Of Inquilab and Democracy

It’s a Saturday morning, as I was languidly perusing a frightful tome titled Conversations with Aurangzeb, a question leapt from the pages and smote me between the eyes. How, it inquired with insidious curiosity, is inquilab possible in a democracy? My first thought was to chuck the wretched book into the nearest bin and seek solace in a more agreeable volume—The Adventures of Sally or some such. But the query stuck like Aunt Agatha at a family gathering, demanding attention.

For those unacquainted with the term, “inquilab” is often bandied about with the gusto of a chap cheering for his college cricket team. “Inquilab Zindabad!” they shout, which, loosely translated, means “Long Live the Revolution!” It’s the sort of cry that would make one’s butler raise an eyebrow and discreetly secure the silverware.

Now, democracy, as we all know, is the business of chaps voting other chaps into positions of power, where they generally make a hash of things. It’s all rather above board and civilized, if you discount the occasional kerfuffle at the polling stations. But it seems some souls are not content with the usual hullabaloo and seek a more dramatic turn of events, hence the crossing out of “Democracy” on an Election Commission poster and the scrawling of “NOTA” and “Inquilab Zindabad” in its place. A protest, or perhaps an avant-garde artistic statement—one can never be too sure these days.

In my efforts to unravel this conundrum, I stumbled upon a play by Asif Currimbhoy, simply titled Inquilab. It dives into the murky waters of human nature and societal injustices, though I confess, I prefer my injustices in the form of a dubious handicap at the Drones Club golf tournament. The play, much like the recent waves of protests in India, from Anna Hazare’s hunger strikes to the anti-CAA-NRC movements, seems to capture a nation gripped by the fervor of liberty and the irresistible urge to take to the streets, hashtags in tow.

As I sat mulling over these weighty matters, I happened upon Inquilab: A Decade of Protest, an anthology that assembles a veritable who’s who of modern-day agitators and thinkers. From Anna Hazare to Kanhaiya Kumar, these voices demand justice, equality, and the sort of governance that doesn’t lead one to contemplate emigration to the South of France. It appears that in the heart of democratic India, the spirit of inquilab is alive and kicking, much like Bertie Wooster after one too many rounds of Aunt Dahlia’s restorative concoction.

In conclusion, dear reader, it seems that inquilab in a democracy is rather like a bally good tennis match—full of passion, the occasional tantrum, and an unyielding desire to see the thing through to a satisfactory conclusion. Whether it’s on the streets or in the hallowed halls of government, the spirit of revolution and reform is as indomitable as Jeeves’s sartorial choices. And so, we continue to plod along, democracy in one hand, inquilab in the other, hoping for a brighter, if slightly tumultuous, tomorrow.