Dirty Questions: Thoughts after watching Fandry

Dear Maharashtrians / Hindus/ Indians / newly crowned guardians of meritocracy,

 I always have had few questions to ask. Few thoughts which churned me over and spit me out once they were done with me. Few nights of curiosity, nights which warned me that getting dirty wasn’t highly esteemed and asking questions about dirt in one’s own house was second to being blasphemous. Today I met a guy who might have sailed in same boat as mine for years. At least his work seems to suggest he had. So let’s get straight to our queries. Dirty queries.
How would you feel if I placed a cute little cuddly white baby pig on your hand?
Pretty sure most of you would love the warm fuzzy feeling. You might pour words that taste honey and eyes might ooze with affection. You might even look at your spouse for a split second to ask if adoption is possibility.
Now how would you feel if that pig wasn’t Caucasian white but our very own Indian-black hued and relatively muscular?
Suddenly his sweet moustache would look a tad bit weird, maybe even disgusting. The very warmth that you felt might be turning into an itchy feeling. That blood curdling, gut cricking thing. Your palms might whisper about something dirty creeping up on your shoulders. But civilized as you are, you might just decide to drop that thingy on the ground. Hey native .. ciao. Go your way babe. Shooo… not my way, go away.
Well if you empathise with above person, how about this. The Pig you just held has spend his whole breathing life eating and bathing itself in human waste?
EEWWWW!!
That’s just … gosh I feel like vomiting on that dirty little dastardly thing. Do you. You do.
Cool. Atleast you and I are on the same page till now.
Well now imagine yourself. 5 year old you , playing on a lush green park. And suddenly a whole family of these barbarian pigs appears out of nowhere. Dirty black, shit smelling , snorting shitholes. They are fleeing from humans. Yet people around you choose to blitz them with stray stones and abuses. Do you join everybody?
Most probably you do. By 5 you know you are a human and these are pigs that deserve no better than a hammering. By 5 you don’t know why you feel so, but you know it’s RIGHT. So you do it. At least in your mind you have crushed them all with huge boulders that might need 5 adults to lift. Feels right. Feels nice too.
So my dear fellow gentry, how about stretching this play one step ahead.
How about giving these pigs a voice? And a human soul? And a human body too.
Don’t worry, this ain’t no fairytale. Is it too hard for you to imagine. Let me help you.
Open your eyes and just look around.
The lady that collects your dirt every morning ..
The guy the cleans your street sewers…
The maids whom you order to ‘clean your toilets’ or
the kids whom you buy out to wash the dirt on your cars.
Leave alone loving a person this low, can they ever argue with you and survive.
Do they have the right to hold onto their job and self-respect if they look up to your righteous acts which scream of inhumanity?
Do you feel ashamed when you walk past ‘these’ people, telling yourself that ‘it’s their job’.
Do you care about these 70 crore odd people in this very country who, just like you, are looking up the ladder and hoping for that one little stroke of light to beam down.
That light denied to them for last thousands of years by collective wisdom of your religion and castes and creeds and jahagirdars and zamindars? That very light which the elitist promised to them for last 100 years and later went on to rape and ravage generations together. That very light which you ‘debate’ upon under the garbs of quotas and merits and policies in your cushioned offices and bedrooms.
We, the Indians, are a weird lot.
We hang up on our pastel colored soft walls, symbols of Gurus and idols of great men of the past. We build opinions and prejudices on the history of a nation we ‘know’ zilch of and of geography we have never cared to explore. We prefer to sing national anthems in our schools and cinema halls rather than tell our kids that nation is a fucked up fiction gone bad but breathing organisms are for real and shold be cared for.
We are ready to jump into our cocoons lest the ‘god forsaken’ people from these ‘ immigrant havens’ reach us and ‘snatch our jobs and college seats’.
We highlight their misdeeds and underplay their heroic spirit.
We, for years together, paint them as the untouchables and relegate them to dark corners of invisibility in our mass consciousness.
We would rather hear about them and forget about those dirty filthy pigs lest out dreams of ‘development’ get marred . We would prefer to get high on Bollywood and lick feet of corporates who sell us fairness and slimness than hug a child who doesn’t know why people around him look and treat him as if he was bastard born to a mother who forgot to tell him that she herself was a human born into family of mulch clad, shit eating pigs.
We, my dear nobility, have stinking shit ingrained deep within our psyche for generations.
Not them. It’s us.
Bad news.
But true.
We …. are the pigs , the real Fandries.
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