It has been over a month now since the gang rape in Delhi happened and Jyoti Pandey died a horrendous death after shaking the entire country, and indeed the world, in just 13 days.
The youth were out in the streets. The Government clamped curfew. Closed all routes to the city center. A police man also died. Many activists came out, protested, got beaten and arrested.
The Police got a bad rap. The Godmen and Mullahs wrapped themselves into their own binds. Politicians weaved a web of their own and jumped into it.
It seemed as if the country was coming awake. There was an energy around the streets of Delhi. A sense of purpose amongst the youth.
In our efforts to find answers, people tried to question everything – from religions, to culture, to our history, our conscience, our upbringing, our parents…. And above all our entire mindsets. We proudly said, we were ashamed of being Indians. Cleverly segregating ourselves from the “rest”, and feeling cleaner by taking the high road. We shuddered to say, that we are ashamed of “ourselves”, for Jyoti and her assailants reside in us. Each one of us.
We have come to a point in the journey, where we have painted almost everything black. God. Men. Godmen. Culture. Ourselves. Laws.
But rapes are still happening at a faster clip than they ever did.
Outrage…. More outrage… anger… more anger. We have broken things, broken our own bones, our hearts, some lives as well. But what have we gained?
What did Jyoti’s death get her? If Jyotis are to happen despite our outrage, despite our anger and blackening the world; then why fight?
It is time to look back – not at the events… but ourselves. And see.. if we have done justice to our outrage.
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