Today’s commentary is the testimony of a tragedy in 3 slides…
Hope. How easily it flies out from the ledge of a tired tongue. That bird, uncertain of survival, has left the frame, now. The judiciary has closed the case. “Four years of hope…. Four years of waiting in vain. Ammi, still waits for her son to walk through the doors; she will never lose hope. This is one woman's fight for justice to be seen.” (from youtube caption of “Ammi”.
4 years after the event, Sunil Kumar’s documentary “Ammi” was released, capturing a mother’s journey of unimaginable trauma that followed Najeeb’s disappearance from a JNU hostel on the night of October 14th, 2016, after eye-witness reports of physical assaults and verbal threats by youths who were “allegedly” a part of the ABVP. I met Ammi at a screening in Delhi. We all knew the story, of course - many had put in their best efforts to find an answer, to force the state to do its duty. But I have no words to convey the resilience, and unbelievable conviction of the woman who kept the fight going for years, battling state negligence, reopening old files that contained questions that no one wanted to ask.
How does the court have the gumption to utter these words….“Evident that all conceivable aspects which could have been investigated upon, have been thoroughly covered by CBI, but no credible information could be received regarding his whereabouts”…. and….. with what insolent face do they assert, “There are cases where the investigation conducted cannot achieve its logical conclusion, despite the best efforts of the investigating machinery.”
My fingers are trembling today, as I type this out. A “disappearance” provokes a writhing helplessness, a shaky certainty. Even some answer is better than nothing, no? I shudder to say the words. Death? Perhaps disappearance is better. This commentary is a rant, yes, but imagine Ammi’s feelings of reckless futility, bottomless despair, of endless tear-stricken hope, despite all of it.
Readers ask me how I perceive the “political” poems that I write. There is no easy answer. I write to remember. Always. Poetry has saved me - it’s become a vessel for some of the experiences that move the human soul beyond language. But poetry falls short, always, of truth; of reality. It can only circle around certain kinds of experiences - even those that I have participated in, or witnessed directly. I bring up this query, only to assert that perhaps there is a place for poetry in testimony. Perhaps the horizons for discussion, organisation and agitation are drawn out of a flame of belief. a hard-won belief whose aesthetic form is coaxed from the reverberations of public emotional turmoil.
One is with Ammi, in solidarity, always. In anger, too.
One hopes that you are finding the space to create, and to resist. Do write to poetly@pm.me if you have any questions, queries, or comments. I will write back as soon as I find the space, and the time.
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