A Marathi That I Am

I had resigned from my current job. I am joining a company, which happens to be in the northern part of India. All set, having confirmed the accommodation, traveling facilities, exact location of the office, and packed for a day, I begin my journey to the new state. I will be traveling by train this time, convenient and cheap, air travel has become costly now. I board the train and occupy my seat after placing the luggage. I start to look out of the window until the train begun its acceleration. I was traveling alone and it was getting boring. Meanwhile, I call a newspaper boy, who rambled in the compartment trying to sell the dailies. I could not find anything in English to read and thus picked up a Marathi newspaper to put some of my spare time to good use. The compartment was getting filled with people, mostly north Indians and a mix of many others. We all begin the journey – few of the oldies praying for a safe journey, while some still waving good bye to their relatives on the platform, women adjusting their saris, dresses, and make-up, and the males were putting their baggage in place. I dozed off. After I finished my nap, all the passengers had settled in their respective seats and the commotion had soon withered out of the window. People had started talking to each other about their destinations relatives and everything in general, and were exchanging fruits, wafers, peanuts, and so on. A hand extended to me with words, “Lo beta” (take Son), I traced the source and it was an elderly lady offering in chips. “No, its ok thank you”, I replied and smiled back. “Lamba safar hai lelo (its a long journey, take it)”, prompted the voice again. I took two wafers and crunched them between my teeth.

“Till where are you going”, asked a fellow passenger sitting next to me. He was young too like me.
I told him the name of the place and also that I am joining a company there. “Hmmm” was the response. A little while later, he asked me for my newspaper. I had curled the newspaper like a pipe by now and put it near the seat edge. I gave it to him anyways.
He unfolded the newspaper and exclaimed, “Oh, this seems to be in Marathi, I will take ages to read one single page…hahahaha”.
“Yes, its Marathi”, I replied.
“So you a Marathi, a Maharashtrian”, he queried.
“Ho…from Mumbai”, I confirmed.
“And you going to north India”, he sounded sarcastic.
“So?”, I was arrogant.
“Nothing, just be careful. The news is not too good for you people up there in the North”, he cautioned me; I think so.
“Yes, even I have heard it. But I think I will be ok”, I tried to gather some courage.
“I hope so. And I sincerely wish that you are not harmed, you look like a good cultured man. Why would anyone want someone like you to be a prey of some selfish illiterate politicians?”
“True”, I affirmed.
He excused himself for a leak. I slept again in the meanwhile only to get up next morning. Hours passed and I was waiting for my destination to come, while continually talking to passengers around, and answering their questions about me and my existence, and so on.

I get down at my destination and go out in search of the cab that company has sent for me. I was somewhat fearful still remembering about what that fellow passenger had told me. But then, how would someone ever come to know that I am a Maharashtrian, I tried to cajole myself. May be in a similar way how Muslims were dug out during the 1992 Mumbai riots or the Gujarat riots or how the tribal Hindus are hunted by Christians for conversions – I may be looked out for in a similar way. I was swinging between the optimisms of a safer abode and uncertainties of my unsecured existence there. I could not find the cab, and so I thought of taking a private taxi or rickshaw or anything that I found. I finally could locate a shared auto and started my journey further.

My cell phone rang, it was my mother calling. “Ho…atta 10 mins purvi”, I said with rest all questions answered in a mix of “hmmmm….ho…ok….hmmmm” and disconnected the call.
“Kahan se ho”, asked the rickshaw driver.
“Mumbai”, I said.
“Marathi?”, rickshaw driver again.
“Ummm…nahi…haan..haaan..", I fumbled with words.
“Dartey kyon ho sahab, jaisi karni bharni waise bharni, jo diya hai wo wapis to lena padega” (Why are you afraid Sir? As you sow, so you reap. You have to take back what you have given), I did not know if the driver was threatening me or just making a statement.
“Par, maine kuch nahi kiya” (but I did not do anything), I tried to avoid any discussion further.
“Humne konsa kahan kuch kiya tha” (where had we did anything), replied the driver and he stopped the auto near a small hotel. He called a few men and shouted, “Mumbai se Marathi aadmi aya hai, aao re sab” (a Marathi fellow has come from Mumbai, all of you come here).

I sensed some trouble coming and started to run with the entire luggage that I could gather. A mob followed me. I was running even faster now. I collapsed a few times, got up, and ran again, almost for my life. I was dehydrated after sometime and gasped heavily, my throat was arid by now, I was looking around for water. I needed to run and also required some water to stay alive – but I was tired. I kept hunting for water, wheezing away.

I got up and reached for the bottle of water kept next to my bed. I gulped down 5 to 6 sips, and stayed awake with eyes wide open for 5 minutes. That was a bad dream, I was dreaming. I checked, there I was sitting on my bed in the dark with no mob following me. I felt relived. I went out on the terrace for sometime for some fresh air, it was cold and pleasant. But I still kept thinking about my dream while looking at the silent road below and the moonlit glittery sky above.

The situation may be just a distant reality if Raj Thackeray continued with the violence against other communities and/or the regions. I love Mumbai, a true Mumbaikar, and proud Marathi, but I don’t want all this to be tarnished just because of the wrong deeds of a single person, who just talks about the Marathi asmita and does not care about what nuisance value he is creating for his own community. It is a sheer desperation of coming into power. However, this is not going to help. Beating up north Indians appearing for railway recruitment exam or those waiting at the ticket booking window is a complete madness, what kind of support and brand value is he gathering for himself and his party. His acts are definitely promoting enmity within the country between various communities. “Shame, Shame, Shame” said his wife reacting to Raj’s arrest. In fact, I feel that his acts are conferring more shame on the Marathi community, and may soon a situation will come when a Marathi Manoos is hated, ill-treated, and harassed in the other states. As one of my good friends puts it, we all are talking about a global village but this man Raj is doing otherwise. True, when the geographical boundaries across the world are being erased, Mr. Raj is trying to etch newer boundaries within the country itself. It also may be a case where Mr. Raj’s doing might lead to sprouting of some extremist group that take on vandalism of Marathi community or may be Raj himself is nurturing new radicalisms that would generalize the Marathi community into some form of a terror group. It may be soon when Marathi Manoos will be looked up as a violent terrorist as like what a Muslim is looked upon as a terrorist. I do not want all this for a Marathi Manoos, true Marathi that I am. We have always been known to be peaceful community with an adjusting nature, and I like it that way. The worthy one will get what he/she deserves irrespective of the community, resorting to violence is no measure in any way, it will only derogate the identity. I surely do not want the entire community to carry the blame or be tainted black for one man’s foolish ideologies, which I am sure more than 80% of the community does not agree to. Fighting for rights is not wrong, the objective is good but the path is wrong – killings and violence does not bring back rights, just hatred and communalism.

With so many thoughts and confusions in mind I tried to sleep again, but I couldn’t. Time passed and I got ready to leave for office. I was waiting at the bus stop, when I over heard a conversation. A man asked his friend, “I heard they burning Raj’s effigies and posters there in the north, kya ho raha hai aapke raj mein”, and he laughed. To this, that friend replied, “Wohi jo aapke Raj ne kiya hai”, and they both had a hearty laugh – may be one was Marathi and the other was Bihari, looking at that gesture of brotherhood and friendship, I felt that there is still hope that peace might prevail.