I went to my first protest last Sunday. I was partly curious and mostly a guilty bystander when it came to protests. Also, a friend who has been to exactly two protests once called me a wheelchair activist — someone who supports every movement without actually moving.
I saw the poster: 10 am, Dharna Chowk. Sure. I can do that.
I woke up at 11.
My first thought was, ‘Do they really need me?’ The dharna must be over.
Then I remembered it’s Hyderabad. Protests must start late... surely.
By noon I was still at Khairatabad. I told the auto driver, ‘Dharna Chowk’.
He asked, ‘That place where people protest, right?’
A couple of minutes later he asked, ‘Kya hota hai ki dharna kare toh?’
I said, ‘I guess I’ll know today’.
I reached around 12.20 pm. Thankfully, I hadn’t missed much. It felt like arriving at a wedding just as dinner was being served. I know my city.
The protest I attended was on July 19, so it had a surprisingly calm vibe. The police weren’t carrying lathis, people were smiling and the weather was pleasant. Honestly, it felt more like an organised walk in the park.
Someone asked me, ‘How much do you support this cause? Are you ready to get beaten up?’
I laughed.
‘Come on. Why would anyone lathi-charge students at a peaceful protest? You’re overthinking it’.
Three days later, on the 22nd, I remembered that conversation.
There were around 300 people, maybe more. Students, software engineers, retired uncles, activists and families. Honestly, if Kaun Banega Crorepati still had audience poll, Dharna Chowk would probably give the most accurate results.
Most people were sitting on the road, so I sat too.
Seven minutes later my knees started protesting.
I realised this was the first time in years I’d voluntarily sat on the ground. I stood up and thought, I’ll stand and protest. I’m a stand-up comedian.
Worst joke I heard all afternoon.
I spotted a friend.
Our first conversation?
‘Chai?’
There was a tea stall right next to Dharna Chowk. That has to be one of the few tea sellers in India whose favourite part of democracy is a protest.
A volunteer handed me a bottle of water.
I said, ‘Thanks’.
He said, ‘Drink it. If there’s tear gas later, you’ll need to be pre-hydrated’.
People kept taking turns to speak. I genuinely wanted to listen, but after a while I started wondering if the Ahuja speakers had been sponsored by the opposition.
So I started talking to people instead.
I told one man, ‘This is my first protest’.
He smiled.
‘I’ve been to almost every protest’.
I asked, ‘Is that... a profession?’
He looked at me like I’d asked the dumbest question he’d heard all day.
‘No. I care, you idiot’.
Fair enough.
Next person.
I wandered around reading the posters instead. That’s when I realised protesting also has homework. The younger crowd had come up with clever slogans, artwork and placards. What was I doing at that age? Learning to ride my bike on one wheel.
Turns out wheelies don’t help democracy.
I ran into an old friend. For ten minutes we discussed all the people who didn’t come and why they were wrong.
Ten minutes later...
...we were at Cafe Bahar discussing the same thing over mutton biryani.
We were supposed to go back.
But then the biryani kicked in and our concern quietly clocked out.
Anyway, that was my first protest.
I’d definitely go again.
I just hope the mutton biryani gives me enough strength, because the next protest doesn’t look nearly as easy-going.
Sandesh
@msgfromsandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)
