25 years back, when I was rushed home from school in Navi Mumbai because of the tectonic event. I remember the streets in sector 10 vashi was eerily empty. The Day when we became no different than our south Asian neighbors. We created a subliminal tiered citizenship, and hundreds died in its aftermath in Mumbai. My father missed the Air India building by a whisker.

Identity politics crystallised in many an election in Amdavad including the 2002 genocide. 2014, the fervour of Hindutva+ reached its zenith and the political project reached theoretical completion. The Juniads and the Pehlu’s are precipitates of that fateful day. The hate pill is venomous. I wish, for a polity and politics to be inclusive. I wish for Indian Muslims to get a place for rent in India’s cities without getting intrusive questions asked. This day is a poignant inflection point for contemporary Indian history, with wounds still raw. Words can feel incomplete. Everyday violence with a small v in actions makes activism ring hollow.

Pride in ones history baked in to History is manifesting in non issues in banning a film to making an outward religious performance necessary, in order to navigate the everyday. This is certainly the New India in the making.

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