Lessons from my mother: To meme or not to meme

A few days ago, my brother showed me a meme depicting a pictorial representation of Rahul Gandhi’s intellectual ability. It was minimalistic, yet funny. Noticing our shared confidences, my mother excitedly bustled over to see what our source of joy was. She laid her eyes on the meme and turned away with a distasteful look on her face. No laughter escaped her lips.

Now points to be noted are:

                

             a)      My mother is extremely critical of Congress.

  

             b)      She has, time and again, been appalled by Mr. Gandhi’s lack of political acumen.

             c)       She is a victim of corruption, bureaucratic malpractices and red tapism for the better part of three decades (First under the Asom Gana Parishad Rule and later by the Congress). This is will actually make a pretty great story but I’m saving that for later.

   

             d)      She is an avid reader and carefully formulates her opinions based on her own intellectual ability (she’s a doctor so yes, she’s pretty smart). Her recent exercise of her electoral franchise is a case in point. She preferred to vote for an independent entity already predicted to lose and she rightfully claimed it as her ‘bibek’or vote’ (a vote of consciousness).

         e)      Her sense of humour is impeccable. I have very fond memories of my father and her sitting with the Sunday newspaper on the cold marble floor of our bedroom, as the early morning air would permeate through the French windows and a hazy morning sun would peep out. They would languorously dwell over tea and laugh out loud while reading a satirical piece on the political scenario in Assam. Both of them would proceed to bring out interesting pieces they have read throughout the week in different newspapers, carefully earmarked for each other eyes. 

Considering the above characteristics, I thought my mother would be a perfect audience for the aforesaid meme. But she proved me wrong.

Her murmur of disproval was apparent. On being coaxed a little she revealed why. 

She thought of Rahul Gandhi as a person. Not just a politician, a silver-spoon-in-your-mouth-entitled-human, an unfit candidate for the representation of the democratic diversity of the country but just one simple human being with similar biological, psychological, physiological processes as you and I.

She has no qualms constructively criticizing his policies, his lack of oratory skills, his undeserved entitlement and political stance. She also enjoys her share of the Jocoserious cartoon column that appears daily in The Assam Tribune as well as the cartoons regularly deployed by news agencies to give a humourous twist to the ailing socio-economic, political, environmental conditions of the country.

So, why did this particular meme not appeal to her?

Because inspite of the injustices she had suffered in the hands of the political system, she believes that human dignity is untouchable. That the meme did nothing to further the debate on whether Mr Gandhi deserves to be the face of Congress or whether the recent ‘Congress-mukt Bharat’ will become a reality due to his dithering brand of politics was a point of concern. Making fun of a person on a social media platform just for the sake of ripping apart his human dignity constituted plain bullying to her. ‘Sadistic pleasure’, in her own words, was intolerable. 

My mother, the feminist, the one who tells me to chin up and battle on no matter what life throws at you, the one who has suffered at the harsh hands of people she called family, the one who’s bitterness could have overwhelmed any other person, felt bad for the least sympathized political figure in India.

I’m not drawing any parallels with the recent uproar on Tanmay Bhat’s rant which I hear is putting social media on fire because I simply beg ignorance on this account. I’m refraining from being subjected to any overt display of armchair activism which obviously translates to deactivation of Facebook (thank you very much).

This is just a small humane account of one person’s sensitivity to another person’s dignity. A very small reminder that you get dirty when you throw mud at someone else. That a culture of intolerance is as much as harmful as a culture of sadistic humour. That sometimes, maybe sometimes, in our rush to claim our freedom of speech we become unknowing bullies in a fickle diversity. That laughter, at the expense of another, might not always be the best medicine.

My mother. Who refused to conform.