As I write this, I am three quarters done with ‘Gujarat Files’, written by firebrand journalist Rana Ayyub. I have been born and brought up in Rajkot, Gujarat, where parts of the revealing and audacious book are based. I call it ‘audacious’ because any fierce act of speaking up is also an act of audacity in times like ours, where the hatred in our bellies is deeper than the deepest ocean.
I was 11 years old at the time of the 2002 Gujarat riots. My school was shut; I wasn’t old enough to really understand the height of the violence I was surrounded with. My starkest memory of the time? Learning the meaning of the phrase “shoot at sight”. There was a shoot at sight order in Rajkot amidst a curfew, and my parents had told me to not play in our apartment complex and dare not step out on the road.
A few days later, I cycled past a bakery from which I used to help mom buy milk. It was charred. Burned because it was owned by a man who belongs to the Muslim community. I asked my dad why the bakery was shut. What happened? “He was Muslim,” my dad answered.
I am reliving my memories of understanding the riots and Narendra Modi’s meteoric rise to power as I read Rana Ayyub’s book. This book holds a lot of weight for me because I am the black sheep of a Modi-loving Gujarati family. The PM was sworn in just days before my grandfather passed away. Ten minutes after my grandfather’s funeral, I was asked to confirm whether I voted for Modi or not. This is how much the topic is sometimes discussed around me.
Ayyub’s book is bold, holds no account unturned and is a crass and crushing reminder of how the state is complicit in some of the most horrific crimes against humanity. Yet, nothing can prevent the rise of the state. The stories are horrifying, the interviews are revealing, and Ayyub’s work deserves the highest of recognitions. This book is the deafening answer to all those who feel “Jisne kiya woh kiya. Ab bhool jaana chaahiye.” Bhool nahin sakte. We can never let the riots and these accounts slip from public memory.
Recently, a fake tweet attributed to Ayyub as well as some morphed videos have led to a sickening slander campaign against her. A journalist who has done such courageous and pathbreaking work is getting death threats and rape threats in return. She has now filed a police complaint.
But sometimes I wonder, what must it feel like to be Rana Ayyub? To do such award-winning work and receive threats and abuse on an everyday basis – just for telling the truth and not budging from your stand? What kind of a toll does it take on your physical and mental health? How insensitive have we become as a society?
This book makes me believe that Ayyub will win over the slander campaign and the trolls. Hundreds of abuses haven’t been able to stop this inspiring journalist from going on about her work. To end this emotion-induced rant, I just want to say that the trolls have found the wrong person to mess with, and I hope justice is served as soon as possible.
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