“Bhai, I’ve been reduced to a second-class citizen in my own country.”
Ravin froze when he heard Muzaffar’s trembling voice over the phone. For a moment, words deserted him. Finally, he whispered:
“If you’re a second-class citizen, then so am I. There is no difference between us. We grew up together—how can the law divide us?”
“But the Citizenship Amendment Bill passed today has already created this difference,” Muzaffar said, his tone heavy.
“No law that discriminates against Indians can survive,” Ravin insisted. “It will have to be struck down. And until it is—I’ll stand with you. Even if it means taking to the streets.”
Muzaffar only muttered “hmm” before hanging up, but his words stayed with Ravin all night. Various thoughts kept crossing his mind. What can he do to assure Muzaffar that he can never be reduced to a second-class citizen? And it’s not only about Muzaffar, it’s about everyone who are going through the same feelings as those of Muzaffar. Right from its origin India has been a nation that is an amalgam of different cultures and traditions. No power can alter the character of this nation. All these thoughts kept him awake that night.
The country was restless. Ever since the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) has passed which makes religion a base to provide citizenship in India, fear gripped minorities. News channels shouted propaganda spread by the government. They are successful in dividing a miniscule of population, but largely our India remains united.
While people whispered about detention centers and loss of citizenship. Yet, in that fear, a fire of resistance was spreading. From Delhi to small towns, processions were swelling with voices demanding justice. The rank and file of the country have become the face of the movement.
Ravin does not want to remain just a mute spectator when there is an attack on the soul of his great nation. He also wishes to take part in this agitation. He understands his responsibilities as a citizen and does not want to sit idle with his hands folded. Each day he spoke with Muzaffar, asking how the Muslim community felt.
“There’s panic everywhere,” Muzaffar admitted. “Families—old, young, women, children—everyone is preparing to hit the streets to protest. Many compare this to the way Jews felt in Hitler’s Germany.”
On the roads leading to his office, Ravin often saw students and activists protesting the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) and carrying placards and chanting slogans. He kept thinking how he too can join this protest. One day, unable to resist, he stepped out and joined a passing procession. There he learned about a sit-in protest at Park Circus Maidan—an indefinite protest until the Act was repealed.
The next evening, he finishes his office work early and leaves for the protest site. As he reached the Maidan after travelling for over one and half hours, he was stunned. Thousands had gathered—Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians—an ocean of people united in defiance. People of all age groups whether children, youth and old, were there to resist the attack on the values that make India a special place in the world. His heart swelled with pride. Iqbal’s verse echoed in his mind:
यूनान-ओ-मिस्र-ओ-रोमा सब मिट गए जहाँ से
अब तक मगर है बाक़ी नाम-ओ-निशाँ हमारा
कुछ बात है कि हस्ती मिटती नहीं हमारी
सदियों रहा है दुश्मन दौर-ए-ज़माँ हमारा
("Greece, Egypt, and Rome — all vanished from the world, yet our name and legacy still endure."
"There is something special that our existence cannot be erased, for centuries, the age itself has been our adversary.")
For the first time, Ravin felt he had stepped into the “school of citizenship.” To him, democracy meant more than just voting or paying taxes, it meant resisting injustice, standing with others when their rights were threatened.
Soon, Ravin became a regular at the protests. He started for his office early to finish early and leave for protest site. His handmade posters carried creative, powerful slogans that caught attention. Organizers began asking him to create more. One day, a young woman Tabassum noticed him. She was part of the organizing committee of the sit-in protest.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ravin. From Madhyamgram,” he replied.
She smiled. “Commendable. You travel so far, every day for this cause.”
“Thanks,” Ravin said.
“Thanks to you,” she corrected. “For standing with us. Even though you’re Hindu, you’re here in solidarity.”
“This isn’t just a struggle by Muslims,” Ravin replied firmly. “It’s India’s struggle. If we allow ourselves to be divided, we’ll all be weakened.”
The other protesters around them also expressed agreement with Ravin.
She nodded, impressed. “I’m Tabassum Nisha. Second-year Botany student, Jadavpur University. Part of the organizing committee here.”
She asked Ravin, “Do you take tea?”
“Yes”, Ravin replied.
“Let’s go to the nearby tea shop. I am having throat problem after chanting slogans for the whole day.”
Over cups of tea at a roadside stall, the two began talking. Tabassum shared stories of how students had immediately mobilized after the Act passed—rallies, sit-ins, processions.
