GHADRI BAABE

Tau Chandar is 82. He joined police in Delhi after independence. Pointing towards the highway and the buildings all around he says, ‘ehan kuch na tha tab.’

One day ‘daroga’ of his police station took two hundred rupees bribe from someone to get rid of a relative. Tau was close by and as the conversation proceeded Tau felt ashamed and angry at the uniform. When the daroga pocketed the money and agreed to do the needful Tau couldn’t take it anymore. Tau tells me he was strong in those days. He got hold of the daroga and thrashed him there and then. Daroga threatened him that he will get him transferred. Tau resigned the same day. As he left the police station, he told the daroga, ‘lele apni naukri chutad mein.’ As Tau remembers his parting shot at the corrupt system, there is youth and pride in his voice and a million watt smile on his face.

He is happy now, having worked his fields for decades, surrounded by children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Why is he here? ‘Gandi sarkaar laayi hai. Do mahine se baithe hain.’

What will happen next? ‘Ghadar hoga.’

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#7

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A LANGAR FOR THE REPUBLIC

As I walk towards the main stage at Singhu tractor trolley township, I stop at Sarhali Sahab langar for my daily cup of badam-akharot milk they serve whole day. To my right washing machines and volunteers manning them are busy serving a langar of washed clothes, busy keeping the clothes of the morcha clean and it’s spirits high. There are over 300 langars in the first ten kilometres of this township, that extends beyond twenty today.

On the other side of the narrow path where the morcha walks, volunteers have set up cloth ironing langar. I notice the tricolor being carefully ironed, to be worn as the morcha’s izzat, to be held high along with the heads making the morcha.

Chingari ko sholon mein badalna aasan hai,

Mushkil hai to chingari ko paida karna.

Board is set. Pieces are moving. We come at last, to the greatest 26th January of our lives. To the greatest langar for the republic. Come join it, be part of it. If not in body, then in spirit. Cheer for it, pray for it.

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BLOOD. LEGACY.

The sword of revolution is sharpened on the whetstone of ideas. — Shaheed Bhagat Singh.

The daily meeting and sharing of ideas is on at Sanjhi Sath – a shared space, a village meeting place. First half of the day this little corner at Singhu tractor trolley township is a nursery - full of little children, from nearby shanties, playing, drawing, learning to read and write – a place where the seeds for ideas are planted. Every evening it turns a whetstone - for two hours farmers, volunteers, elderly, young, grown trees and young saplings, all shades gather here, ideas gather here, and the sword is sharpened.

Rajwant Kaur is sharing her story. A young and upcoming lyricist and singer, when she discussed her song ‘Bhagat Singh tera maqsad lokin bhulde jane ne’ ‘Bhagat Singh, masses are slowly forgetting your purpose,’ the music director told her that if she wants to become popular, she should sing on popular themes, revolutionaries and their ideas don’t sell anymore.

Today, sitting opposite young Rajwant, two meters away, is Gurjit Kaur Dhatt, 68years old niece of Shaheed Bhagat Singh. Rajwant begins to choke up. ‘We have grown up reading Bhagat Singh. But to meet his blood in person, as part of a revolution… ’ She starts crying. The words stop. The revolutionary fervor, the idea spreads. In its powerful silence, it takes in the gathering at Sanjhi Sath, it engulfs the tractor trolley township, and it reaches out to the nation.

After she has composed herself and after she had reassured the gathering and more so her own very self that she will keep her words true to her soul, on request of the gathering she sings for everyone. ‘Jaag ja Punjabiya, sambhal jimmevariyan.’

His legacy lives on. New legacies sprout from the seeds he planted.

The sword is still sharp.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#6

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THE TOUCH OF PARAS

Parasdeep’s day job is home care of elderly and patients. Covid ensured he stopped getting called into homes. It was not a regular work anyways. Alongside he sells popcorn in the evenings. The setup is mobile – the roaster on wheels, fit behind his motorcycle - and he drives from village to village. His family doesn’t own any land. He isn’t a farmer. Yet he wanted to contribute to the farmer’s movement. Few friends helped collect 9500 rupees, and along with whatever materials he had at home he left for Singhu.

A few weeks around Lohri his sales are better. When his mother reminded him that he shouldn’t miss the festival sale period he promised her to be back in 3 days. 9500 rupees won’t last that long anyways.

Couple of social media channels covered his popcorn langar. The videos circulated around and reached his village. At the end of the third day, as he was getting ready to pack-up and return, he received a phone call from his village panchayat. They thanked him for showing them the way. And told him that a tractor-trolley from the village was on its way. He won’t need to shut down for the lack of funds. The popcorn langar will continue for as long as he would like to continue.

