My name is The Torch, and I am unhappy. I am staring out the window at the world from the room on what feels like the fortieth floor of a posh hotel in the Capital of the Republic of India. I sit here, and in order to help you visualize me, I suggest you think of a woman in a black veil, her sad and tired eyes looking as if they have cried too much to produce any more tears. You might think it to be a strange name, given as one’s name usually does not tend to have the article of the English language that one uses to indicate uniqueness suffixed before it. But let it be known, that it is not because I have any grandiose ideas about myself that this peculiar name has come about.
I am a torch, yes, and if I were to be left alone to mingle with other ordinary torches, I would just be a torch and not The Torch. But I am not being left alone. That is not my fate.
Rather, I am famous. Which is just a simpler way of saying that there are thousands of tongues, Indian and non Indian, that are twisting, turning and conspiring with their two thousand accompanying lips to form my name in a rainbow of emotions ranging from anger, to annoyance, to humour, to sarcasm, to despair, to what not.
But there is one that is missing. The one I used to like being associated with the most. My lost lover. Pride.
There was a time when I used to be lifted into the strong and able arms of young men and women, athletes or sportsmen usually, who would take me and run a run that was a celebration of their health and their life. I used to dance with the wind that would push back the hair of the man or woman carrying me, and I was free and happy.
Countries used to look forward to the day when I would land on their soil. Now, I think it would be fair to say that times have changed.
In a short while, I will be escorted by uniformed men carrying guns, down to my bullet proof car with tinted glasses. I will sit in the back, quivering in silence, as I pass the familiar streets I have visited years ago. People, who know I am in the car, will either shrug, or shout obscenities at me. Like stones being pelted by a crazed mob at a woman who has been raped by her uncles. If I had the strength or the voice to, I would raise it in protest. But I have been sapped of both the strength to shout, as well as the trust to plead.
I will step out of the car, eyes downcast, surrounded and suffocated by 15,000 policemen who don’t know me, or my past. But only know that they must crowd me to protect me. Protect me from what? Or whom? I wonder. Whose side am I on? What have I come to stand for?
‘What do they think of me?’ I will wonder. Do they also think I have no right to be here? Or are they the unfortunate lot who, given their meager salaries, cant really afford opinions?
My grand trot (I cant, as much as I would like to, call it a run. Circumstances have beaten it down to a trot) will extend long enough for this Government to claim that they didn’t ‘show open protest against China’ and were ‘courageous’ enough carry the flame, confident enough in their abilities of warding off crazy protesters. It may fool the Government, but it will not be long enough to fool me, or the million bright minds in this country. I hate this pretend show of courage. I don’t want to be shown off while being smothered by protective covering. If you want to be proud of me, be proud proudly.
I will cringe when the wind beats against my being. I will probably tremble with the unease that my bearer will be carrying in his heart.
People are being stupid, quite honestly. And by people, I mean the Government of course. It’s a strange thing about democracies actually. I wonder if a democracy is anything but an elected dictatorship. They are going to block roads (for long periods of time of course, since they want to keep the timing of the run under wraps) and force people to keep away from my trot and me. People will be stuck in their homes or their offices, students wont be able to get to their Spanish language classes, and revelers wont be able to revel in India Gate Lawns.
My reverie breaks as I turn my head to hear one of the armed men in my room whisper to another “It’s time.” With a sigh that falls on deaf ears, I rise half heartedly.
What am I really saying here? I am neither asking for the right to be here, nor confessing that I don’t have that right. I am not commenting on the should-ness or should-not-ness of my presence. It is not my place to say those things. But it is your place, oh proud Government of the Republic of India, to have the- pardon the language- balls to stand up for whatever principles you allege to stand up for. Or, as other might put it, choose some principles to stand up for.
I want to run on the streets among the crowd. I do. But I want my run to be a symbol of sportsmanship, energy and accomplishment. Not a half trot on the limping legs of an on-the-fence Government that wants to run just to show it’s tyrannical neighbour that it doesn’t join the others in protest.
I am a torch, yes, and if I were to be left alone to mingle with other ordinary torches, I would just be a torch and not The Torch. But I am not being left alone. That is not my fate.
