A photo essay on farmers camping at the doorsteps of Delhi: an unrest that united and healed Punjab

“Yakeen ho to koi raasta nikalta hai Hawa ki ot bhi lekar chiraag jalta hai”
(A firm belief opens the way forward/ Lamps can still burn taking the cover of winds)

T hese lines of Manzoor Hashmi come to mind at the sight of farmers braving heavy rain, a harsh winter, adverse conditions and a ruthless government. Being city bred, I have always marvelled at the conviction of the downtrodden that the future can be better. It takes belief of a supernatural kind to even dream of changing the world under conditions that plague their lives.

And yet ‘comrades’ from Punjab have always been earthy and gregarious, full of verve and vitality. Adversity, it would appear, is meant to whittle down under their robust ways, whatever be the challenge. It was fascinating therefore to see them bring their robust spirit, their ability to celebrate in adverse conditions, their courage, grit and determination to the door steps of Delhi.

90-year-old Sharam Singh’s village is sandwiched between India and Pakistan. As he explained, ‘Darya Ravi ne sadde pind nu Hindustan ton kattata hoya hai’ (river Ravi has cut off our village from India’s mainland). Fields the villagers plough are on both sides of the No Man’s Land. “Par Pakistan wich assi sirf kanak veejde haan’ (but, we sow only wheat on the Pakistani side).

He submitted humbly, “Indian authorities almost treat us as though we are Pakistanis, but the Pakistanis always treat us as Pakistanis.” Thoughtfully he added, ‘Saddi ikko hi ardaas aa, je Hindostan ate Pakistan di dosti ho jaye, te sadde layi bahot saukha rehna’ (if only India and Pakistan become friends, everyone’s life will be easier and better).

I do not know if this ardaas of Sharam Singh qualifies him to be counted as a Khalistani; but if it does, I would be more than happy to be counted as one.

Time has etched many more furrows on 91 years old Nabha Singh’s mind than on his face, from 1947 to 2020, but his never-say-die spirit has brought him with his comrades to once again take up cudgels for the cause of justice.

The misadventure of the government to roil the Kirat (glory) of these two volunteers of ‘Kirti Kisan Union’, the affiliate organization of All India Kisan Mazdoor Sabha in Punjab, was too much to take lying down, explain the two nonagenarians.

Dalbeer Singh Dhindsa is a relatively prosperous farmer from Batala, but at the borders of Delhi they are all one-- the rich, the middle class, the small and the marginal peasants alike. Talk of the difficulties and the inconvenience of spending the nights of harsh, north Indian winters in the open, this Bibi couldn’t care less. A shrug is all that she allows in response.

A leading peasant leader claims that since the peasant movement gained traction in Punjab, farm suicides have declined. The movement has managed to turn despair into hope. Now that’s what I would call ‘Movement therapy’ that has inspired a certain self-assurance in them and courage to see the government and oppressors in its eyes.

There is a popular story that Mao narrated to the Chinese, that of an old man moving a mountain. Well, not exactly a mountain, but Punjabi and Haryanvi youth moved boulders weighing several tonnes and made short work of the deep trenches dug to stop the farmers on their way to Delhi. They took water cannons on their chest, braved tear gas and pepper guns in their stride and stood by the elderly peasants.

We also meet an ex-armyman on the phone who seems to be relaying: “We’ve reached Delhi, staging a siege and are ready for the showdown, Over and out.”

A friend of mine is an excellent neurosurgeon and a kind soul who has set up a successful super-specialty hospital of his own in a Punjab town. He is also among the regular recipients of my mails, though I have no idea how many of them delete the messages straightaway. But I presume at least a few do read them, and that is my reward.

In a recent conversation with this friend, I broached the subject of the ongoing farmers’ agitation. Before asking him of the situation in Punjab, I informed him of our efforts as PMSF (Progressive Medicos and Scientists Forum) to reach out to the farmers with medical aid.

His reply was, “I do not know who the people staging protests at Delhi’s borders are, but there isn’t much disturbance in Punjab. My driver tells me there is little impact of this agitation in his village, and as to urban areas, there isn’t any impact at all.”

It would have been perfectly understandable if one were to be ideologically opposed to the cause being espoused by the agitators, but to say “I do not know who the people staging protests at Delhi’s borders are” was disheartening indeed.

My portrayal of the ‘zest and the verve’ of the agitating peasants in the midst of a harsh north Indian winter was met with the counter, “Boss aap na alag hi dunia mein rehte ho (Boss, you live in an entirely different world).”

“The reality is very different. I get these rich farmers who come to my hospital. They are addicts and spoilt brats, while the actual hard work is done by the migrants or those who are poor peasants.”

The observation may well have some grains of truth. However, I felt it necessary to emphasize the difference in our respective world views. For my friend the reality of the world is perceived after it sieves through filters of class, privilege, hearsay, subjective prejudices or an assiduously cultivated ‘ignorance’ of inconvenient realities.

In my world our worldview insists upon understanding people, their failings and strengths, as being shaped by their social, economic and political circumstances. Those of us who choose to live in my kind of world cannot but derive purpose of their existence from an everlasting pursuit of making this world a better world. To put it in the words of Bhagat Singh: “A world free from exploitation of man by man.”

We hardly enjoy the luxury of insisting upon supply of 24 carat Indians devoid of any imperfections. In our world we insist that neither are we perfect nor are the people who are the subject of our exertions. We are all shaped by our circumstances. The need is to change the material reality that engulfs and shapes us for the better.

‘Khapp sabhyachaar’ (decadent culture) diligently percolated in the Punjabi society by the satraps created a dystopian image of the Punjabi youth manifested in Udta Punjab, the 2016 Bollywood movie on the problem of addiction. Many more insinuations, alien to Punjabiyat were added to their detriment.

Yet, these are the youth who have been instrumental in extending the battle lines from the borders of Punjab to the borders of Delhi in what they perceive is an all-out battle against ‘saddi hond te hamla’ (an attack on our very identity). In the process they have caught the country’s imagination.

As conversations with a cross section of Punjabis would tell you, the reverberations of the farmers’ movement are just beginning to rejuvenate and heal Punjab’s society. To put it in the words of those forbearing the change – ‘Ek nava itihas sirjeya jaa reha aa’ (a new history is being written).

(Dr Vikas Bajpai was part of a health camp set up by the Progressive Medicos and Scientists Forum (PMSF) for the farmers at Delhi’s borders)