I spent a day at Jantar Mantar today and here’s all I witnessed:
(I have my eyes filled while I write)
A woman carrying her sleeping toddler on one shoulder, refusing to leave early because she wanted her child to one day know that showing up matters.
Young police officers smiling and guiding people past barricades, a small, human counter-image in a year of headlines about a custodial excess and criminalised dissent.
A Sikh volunteer refilling paper cups from a steel container, serving anyone who reached out without asking who they were or why they had come.
A man in a wheelchair moving steadily through the crowd, strangers instinctively making space without a word being exchanged.
A Hindu priest, an imam and a nun exchanging smiles over cups of tea, their conversation too ordinary to ever become a headline.
Teenagers documenting the moment on borrowed cameras while elderly participants preferred to simply stand, watch and remember.
People arriving alone from different corners of the country and leaving with new phone numbers, conversations and a sense that they had not been alone after all.
Volunteers quietly collecting discarded bottles and paper after the gathering, treating the place with the same respect they hoped others would show one another.
No organisation. No permit trail. No hashtag campaign. Just the simple act of showing up because something mattered.
Colours, identities, generations and causes sharing one patch of ground that has, at various points, been fenced off, regulated or denied.
Most were not there for a party or a group. They were there because they cared. A stubbornly old-fashioned reason in a time built for outrage that lasts exactly one news cycle.
(This picture of a kid having ice-cream is taken by a friend named Afreen Alam, a stranger turned into a friend whom I met in this protest)
Shouting "Cameraperson Parth" is such a genius move. It does two things at once:
1. Clearly signals to the police around them that he + Parth are from the media, protecting them from any lathis coming their way.
2. Temporarily defuse police from swinging lathis at people, by making it clear that the media is recording - and in turn protecting people from any lathis coming at them. Whatever helps in the moment for people around them.
Baller move.
Thinking about the lady in the flight who began ranting knowing I was on my way to the protest ki protest faaltu mei ho raha hai and nothing is going to change. I hope you witnessed today.
I spent a day at Jantar Mantar today and here’s all I witnessed:
(I have my eyes filled while I write)
A woman carrying her sleeping toddler on one shoulder, refusing to leave early because she wanted her child to one day know that showing up matters.
Young police officers smiling and guiding people past barricades, a small, human counter-image in a year of headlines about a custodial excess and criminalised dissent.
A Sikh volunteer refilling paper cups from a steel container, serving anyone who reached out without asking who they were or why they had come.
A man in a wheelchair moving steadily through the crowd, strangers instinctively making space without a word being exchanged.
A Hindu priest, an imam and a nun exchanging smiles over cups of tea, their conversation too ordinary to ever become a headline.
Teenagers documenting the moment on borrowed cameras while elderly participants preferred to simply stand, watch and remember.
People arriving alone from different corners of the country and leaving with new phone numbers, conversations and a sense that they had not been alone after all.
Volunteers quietly collecting discarded bottles and paper after the gathering, treating the place with the same respect they hoped others would show one another.
No organisation. No permit trail. No hashtag campaign. Just the simple act of showing up because something mattered.
Colours, identities, generations and causes sharing one patch of ground that has, at various points, been fenced off, regulated or denied.
Most were not there for a party or a group. They were there because they cared. A stubbornly old-fashioned reason in a time built for outrage that lasts exactly one news cycle.
(This picture of a kid having ice-cream is taken by a friend named Afreen Alam, a stranger turned into a friend whom I met in this protest)