan Jeet Singh, who succumbed to Covid at a hospital in Delhi.

“My husband didn’t step out of the house when the lockdown started, but I went out daily because of my job… I will never be able to forgive myself,” Kaur on Tuesday, a day after losing her husband.

54-year-old Singh, a resident of Lajpat Nagar and a businessman, is survived by his wife and their 26-year-old son who lives in Canada.

Kaur, 57, ACP (Crimes Against Women) in the South-East district of the Delhi Police, is also ACP (Covid Cell) of the district. On May 20, five days after Kaur tested positive for the virus, her husband Singh tested positive, followed by the ACP’s 80-year-old father on May 24.

All of them had symptoms and while Kaur and Singh were admitted to Indraprastha Apollo hospital, her father was admitted to Max hospital in Saket. On May 26, Kaur returned home after recovering from the virus.

Kaur said, “I last spoke to my husband on May 22 night, when we were both admitted in the hospital in different wards. The doctor called me and said that my husband needs to be put on ventilator support. I had a video call with my husband. He was breathless and told me that his oxygen level was dropping. He showed me the monitor, the doctors in the room, and then said he was having trouble speaking and that he would send me WhatsApp messages.”

A day after he passed away, Kaur recalled the messages that Singh sent her just before being put on ventilator support. “He started sending me details of our finances, accounts… I told him to stop and asked him why he was telling me all this. He said I needed to know… Maybe he feared he wouldn’t come back. I prayed every day, at temples, mosques, churches and gurdwaras for him. I am devastated that he’s gone. We were to move to Canada to live with our son in 2023 after my retirement. We had so many plans.”

Kaur’s brother Maninder Ahluwalia said the hospital tried plasma therapy but Singh didn’t respond to the treatment. “He had diabetes and high BP, but those were always under control. We were hopeful,” he said.

The couple’s son joined on video call from Canada to watch his father’s last journey from the ambulance to the entrance of the crematorium. “My son couldn’t attend his father’s last rites because there are no flights… It’s so unfortunate,” said Kaur.

Friends and family remember Singh as a “jolly, disciplined and brave man”, while Kaur said he was the “perfect partner”. She said, “When I was an SHO-rank officer, I would work for 36 hours straight some days, and he would handle the house and our son who was growing up. I would miss family functions and important occasions but he would always go and make up for my absence. I was able to do this job for decades because of his support.”

On Tuesday afternoon, Singh was cremated in the presence of close family and members of the police fraternity. “The DCP and the Joint CP called me daily to enquire about my husband, other police officers too. I am grateful for their support. They didn’t let me feel alone for a single day,” said Kaur.