when does the revolution start?

I am a sixteen year old in the backdrop of a political crisis. Maybe I shouldn’t even call it a political crisis. It’s just a crisis. But weren’t all sixteen year olds, in all timelines and in all of humanity, existing alongside a crisis, because of a crisis, and perhaps despite a crisis. 

My chief minister, Arvind Kejriwal, is in jail. He released his first order strengthening Delhi’s water system, all from the comfort of his secluded, state-allocated accommodation. Though he is without any protection whatsoever, he does have his friends. Former deputy chief minister, health minister and Rajya Sabha member, all from his own party. The government really is ever so considerate. 

Two years ago, our then education minister, Manish Sisodia, visited our school for the 75th Indian Independence day Celebration. 

For the independence day celebrations, I performed my poem ‘The Birds of Freedom’.

The first few lines went like this:

the bird of freedom rejoices today,it is her night,for seventy six years have passedsince the darkness of those two hundred.since lathi marches,and taped mouths.since handcuffed fightersand silenced writers.

In his address to the audience, though he did not remember my name, he did mention my poem. Six months later, he was arrested. The darkness persists, in spite of the poetry we have written or the years added since ‘47. 

I am trying. I am trying. I am trying. I really am. I am trying to assess whether this is a personal diary entry, a college essay, something I put up on my blog, or something I mail to my politicians. I am trying, trying, trying, trying. I really am. I really am. I am trying to figure out how the revolution starts and how long we have to wait and if we can start it today.

I am trying, trying, trying to understand the temples built; the mosques broken; or maybe hundreds of years ago, it was the other way around; the citizenship granted; the citizenship purloined; the electoral bonds purchased; the opposition’s funds frozen; the opposition’s people jailed, and an election staged in the ‘Mother of Democracy.’

I am trying, trying, trying. 

I am a sixteen year old in times of crisis. It is scary.  In the history and sociology textbooks I have studied, though this is an overly simplistic and superficial understanding, it always feels so easy to start a revolution. A few people die but others’ lives are changed forever. People get together and they change something. When reading these books, it seems so straight forward. Constitutions were changed. People carrying sticks, stones and oftentimes guns, gathered. Monarchs abdicated their thrones. Prime ministers were killed or simply driven out. A perfect utopia established. I wish it was as easy as that.

I wish it was easy enough to just storm a prison and free our political prisoners, like they did in Bastille. This way, we could have saved GN Saibaba, the disabled professor at Delhi University jailed for ten years for his supposed Maoist links, or Umar Khalid, a scholar still in jail for his activism. 

It is so hard to gauge, at this moment, who is angry. Our anger has still not turned into something tangible, something we can identify openly. It has not become a collective entity. Instead, it is something each of us hide. There is still so much fear, ignorance and misinformation. There are still police cases fired against art that speaks of oppression, as was done to my family; internet bans of communities who speak of oppression, and jail for opposition that speaks the language of opposition. There is the state sponsored tolerance of intolerance. 

I don’t know what will come out of this piece or who it will reach, but I do know that this year is incredibly important for my future. The political imagination I hold and the work I have done throughout my high school years, no matter how big or small, has allowed, or rather, forced, me to realise that everything is political. There is no option but to speak up. My potential complacency will morph into support towards the establishment, and I could not possibly bear that. As a sixteen and soon to be seventeen year old this election season, I am just one year away from voting. This does not make me less of any active citizen. I am still a citizen: a citizen of Delhi and a citizen of India. I care for what I see and I don’t wish to leave anyone behind. I see, I hear, I speak and I write. I organise and I do. But most of all, I hope to change.

So once again, I wonder, how does the revolution start and how long do I have to wait? If possible, could we do it today?

Written by Srina Bose

Views expressed are personal.