Safdar Hashmi
Safdar Hashmi. Why has his name remained imprinted in my memory, I cannot say. Yet, like a pearl in an oyster, I hold it fondly.
It was in the year 1990 that I first met Hashmi. A handsome youthful face over a lithe body, eyes smiling yet serious, expressions relaxed yet intense. The lieu of our inadvertent rendezvous too was quite unique: The People Tree gallery in Connaught Place, New Delhi, a creative hub for young artists. It also doubled as a bookshop for alternative literature and pamphlets. So, while I was browsing through its unique ensemble of hand-painted t-shirts and quaint artefacts, he happened to be staring out at me from a book cover. Little did I know that just over a year ago, this magnetic individual, the fervency of whose gaze I could not resist, had been killed by political goons while performing in a street play which underscored the rampant corruption in the government.
2 January 2024 marked his 35th death anniversary and was observed by SAHMAT (Safdar Hashmi Memorial Trust) with plays, speeches and poetry recitals emphasizing the relevance of Hashmi in an age when authoritarian régimes across the world are once again tightening their noose around one's freedom of thought and individual expression. Today, on April 12th, 2024 he would have turned 70.
From launching Janam, a street theatre group dedicated to educating the poor of their rights, to writing and directing plays, to publishing seething articles in newspapers, Hashmi could be termed our very own version of Che Guevara. Like Che, he too came from an affluent family, had a brilliant education, and a cushiony job. And like Che, he relinquished everything to champion the cause of the underprivileged, to fight for the rights of the labour class. And like Che, he too paid with his life for being on the wrong side of the establishment...Yes, none of them completed even forty revolutions around the sun, with their lives cut short tragically, alas too soon.
However, while Che took on the system through resorting to guerrilla warfare, Safdar Hashmi believed in pen being mightier than sword and used it effectively to that end. But, it is the energy, passion and charisma of these two pragmatic individuals, and of many others who preceded and succeeded them to whom we owe the ideology which seeks to manifest justice and economic equality for all. Yet, as the competition in the global arena stiffens and the rages of the rat-race go unchecked, the hiatus between the rich and the poor continues to increase at an alarming rate. Comfortably cushioned against this gap is a growing middle class. Within the buffer zone created self-consciously by our air-conditioned homes in an apartment complex, where everything lies at the tip of the index finger, be it the goodies from Amazon, groceries from Big Basket, or cooked gourmet food from Zomato, our connection with the real world is getting limited to reading online news and WhatsApp forwards. And, if we cannot relate to the people beyond the complex walls, how can we understand their struggles?
Is it a coincidence that today, on Hashmi's birthday, I received a WhatsApp forward (Yes, the irony) shedding light on the plight of Amazon warehouse workers who are slapped with a 10-hour workday with only two breaks of 10 minutes each? And, if that did not decimate all norms of human dignity, the company's expectations on each of those thousands of individuals to pick, package and load 240 items per hour is unrealistic, to say the least. The message came attached with a petition, which I signed. But, does that mean I would boycott Amazon from my life, deprive myself of the instant gratification that comes from a quick tapping of the index finger? Unfortunately, I cannot see myself doing that. Such is this addiction, this indolence, this love of easy comforts.
Even though I eulogize and admire Safdar Hashmi and those like him, I too am a victim of the consumerist society...I am part of that growing middle class.
Sorry Hashmi, and Happy Birthday!
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