The Day Saffron Ceased Being a Hue

WHILE in school, we had a teacher who was assigned the task of teaching us Hindi, the national language. Even before he had been appointed in our school, this teacher was so popular with the students who hailed from his hometown. The hype was so huge that we, I included, looked forward to being taught by this gentleman. He came, we saw and listened to him, and soon he was successful in conquering the hearts of many of us kids. However, that was not to be in my case.

Though this teacher was to teach us the national language, he went a huge leap further and started narrating tales from history whenever he had a chance. History had been one of my favourite subjects, simply because my dad was also a history teacher. History, contrary to general belief, was not a boring topic to explore. That’s what I had learnt during conversations on the subject with my dad.  History was more about facts to me, than fiction. All recorded by famed historians from across the world, in fact.

However, this new young teacher of ours with the red tilak on his forehead, went the extra mile to narrate to us tales from history, and soon I found, he was distorting facts. Whenever he told us tales of Mughal rulers, this teacher of ours made it a point to try and convince us that the Muslim rulers who held the reins of power in Delhi and elsewhere, were plunderers who spilt Hindu blood as a hobby. For this teacher of ours, Akbar was the most cruel, despicable, hate-worthy wretch who called himself the Emperor.  Which, was not the case, as all those who have run through the authentic pages of history would know.

I soon found out that this teacher of ours was a die-hard swayam-sevak who had this inbuilt hatred to anyone from a religion other than Hinduism. His classes were, I realised, just extensions of the RSS shaakhas which he presided over in the evenings.

As a kid who learnt to salute the tricolour and stand up in respect for the National Anthem, this came as a rude shock to me. I, the son of a teacher who believed Hinduism was a way of life and had nothing to do with blind faith, was shaken. When this Hindi teacher of ours who ventured into distorted terrain in the name of teaching history, I had the first taste of how the messengers of Hindutva (not Hinduism) tried to misrepresent facts for their own gain. And it was then, while in school, I started staying away these self-proclaimed apostles of Hindutva.

Later on, the first day of my college life saw a group of seniors drive us like a herd of sheep to an open ground and make us stand in line and listen to utterings in Hindi (or was it Sanskrit?). I, God Almighty knows how, was picked to walk up to the front and repeat in chorus to what one of those senior students uttered in a very strong, intimidating tone.  The whole scene looked make-believe, and was forced on me, who arrived in college from a school that had taught me the umpteen merits of secularism.  

I soon realised I was in a college shaakha meeting, a ploy the ABVP (students wing of the Bharatiya Janata Party, which was just beginning to crawl from infancy to toddler status) had charted out to lure the new comers to vote for them when the next college elections were declared. I started loving to hate the saffron, which for me until then was a bright hue. My displeasure for the men and women who wanted to create a Hindu land in a Secular India grew manifold when they forced on me the rakshabandhan thread saying that it is a Hindu symbol. Until then, for me, the rakshabandhan thread had more to do with sisterly love and heaps of sweets. The day it transformed itself into a Sanghi symbol, I decided to shun it for the sake of my secular motherland.

Years have come and gone, and I now live in an era where saffron holds the all-important reins. I still believe in my country’s secular credentials, and nurture the hope of brotherhood. However, I do not know why, fear stalks me as I tend to ignore the so-called messengers of the 33-crore pantheon.

I still make it a point to visit the deities that I believe are man’s last resort of hope. But then, the saffron robes, the discourses that spew venom, and the loudspeakers that proclaim the supremacy of the religion I belong to, suck the energy out of me, leaving me maimed. I have been taught by my dad to respect every religion, celebrate every festival and walk alongside everyone who walked along side me.

I had taken the pledge that I would consider all my countrymen as my brothers and sisters. I had sang aloud the Anthem of my nation, and it still reverberates in the sanctum sanctorum of my soul as I pen this down. But then, I realise, Hindutva has taken over, while Hinduism as a way of life has faded into oblivion. Will I be able to hold hands with my Muslim and Christian brethren anymore without fearing for our lives? I know not.