Rather, I am famous. Which is just a simpler way of saying that there are thousands of tongues, Indian and non Indian, that are twisting, turning and conspiring with their two thousand accompanying lips to form my name in a rainbow of emotions ranging from anger, to annoyance, to humour, to sarcasm, to despair, to what not.
But there is one that is missing. The one I used to like being associated with the most. My lost lover. Pride.
There was a time when I used to be lifted into the strong and able arms of young men and women, athletes or sportsmen usually, who would take me and run a run that was a celebration of their health and their life. I used to dance with the wind that would push back the hair of the man or woman carrying me, and I was free and happy.
Countries used to look forward to the day when I would land on their soil. Now, I think it would be fair to say that times have changed.
In a short while, I will be escorted by uniformed men carrying guns, down to my bullet proof car with tinted glasses. I will sit in the back, quivering in silence, as I pass the familiar streets I have visited years ago. People, who know I am in the car, will either shrug, or shout obscenities at me. Like stones being pelted by a crazed mob at a woman who has been raped by her uncles. If I had the strength or the voice to, I would raise it in protest. But I have been sapped of both the strength to shout, as well as the trust to plead.
I will step out of the car, eyes downcast, surrounded and suffocated by 15,000 policemen who don’t know me, or my past. But only know that they must crowd me to protect me. Protect me from what? Or whom? I wonder. Whose side am I on? What have I come to stand for?
‘What do they think of me?’ I will wonder. Do they also think I have no right to be here? Or are they the unfortunate lot who, given their meager salaries, cant really afford opinions?
My grand trot (I cant, as much as I would like to, call it a run. Circumstances have beaten it down to a trot) will extend long enough for this Government to claim that they didn’t ‘show open protest against China’ and were ‘courageous’ enough carry the flame, confident enough in their abilities of warding off crazy protesters. It may fool the Government, but it will not be long enough to fool me, or the million bright minds in this country. I hate this pretend show of courage. I don’t want to be shown off while being smothered by protective covering. If you want to be proud of me, be proud proudly.
I will cringe when the wind beats against my being. I will probably tremble with the unease that my bearer will be carrying in his heart.
People are being stupid, quite honestly. And by people, I mean the Government of course. It’s a strange thing about democracies actually. I wonder if a democracy is anything but an elected dictatorship. They are going to block roads (for long periods of time of course, since they want to keep the timing of the run under wraps) and force people to keep away from my trot and me. People will be stuck in their homes or their offices, students wont be able to get to their Spanish language classes, and revelers wont be able to revel in India Gate Lawns.
My reverie breaks as I turn my head to hear one of the armed men in my room whisper to another “It’s time.” With a sigh that falls on deaf ears, I rise half heartedly.
What am I really saying here? I am neither asking for the right to be here, nor confessing that I don’t have that right. I am not commenting on the should-ness or should-not-ness of my presence. It is not my place to say those things. But it is your place, oh proud Government of the Republic of India, to have the- pardon the language- balls to stand up for whatever principles you allege to stand up for. Or, as other might put it, choose some principles to stand up for.
I want to run on the streets among the crowd. I do. But I want my run to be a symbol of sportsmanship, energy and accomplishment. Not a half trot on the limping legs of an on-the-fence Government that wants to run just to show it’s tyrannical neighbour that it doesn’t join the others in protest.
"Don't mix politics with sports", say the 'torchers'. "But how can we participate in an international event that is being hosted by those murderers", say the protesters.
All I have to say is that I am utterly displeased at the state of affairs that have necessitated this argument.
And even if we believe that one should not mix politics with sports, this isn't about that at all. That isn't even the point here. The point is that the GOI should have just said "Sorry, we support the Olympics but we cannot make such security arrangements" or "We don't see the point of having this run. It is against the spirit of the Olympics, and the spirit of sportsmanship, and the spirit of the Torch"
I am The Torch. And I am unhappy.
And even if we believe that one should not mix politics with sports, this isn't about that at all. That isn't even the point here. The point is that the GOI should have just said "Sorry, we support the Olympics but we cannot make such security arrangements" or "We don't see the point of having this run. It is against the spirit of the Olympics, and the spirit of sportsmanship, and the spirit of the Torch"
I am The Torch. And I am unhappy.
