Jan 08, 2012 04:03pm

Walk to my freedom

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Walk to my freedom

I am sitting here on the top of a mountain contemplating upon my own experience, my journey and the pauses in the journey. Am I still on the journey when I take a rest? The journey never stops, only gets in the pause mode. The pauses make me reflect upon my journey. The only sound in the room is that of water drops falling at constant rhythm from the tap I didn't close properly in the bath and the only light is from a steady flame of the candle I lit a few minutes ago. The candle's flame is impervious to what I am writing yet is part of my writing experience. I am thinking about this guy I met in the restaurant last night. A bright, fair guy with unbounded enthusiasm and flair for talking despite his limited command over Hindi and English. He is from Tibet and living in McLeod Ganj. His story is fascinating, yet similar to thousands of Tibetan refugees in India. He walked for 30 days to his freedom in India from the oppressive Chinese rule in Tibet. He recounts the horrors of a Tibetan living in China and the suffering being endured by the Tibetans there.

I shudder to think of this boy, who walks for 30 days in the mind numbing cold and inhospitable terrain with a constant fear lurking at the back of the mind, the fear of being discovered by the Chinese and being thrown in prison, perhaps for life. He tells me stories of people being killed for just mentioning the name of HH Dalai Lama or for criticizing the Chinese premiere. He is full of live, bursting with energy which comes from conviction and a taste of freedom he only dreams till about 4 years ago, when he made that arduous journey. He is happy or appears to be so. He is all praises for the Indian government for being nice to him and his people. He tells me "You should love India. India is nice". Yes, I must love India because India is nice. Yes, it is nice when compared to Tibetans in China. To be able to practice one's faith is a basic human right, a right supposedly protected by the Constitution (of India).

I am reminded of my youth. Year: 1984. Month: November. Place: my home in Delhi. The prime minister of India, Indira Gandhi has been gunned down by her bodyguards, 2 of whom happen to be Sikh, the religion I was born into. There is frenzy on the roads with marauding mobs hunting anyone with a turban on his head (practicing Sikh males wear a turban), killing them in most merciless manner - burning them alive. Women are raped by the mobs in front of their family, wives being forced, in some cases, to set their husbands on fire. This is a free, democratic country where professing one's faith is protected by the constitution. The Police is hand in glove with the mobs and so is the government which is supplying the mobs with the fuel (kerosene, petrol) and Voter lists to identify the Sikh households. The ruling party members are abetting the mobs, exhorting them to kill and assuring them of immunity from the Police for 72 hours. They says "Kill as many Sikhs as possible in 72 hours, no one will touch you". And these are the members of the Congress party which is in power in India. These Congress party members will go on to be rewarded with ministerial berths for their "service". The mob is shouting outside our house. They don't know that we are inside. The mob has now broken open the doors of two shops which part of our house and our source of livelihood. They are ransacking everything and looting what they can. These are our neighbors with whom we had been living peacefully for so many years. Now, they have set fire to the shops and the crowds are cheering. Our neighbors are dancing on their rooftops as if celebrating a festival. There is only one adult in the house, my uncle. I am 14 and my elder brother is 15 years old. All three of us are holding kirpans (swords) in our hands, ready to defend ourselves from this 1000 strong mob, intent on destroying us and our lives. The neighbors are shouting- “they are inside. Kill them. kill them”. We are waiting for the inevitable to happen any moment. My mind is numb, unable to understand what's happening. Why are these people wanting to kill us?. What have we done? And why would our neighbors want to get us killed? Perhaps the Divine didn't want the inevitable to happen. The mobs move away, turning to their next target, which is not our house. We are spared, for unknown reasons.

A few days later, the violence has subsided. The army has been deployed in our locality though they don't have the orders to shoot anyone. Yet it gives us a feeling of security. There is news coming from all over. Sikhs are being chased by the mobs and being killed. They are not sparing even children. But we are safe. The frenzy dies down in a few days. Everything is back to "normal". I am standing on a bus stop, decked in school uniform, waiting for the bus to arrive and take me to school. There is a Hindu boy my age or a little older. He is counting One, two, three, four, five... I wonder that he is too old to be learning counting. Then he turns to another boy and says “there are so many Sikhs still alive. We have killed so many, yet so many are still alive". He was counting the Sikhs, recognizable with the distinct turbans on their head. I head to school and the situation is no different. My classmates brag "we killed your people, we raped your women, we burnt your Gurudwaras (places of worship)". I am shocked. Now, there are tales of police arresting Sikhs and charging them with terrorism, many times with planted evidence and fake cases. Many of my cousins flee the country on tourist visas to escape the situation. Anyone with a turban on his head ihas become a criminal, a terrorist. I wonder - why would a government kill its own people? A few days later, elections are held and Congress party is voted back to power, with people endorsing the killing of Sikhs at the hands of the Congress party supported mobs. Is this my own country, I wonder? Many of my friends and classmates give up their Sikh identity and cut their hair, abandoning their turban. I am filled with rage, uncontrollable rage. It's like a fire which is burning me from inside and I cannot control it. Why would the government kill its own people, I still can't understand. Why would it put innocent people behind bars on framed up charges? Why can't Sikhs live in this country?

More than 20 years later, the perpetrators of the violence against Sikhs are yet to be punished. A Sikh with turban is the Prime minister of India and the murders of Sikhs are a part of his cabinet. What an irony.

I am wondering - this Tibetan boy walked 30 days to his freedom. When will I be able to walk to my freedom? Freedom to don my turban without fear, without being persecuted in my own country. This Tibetan boy had a place (India) to walk to his freedom. I have nowhere to walk to. Slowly, it is dawning to me that the freedom I seek is not "out there”. The only walk to my freedom is to the center of my being – a place no one can touch and the only path is that of love, unconditional love.

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