The ability to create a world inside
your head at whim can be painful at times, and a real pleasure at
others. When you create the same world repeatedly, successively,
passionately you might feel slightly schizophrenic. A sharp
awareness of reality can be manna, at such times.
Ever since I saw Anbe Sivam or to go
back further, read Che's Motorcycle Diaries, I have fancied
myself a communist. I've often tried to ignore the temptation to
dress up, have sub consciously been shabby at times because the
communist in my head wildly approves, of this idea so far from
communism, and yet so dear to the imagination. My first protest on
Saturday shall be memorable to me for one of two reasons, I am not
sure : Either it made the emotion in my stomach soar, at the idea of
being a real and physical voice for a few hours or it introduced me
to new facets of whimsical dreaming. (Smiles)
When I reached the Town Hall my
instinctive desire was to change, by some magical force, the location of
the
protest to the opposite side of the Town Hall, because I wanted to
watch the sun set behind the Hall while I was feeling incredible.
The statue of Kittur Rani Channamma on a horse with a machete in
her hand quickened my heart, though I walked soberly. 5 minutes
later, there I was holding a poster, looking sheepish, the expression
compounded by my fear of cameras and my guilt at not having
brought a poster of my own.
The most comforting part of a
students' protest is the conviviality at the site of the protest in
spite of how seriously everyone takes the issue. You feel at ease
because the protesters can roughly be divided into two groups-people
who're there for the first time and therefore look as sheepish for
varying reasons and people who've been to a protest before and have
discarded their inhibitions so conclusively that their nonchalance
can cause you to chide yourself and become sensible.
I was quietly pleased by the effort
that had been made by most of those who turned up; their spontaneity,
their awareness of the issue, their willingness to speak on a public
platform, pose for the media in cardboard jails and scream out
slogans. I thoroughly approved when someone screamed, “It's fucking
wrong” into the mike because I realised that in that breach we had
all made the protest our own, in every way. That it was seeping
slowly, into the thickest skins.
There are several faults with the
revision of rules proposed by the Indian government:
The double standards- The creator of
content is always the victim while the complainant need not worry
about the consequences of his action.
The absurdity- Google argues against
censorship by giving this example : Censoring the word 'sex' on the
internet can cause erasure of all passport information!
The legal consequences seem to be
oppressive and overdone as the impromptu skit, again keeping with the
mood of the atmosphere conveyed in a conversation between several
criminals in a jail cell. All of them ministers( Keeping with the
Anti corruption movement) except one, who played a pitiful blogger.
The power that it gives a person to
dictate their opinions - Someone remarked that censoring the internet
was equivalent to censoring art, bringing to fore the analogy between
the M.F.Hussain issue and this one.
As the hours progressed, I was feeling
more strongly about the issue and appreciated the songs that several
people sang; hoarsely, slightly out of pitch but never lacking in
conviction. I tried to gauge the meaning of the Kannada songs,
laughed with everyone as someone sang sportively in Malayalam, a
language that no one there understood. I was losing my weakness of
feeling self-conscious in the middle of strangers and I was enjoying
it. The candles in the end added solemnity and as I walked back
home, under the eagles flying so high, I promised myself that I
would protest again, perhaps with more conviction. That it would mean
more, much more the next time.
(Written by a new free software enthusiast, who participated in FSMK's protest against the Internet censorship debate.
The author has sought anonymity )
