Against the backdrop of the NEET paper leak, Jantar Mantar protests and Sonam Wangchuk's hunger strike, a daughter pens an emotional letter to her father about politics, democracy, accountability and the pain of disagreement.
Dear Dad,
I've started this conversation a hundred times in my head. Every time, I bite my tongue and say nothing. Because how do you tell the man who taught you how to think that you no longer think like him?
How do you tell the person whose opinions shaped your entire childhood that, for the first time in your life, you cannot follow him anymore?
Growing up, your word wasn't just an opinion. It was the truth.
If you believed something, I believed it too. I never questioned you because I never had a reason to. You were the wisest person I knew. The most well-read. The most thoughtful. The kindest.
Even today, when people ask me what my inheritance will be, I don't think of money. I think of the day strangers will tell me, 'Your father was a good man.' That, to me, is wealth.
Everything good about me has your fingerprints on it. My honesty. My compassion. My empathy. My belief that we should stand up for those with less power than us.
You created that person. Which is why I need you to hear me when I say this.
Dad, if I have become a good person because of you, then it is that very goodness that refuses to stay silent today. I don't understand how the man who taught me that power must always be questioned now asks me not to question those in power.
I don't understand how someone so deeply moral can watch young people gather at Jantar Mantar, demanding accountability after another devastating NEET paper leak and not ask why they have reached that point.
I don't understand how Sonam Wangchuk has to sit on a hunger strike to make the country listen.
I don't understand how students asking for responsibility from those entrusted with their futures are met with force instead of answers.
These are children, Dad. Children who did everything they were told to do. Study harder. Work harder. Sacrifice more. Dream bigger. And when the system failed them, they weren't asking for miracles. They were asking for accountability. An education minister who takes responsibility. A government that says, 'We failed you.'
Instead, they were told to move on. Some were pushed back, some were detained, some kept protesting anyway because hope was the only thing they had left.
You always ask me the same question: 'If not Modi, then who?'
Dad, that isn't my question. My question is: Why should any leader be beyond accountability? Why is criticism treated like betrayal? Why has asking questions become more controversial than failing to answer them?
This isn't about the BJP. It wasn't about the Congress yesterday. It won't be about whichever party comes tomorrow. It is about a simple promise every democracy makes to its people: You work for us, you answer to us; you do not rule us, you serve us. That's what democracy is supposed to mean.
You taught me that no one should escape the consequences of their actions. Not me. Not my teachers. Not my employers.
So why should governments be the exception?
When roads collapse. When bridges fail. When institutions lose public trust. When young people lose faith in the education system. When citizens fill the streets because they feel unheard.
Shouldn't we demand answers instead of excuses? Shouldn't patriotism mean expecting better from our country instead of pretending everything is fine?
I know you don't see it that way. Maybe you never will. And maybe that's why we don't talk about politics at home. Not because one of us is afraid of debate. But because we are both afraid of losing each other.
So we change the subject. We talk about work, about dinner, about the weather. About literally anything except the one thing that now sits between us at every family meal.
I hate that. I hate that the country has entered our home and taught us silence.
Because if there's one thing you've always encouraged me to do, it's to speak the truth as I see it.
Well.... this is my truth.
I still think you're the best man I know. I still carry your values every single day. I still hear your voice in my head whenever I'm making a difficult decision.
But maybe the greatest lesson you ever taught me wasn't to agree with you. Maybe it was to have the courage to stand by what I believe is right.
Even when that means standing across from you.
I love you, Dad. I always will.
But for the first time in my life... I have to disagree.
*Name of the author changed on request.
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Please write to us at getahead@rediff.co.in (subjectline: Youth protests). Please do share your name only if you feel comfortable; else, we can publish your experience anonymously. If you feel comfortable sharing the name of the city where you protested, you are most welcome to do so.
Stay safe.