‘Then it will continue till the farmers are here.’ What about your promise to your mother to get back in three days? ‘She is very happy now. She said I can do sewa as long I need to.’

Two weeks after reaching here, he continues the sewa, as youngsters from his village join him and help. A few elderly from the village sit in the trolley, watching them with pride. It took a Paras’ touch to turn their youth into gold.

The roaster has run the cycle, the corn is ready, it puffs and expands and bursts out. Corn like masses. Masses like corn. All it takes is a touch of Paras.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#5

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HOME AT LAST

She has spent her day walking through the lanes of the tractor-trolley township. It has never been like this for her. The food is aplenty. She picks and choose – she is developing a taste! Now she walks back to her resting place. In the harsh winter, the little corner with plastic and rugs underneath and a plastic overhead is the most comfortable it has been for her ever.

He returns to his tent after a day of volunteer duty at the stage. She gets up and rush to him, she squeaks like a little child, her tail hasn’t wagged with this much excitement ever. He pats her, humors her, plays with her.

Back in Punjab he has already adopted two strays. He hasn’t named her yet, but it appears a third one is on her way to join the other two.

Where there were highspeed vehicles all day long, that could crush her without a pause in their journey, the stray has found a home.  Where humanity was passing by, in a rush of madness, the stray has found a human.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#4

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47. 84. 2020.

Walking through the tractor-trolley townships at Tikri and Singhu, one finds posters saying ‘Santali (47) Dekhi, Chaurasi (84) Dekhi. 2020 Dikhawange.’ Most of the youngsters who carry these posters on their tractors, trolleys and tents have only seen 47 and 84 through stories. But stories are powerful. We live in stories and stories live in us. However, there are some here, who define these posters.

Sardar Nachattar Singh Garewal was 13 years old at the time of partition. He remembers going with fellow villagers to walk Muslims from his village to the safety of camp Raikot. He remembers with much more clarity and detail his days in Nagpur during the pogrom of 84. He used to drive a truck and was on road when the killings started. He remembers parking his truck on roadside, removing a tyre, putting a jack and creating an impression of a broken vehicle. He remembers cutting his hair and beard. He remembers hiding in a Gurudwara and then hiding in cotton fields for days.

He isn’t hiding anymore. 84 Dekhi. 2020 Dikhawange. He stands tall, with his unions flag held high. He walks all day long chanting Inquilab Zindabad. As you approach and greet him, he breaks into a radiant smile and gives you hug, full of affection and kindness. And if you spend a few minutes with him, he makes you part of his story, he makes his story part of yours. And if you ask for a photo, he raises his flag and his arms, and his voice rings out Inquilab Zindabad. And when you say goodbyes, he embraces you in a hug again, a hug of brotherhood, a hug of blessing, a hug of memories, a hug for centuries, a hug for humanity.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#3

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JOURNEY IS THE DESTINATION

Ajeetpal Singh is a 2003 Chemical Engineering graduate. He worked with Maruti after graduation. He now runs his own event management firm. He is not involved in agriculture directly, but his family is. He wanted to create awareness about the farmers movement and contribute in what little way he could. So, around 20^th December, he along with his family and friends, a group of 12 including elderly, ladies and children, started their journey from Anandpur Sahib towards Singhu on foot.

Anandpur Sahib to Singhu is about 290kms. They walked 570 kms covering many villages and towns on the way and reached Singhu in 12 days. They spoke with residents of villages they visited. They spoke with shopkeepers of the towns they crossed.

‘Our plan was to stay here for 4-5 days, but once we reached here and started sewa, we just don’t have the heart to leave.’ Ajeetpal’s throat chokes, his eyes water as he discusses his journey to this place about fifty meters behind the Sanyukt Kisan Morcha’s stage, where he spends is days cleaning, mending, polishing footwear of the farmers.

He was touched by the hospitality of the Haryana villagers wherever they stayed. And he was moved by the poverty of masses they crossed along the highways. ‘We were not carrying much with us. We had some clothes that we gave to few at one place. In no time there was a big queue of the needy.’ He is a gentle soul, there is pain in his words and water in his eyes as he says his words. ‘I had always heard that the journey is more important than the destination. Now I know.’

The sole of the shoe in his hand has come off on one side. He cleans the shoe with a dry cloth and picks up the tube of fixing lotion. He is cleaning and polishing his society’s soul a shoe at a time. He is mending its hurts a shoe at a time. His humanity seeps into those shoes and becomes a part of many other journeys.

HUMANS OF FARMERS MOVEMENT SERIES#2

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