The floods in New Delhi at the beginning of July 2023 and the communal violence in Haryana three weeks later had one thing in common: both managed to reach the doors of the well-to-do. Normally, it is the poor who bear the brunt of natural and man-made calamities. This time, however, the rich were affected as well.
Rising higher than it has in the last 45 years, not only did the Yamuna displace thousands of families living on its banks, it also disrupted life in large parts of central and northern Delhi, inundating houses in affluent areas like Civil Lines and flooding roads and offices in central Delhi. Similarly, the violence that followed in the wake of the Bajrang Dal’s procession in Nuh not only left a trail of destruction in rural Mewat, it also made its presence felt amongst the wealthy in Gurugram.
On the night of July 31, mobs sporting saffron and wielding sticks, guns and other weapons set fire to a mosque, killed a cleric, and burned down several shops owned by Muslims in Gurugram. The arson continued into the next day, forcing the district administration to shut down schools and ask people in offices and MNCs to work from home for a few days.
The target of this violence was the Muslim community in Gurugram – many of whom are daily wagers, mistris, fruit sellers and small restaurant owners. The arson was ostensibly ‘retaliatory’, and thus, for some twisted reason, ‘justified’.
Kallu Mia, an elderly Muslim who owned a mattress shop in Sector 66 till just a day before, is in a daze. Sitting under the shade of a small neighbouring shed, he is staring at the smouldering remains of his shop. On the afternoon of August 1, in plain view of dozens of high-rise apartments in the area, a mob of about ten people doused his shop with petrol and set fire to it. The mob also threatened Muslims living in tin sheds nearby that if they do not leave the city, they will face dire consequences.
Originally from Moradabad, the elderly Muslim shopkeeper came to Gurugram in 2021. I ask him the extent of his losses.
“I have lost at least Rs 3 lakh worth of goods.”
While I am talking to Kallu Mia, a local doodhwala (milkman) stops his tempo next to the charred remains, strides up to us, interrupts our conversation and proclaims loudly, “A mob has no face! How do you know those who attacked his shop were, in fact, Hindus? How do you know they weren’t his enemies? Why are you media people spreading lies?”
The saying, ‘a guilty conscience needs no accuser’ comes to mind. I tell the man to please wait while I finish talking to the man whose shop has burned down. He continues to butt in. I finally ask Kallu, “Do you have any personal enemies who could have done this, as he is saying?”
Bewildered, the old Muslim shakes his head. The people who know him also shake their heads. The milkman continues to loudly theorise about mysterious political parties and “conspirators” who are trying to give the government a bad name. He is probably hoping I will interview him as well. I ignore him. After a few minutes, possibly realising that I am not his ticket to instant fame, he gets in his tempo and drives away.
I cross the road to where more small shops have been burnt. A small crowd is gathered around the charred remains. An TV crew from a channel that squarely falls in the ‘godi media’ category is also present. A young reporter in a suit replete with silk handkerchief is walking around, trying to figure out who to talk to.
A bespectacled man comes up to me and starts chatting. His name is Gopal and he is a golgappa seller from about half a kilometre away. While I am talking to him, the reporter interrupts our conversation and starts asking Gopal questions.
I request the reporter to wait till I’m done.
The young man loses his temper and starts shouting. I marvel at how similar his sense of entitlement and lack of basic courtesy is to that of the milkman I just encountered. This is what majoritarian arrogance looks like.
At this point, my taxi driver, a tall strapping Haryanvi, who has driven me to many protests and andolans over the years, hears the shouting and comes and stands next to me. The reporter decides to let me finish my conversation and storms off.
“What has happened is very wrong,” continues Gopal. “It is always the poor man who ends up suffering. The people who ran these shops were Mohammedans. They have left.”
He clarifies that he is a Hindu. I ask him if he feels that Hindus are, indeed, in danger.
“Hindu kisi bhi angle se khatre me nahi hai” he replies. (The Hindu is not in danger in any way.)
“But the media keeps telling us that Hindus are in danger…”
“We all know what the media in this country is like, right?” he retorts.
“So, who is in danger?”
“The thief is in danger. The person who has done something wrong is in danger.”
Gopal then goes on to tell me the heartbreaking story of the death of his three children during the COVID-19 lockdown. I ask him if he has gotten any help from the government.
“No one has helped us,” he says he says with a note of finality. “We are on our own.”
Sushil, another resident of the same area who has a grocery store nearby, also condemns the violence and decries the fact that in political games, it is always the poor who suffer.
That evening, journalist Ravish Kumar talks about the apathy and silence of Gurugram’s rich. The former NDTV anchor asks why the residents of the ‘Millennium City’, who only protest when their roads get flooded in monsoon, remain silent when Gurugram’s Muslim population is targeted. Kumar’s censure of Gurugram’s residents is scathing. He even goes on to sing a song in English on his show for the benefit of the English-speaking ‘Gurugrammarians’!
Kumar has made an important point on his show. Gurugram is home to 35,000 CEOs. If those CEOs were to get together and ask the government to stop encouraging the politics of hate and ensure communal peace, the effects would be dramatic.
As we drive away, my taxi driver quietly notes that all the coconut sellers in Gurugram have disappeared. They are all Muslim. He then goes on to tell me, “A Muslim family has lived in my building for years. They are very fine people. The lady was a teacher who was always ready to help my son with his homework. This morning, their door was padlocked, and their car was gone.”
After a long pause he says, “I don’t think they will return.”
(Rohit Kumar is an educator. Courtesy: The Wire.)