“Don’t you feel scared leading such a big movement with thousands of protesters”, Ravin asked.
“At first, I was scared,” she confessed. “As a fresher in the university, I saw seniors protest and wondered if I belonged to such an environment. But then I realized—these movements are about our lives: hostel rules, fee hikes, basic dignity. If we don’t fight peacefully, who will?”
Ravin listened, mesmerized. “I’ve heard you speak during this protest. You understand people’s struggles better than most leaders.”
Tabassum laughed. “All I know, I learned in university debates. The real lesson is to listen respectfully—even to those who disagree with me.”
“Are you also a student”, Tabassum asked.
“No, I work in a software company”, Ravin replied.
“Great! It’s getting dark now. Let’s go.”, Tabassum said.
Tabassum liked that Ravin though a private sector employee, understands his duties as a citizen and travels one and half hours regularly to join the protest. This act made Ravin special in her eyes.
That day while returning home, Ravin couldn’t stop thinking about her. He admired her courage, but also her clarity. He promised himself to stay in touch with her and he’d learn from her—to become a more aware citizen.
Days turned into weeks. The protest site became their classroom and tea stalls their adda. Between slogans and speeches, they found stolen moments to discuss politics, history, even dreams for India’s future.
Ravin noticed a change in himself. He started reading widely—on authoritarian regimes, on movements across history. He began connecting dots, seeing patterns among the events happening around the globe. He can see the history being repeated in different parts of the world. Tabassum noticed too the changes happening in Ravin.
“You’re growing fast,” she teased one evening. “Soon you’ll be giving fiery speeches!”
He laughed, embarrassed. But one day, she thrust a microphone into his hands.
“Lead the slogans,” she urged.
His voice shook at first, but with her whispering slogans in his ear, confidence returned. Soon, he was shouting with conviction, his words carried by the crowd. The same creativity that made his posters memorable now gave the chants a new rhythm.
Afterward, he thanked her. “I was terrified, but you made me believe I could do it.”
“That’s how beginnings are,” she said warmly. “A little fear, a little hesitation. But once you speak, the world begins to listen.”
Tabassum was deeply moved by Ravin’s unwavering honesty. Over time, she has come to see the depth of his convictions—his thoughts are not fleeting opinions, but reflections rooted in a sincere concern for the world around him. His commitment to public issues is not performative; it flows from the very core of his being.
Though Ravin may hesitate to openly challenge government policies, his silence is never born of indifference. It is the quiet restraint of someone who weighs his words carefully, yet whose loyalty to truth and justice never falters. In moments that matter, he stands firmly beside his fellow citizens, guided by integrity rather than applause.
To Tabassum, this quiet courage is as powerful as any protest. It’s the kind of honesty that doesn’t shout—but speaks volumes.
Ravin treasures every moment he shares with Tabassum. In her presence, he feels himself growing—not just as a person, but as a thoughtful, politically aware citizen. She draws out the best in him, inspiring a deeper sense of purpose and reflection. Her influence is so profound that he finds himself constantly imagining their next conversation: What topics will they explore? What insights can he offer to match her intellect and passion? He often prepares himself, gathering knowledge not to impress, but to engage her meaningfully.
He never misses a chance to acknowledge her strength. With quiet sincerity, he’ll say things like, “I truly admire your courage and wisdom.” These words, simple yet heartfelt, touch Tabassum deeply. She cherishes his recognition—not just of her intellect, but of her inner resilience.
In a world that often measures a woman’s worth by her appearance, Tabassum has rarely been seen for who she truly is. Conventional beauty may have eluded her in society’s eyes, but Ravin sees something far more radiant. He sees her essence—her convictions, her clarity, her quiet strength. And in his gaze, she finds a reflection of her true self, unfiltered and deeply valued. To her, Ravin is not just someone who notices her; he is someone who truly sees her.
One winter evening, after a sit-in protest at Howrah Maidan against the atrocities against Bengali speaking people in various states of India by falsely framing them as illegal migrants from Bangladesh, she dragged him to a pani puri stall. Watching her eat with childlike delight, Ravin teased, “So the fearless leader also has a soft spot for water balls?”
She blushed and smiled.
On the bus ride back, beneath the cover of her handbag, Tabassum slipped her hand into his. Ravin clasped it gently, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her.
