“Jamia is a hot-bed for radicalising kids.” When I went to study at Jamia Millia Islamia, my family contended with several deep-seated biases. But that is not the Jamia I know. The Jamia I know is full of grace and tact; a place where students will come out and clean the road at the end of a protest, even after teargas shells have been lobbed.
If you support the ban of a piece of clothing – a burqa, ghunghat, or a skirt – you’re still supporting the idea that women’s bodies, and what they put on them, can and should be subjected to regulation. Why should the world decide whether a woman should be behind a veil or cover her legs?
My old-fashioned father, who still believes women should do the bulk of cooking and tolerates no criticism of Narendra Modi, suddenly turned liberal when a young couple needed his help. Unlike most people from our generation, who use social media to signal our virtues, my father had become the IRL definition of woke.
That the Gita is given a religious connotation which limits its reach, is a pity. Much before Twitter threads told you that your biggest enemy is within, the Bhagavad Gita had already got it covered.
What are we to do in the face of the epic monstrosity of man? Collectively capitulate to the horror unfolding all around. The option is too terrible to contemplate.