silence

Re-reading  Urvashi Butalia’s ‘The other Side of Silence’... actually reading sections i hadn’t earlier.. this book is part of the reason i have been tempted to take up law and do something to help victims of abuse and violence..  but thats not what i want to talk about right now..

So many were killed in the name of partition, hatred, religion.. as someone who is more than 40 years removed from the horrors, for someone whose family stayed more or less safe in delhi and someone who has never heard personalised stories of the partition or even of the ’84 riots.. its incomprehensible to me how ordinary people can be capable of such bestial acts of violence..

How is it that people live with themselves after having taken someone’s life...

There have been so many episodes of violence in India during the short span of my life.. and sitting in my protected space in Delhi i’m so far removed from it all that i can’t even begin to understand how people change into animals.. how an idea becomes more important than humanity and life...

I’m surrounded by insulated intellectuals.. people of middle and upper middle cass origins who have stayed within the cocoon of their own circles through teh upheavals...

My grandfather tells me how during teh independence movement he and his brothers, young school students then, would carry around messages and stick posters on walls.. my grandmother has stories to tell of the great -great- grand-somebody who was beheaded and his head stuck on a pike outside the thana after the 1857 revolt.. nani’s family had to run away from lahore.. they never knew of what happened to their things that were left behind.. and yet they escaped the kind of violence Butalia and others have described as the most commonplace occurrence during partition.. my father tells me of the refugee camps he and his friends helped manage after the ’84 riots and how bad the situation was.. and yet none of them were really THERE.. they came before or after the tremors subsided.. they helped clean up and bandage the hurt people... they don’t have personal stories to tell because they were spectators,... just like i am..

And in my selfishness i thank god for that sometimes.. for being away from the horrors.. for having an open, intellectual background where my family does not have bitter recollections of violence perpetrated against or by them.. they have stories of hope and rebuilding, of helping and human charity after the storm has passed...

How is it, why is it that throughout history, the women have borne the brunt of men’s ‘honour’? that it is the women who are abducted, raped, paraded, beaten, all for the sake of a group identity and honour.. stripping teh honour of another group almost always involved subjecting their women to some kind of violence while the men were renedered unable to defend them..

I understand the basic animal instinct underneath it.. that it is the women who create the next generation, physical and mental control over women automatically translates to control over the coming generations..

What i fail to understand is how has this gone on for so long in this so called civilsed society? That even today, the first signs of violence are marked on women and children.. i think not just about the partition because that was something dealt with by a previous generation. My incomprehension is about whats happening today.. Honour killings, forced marriages, seclusion, violence against women who choose to step out of the home for anything..