Dear Teacher,
I was 15 and ambitious, flying in my own vast sky, flapping my wings of freedom while dreaming of change.
I was 18 and rebellious, questioning azaadi, struggling with the narrative of India built around me; an India that looked alien to me.
You divided me with stories of discrimination to feed your hungry ideological battles. You told me that this nation doesn’t belong to all, but only to some. You told me the nation is dead, butchered by the netas in kurtas and I feel as if the establishment has become a fungus.
I flip through the pages of time, I am 20 and living the idea of an India I always desired, yet I’m afraid to say it because you never told me “it’s okay to be a proud Indian.” You never told me that no nation is perfect and that netas in kurtas are not the devils, but the ones we elect and can even choose to become. You never told me that freedom of speech is precious because we were never hanged from a crane publicly on streets for opposing our opposites, it was only last night when a stone came hurling at my knees that I realised how deep you have sowed the seeds of hatred against the uncle in khaki.
I am 20 and still rebellious, but today my fire is burning to protect the soil for which you never allowed me to feel proud, for the azaad home from which you want azaadi, my fire is burning to warm your hearts with which you have burnt to ashes the childhood of every Indian school kid who grew up believing in your books and verses.
Ma’am, can I look forward to new dawn bringing the entire nation together, when we can be Indian first and believers in ideologies second, can we today proudly echo “Jai Hind”?
Sincerely ,
An ex-student of distorted history.