Love in the time of protest

 

Firstly, yes. This title is actually inspired from the famous novel “Love in the time of cholera” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Why? Probably because this entry will also describe stories of love and unity in extremely trying times.

When a student enters med school with eyes full of dreams of sitting in a doctor’s revolving chair one day one probably cannot even imagine that a day will come when one will have to sit down on the ground and demand justice and protection for themselves and their community. As protest marches continue, slogans change, vandalism shows its dirty face and crime scenes are tampered with, fear creeps in all our hearts. Whatever we are fighting for, is it achievable at all? We have so much at stake, can we really risk it all? As political colors pollute the purpose of the movement, and people with colored flags hit the road to protest, “We want justice” becomes more of a propaganda than a cry for justice. When ideals are wounded, mind starts losing hope and the heart suffers seeing the atrocities all around, love is the only thing that holds the protest together.

Love comes in various forms- the courageous Love which allows friends to console and take care of each other on dark nights when the threat of an approaching mob sends everyone into a state of panic; the caring love which allows brothers to offer to take their grown-up sisters home from a protest meeting on a day where there are chances of violence on the road; the concerned love which causes old friends, teachers and relatives to call multiple times to find out whether med students and doctors are okay in these trying times; the respectful Love which one feels towards their strict professors who come to stand by and support the students during the movement; the cringe Love which causes crazy lovers to hold hands during protest meetings; the fearful Love which at times causes parents to forbid their children from going into protest marches for the fear of violence; the loyal Love which binds us to our colleges and our fraternity and fuels us to continue fighting everyday; and lastly the empathetic and sorrowful love that everyone in feels in their hearts for the victim and her family.

On the days when the future seems bleak, slogans seem pointless it is the light of friendship and humor which rescues us from darkness. Light comes in the form of eating free cakes and biscuits and chit-chatting in between protest meetings or in the form of humoring oneself by observing the people around. Some great ones take the opportunity of protest meetings to sit down and read medical books in between slogans. Some find an outlet to their creativity in the form of making up extempore slogans or long touching messages in group chats or repeating the same statement in different ways on the microphone during protest meetings. Some people misinterpret their talents and try to sing in between protest meetings leading to uncalled for comments from the listeners. Some play video games on their phones, while some show silent, passive-aggressive protest by never joining in during slogans. One observes that particular PGT who comes into the meetings every day for some time to show solidarity, never sitting down, joining in the slogans or saying anything at all and wonders how he is indeed a tall-standing “pillar of support”.

It is this love and humor, coupled with our undying dedication to our cause that keeps the protesters united on the face of every adversity. However, fear still looms in the shadows- fear of failure, torment and violence grips us. Will we really have justice or do we have to see other dark nights like the first stroke of our 78^th Independence day? Only time can tell. Till then, let Love and loyalty unite us all as we, as a nation, raise our voices against injustice.

Photo courtesy: Students of NRSMCH

TERROR

 

When one steps into NEET UG preparation phase with a dream in mind, fights through all obstacles just to secure a position in a government medical college, rarely does one imagine that, in the name of securing one’s future, a person ends up with a profession that offers no security at all.

As blood curdling rage burns through the hearts of young medicos, only one unanswered question hangs in the air, “HOW?” One wonders how does one get brutally murdered at a place we call our second home? How do we secure ourselves, being a part of a more vulnerable gender? How and through what parameters do we judge people to identify the Devil in them? How do we ensure justice?

As a medico, every day is a new learning phase. One attends ward postings, OPDs and demo classes where professors and PGTs take turn to teach and help the students to acquire new skills. As insecurity fills our hearts, fear runs in our veins, we remember the faces of the people we see everyday. The intern who prompts answers when we cannot answer the professor’s questions, the professor who uses his own socked foot as a model to explain deformities of foot, the PGT who carefully teaches us how to examine a breast lump, or gently scolds when we cannot wear our gloves properly. Can we not trust them? Can we not go for late night walks around the campus anymore, out of sheer terror? One also remembers the sick, helpless, seemingly stupid patients and their families one sees in the wards. Some of whom are kind enough to allow novice med student to experiment on them, while others are not so kind and say all kinds of incorrect disease history during exams. Should we be terrified before we offer them healthcare?

After years of learning, inhuman hours of service, does a person deserve to die with her dignity violated? As authorities try to cover up for the perpetrators, the scar on the face of Humanity deepens, as the news channels show this news to the families of each and every female medico, parents’ hearts darken with the thought of their daughter’s endangered safety. Concerned, fearful advices come over phone calls, “Do not go out at night. Do not trust anyone.” But is that really possible for the female intern who is the medicine on-call tonight?

One wonders, how to do justice to the deceased and her family? Some people might comment that going on strikes and closing the hospital OPDs for common people is a deadly decision, because sickness cannot and should not have to wait. But silence in such a situation is deadly too. While many people might judge this whole profession because of strikes, it is essential to remember that these same people will choose silence rather than protesting against such heinous offences. There will be some other “intellectual people” who will write long social media posts about how women are responsible for the crimes against them. It is time that we learn to completely ignore such people as they do not even deserve as much attention as hate comments. Justice comes at a price, and it is high time that we steel our nerves and get ready to pay that price.

This incident reminds us of famous dialogue from a Turkish TV soap called Magnificent Century, where the famous Hurrem Sultan tells her husband Sultan Suleiman Khan, “Do not look far Suleiman. The traitor is in the palace.” Indeed, the criminals roam free among us and only when we show them their real place behind bars, can justice be served.