Hidden Figures

The lines of a poem penned by a forlorn Bengali poet, Jibanananda Das was haunting me over the past few days and weeks. When translated it sounds as follows ( minus its original reverberation):

“A twisted darkness dwells on the world today

Ones who have lost their sight show us the way

Those bereft of love or compassion

Are the ones who give us lessons on life and transgression

Yet there are some who have faith in our existence

A world where truth and devotion still makes sense

But their souls are hounded by hyenas greedy for more blood

While, You and I, wait for the final flood”

My memory trails back some 5 decades. My mother used to sit by the side until I finished my meal. Every time I was about to leave without finishing the last remnant on my plate, she used to remind me that there are millions who don’t get even one meal a day. I had asked her “where are those people”. My mother had told me that they were all around us- only if we have a big enough heart, can we see them”. Over the years I tried to see them around me and they kept fading away as l transcended classes, with an ardent yearning to travel further up the ladder. They were necessary and yet redundant. They were alive but never made a noise. Their deafening silence was portrayed as their inconsequential existence. They were ‘Hidden Figures’

With the nationwide lockdown to save its people from a virus, the roads became empty and the skies turned blue. The media, both social and unsocial, were flocked with photos of wild lives on the streets, the likes of which we had never seen before. But there emerged another species, the silent lives, who we never thought even existed. They came out in thousands and started walking down the empty roads. Roads that they had built some day-with the hope to get one such meal, which my mother used to talk about. They looked like ants parading down to an unknown land. Unknown to us, we never thought ever existed. They are the ‘Hidden Figures’.

They have built our houses. The floor which is translucent enough to mirror my face was polished by one of them. They dug the bore well for my multi-storey but never knew what RO treated water tastes like in the comfort of a reclining sofa, looking out of the windows from some 17th floor. They were there, everywhere, but like ants. We never saw them until they paraded in flocks. Why were they defying the norms- social distancing is a must!! Crazy idiots- uneducated, illiterate with no respect for the law! The police chased them, the drones marked them, the media used their pics to score some TRP, one better than the other. They remained ‘Hidden Figures’.

They did not know what had befallen them one fine morning. Some of them had heard of something new, something fancy, which the rich people brought home from far and wide. Something, which can make guys sick. They always thought that they are the ones who carry the illnesses, so they were made to stay invisible to the rich and wealthy. What is this new thing that the rich folks are bringing home, which is scaring the people around them! They were clueless until that fateful morning of March 24, 2020, when they were told that they have to stay inside and stay six feet away from each other. No jobs, No food- just exist. Some of them were dazed with disbelief, some were bemused. For God’s sake, six of us live in a six feet shanty! But, when the big and mighty told the world of social distancing, to be saved from this dreaded disease, they had in mind the condos and bungalows, built by these invisible ants, who were already socially distant! They were supposed to be ‘Hidden Figures’.

When I saw them in thousands walking down desolate roads, the real meaning of the word “proletariat” dawned on me. ‘One who has nothing has nothing to fear’. They swam across rivers, crept through jungles, and carried their little ones on their heads. We did not know where they were heading! We were told they were marching back to where they came from. Like army of ants scares a household; they had to be scattered, killed and forgotten. They were locked up, held up, beaten up. Thousands died on their way, young and old alike. Some carried the other, dead or alive, but they kept walking. Just like ‘Hidden Figures’.

One fine morning, we woke up and thought that we need to get rid of them. We squabbled how to! Some said pack them in the trains. Some said buses. Some said we shall not let these unseen creatures bring invisible disease across our borders. A country, which prides of its unity. Sings anthems glorifying how each of its state is bound by a single thread- lost that thread. Suddenly each state, each district, became an island. An island blinded by the newly earned absolute authority and power. These ‘Hidden Figures’ suddenly had an identity- “Migrants”.

I am not sure who coined this name, but it surely is a great way to address those, who built every nook and corner of the urban civilisation. Are they migrants or immigrants in their own country- I wonder. I reflect in true amazement as to how a man could have described these ‘hidden figures’ 200 years back! They are uprooted from their villages. They migrate to the cities. They have no identity as individuals. But when they get together they become a class, a force. A force to reckon with. A force that can challenge the entire nation with its tenacity and its silent power. A long march has started. I can hear a tremor in the roads that lead to power! Can you? Ignore them at your own peril. They are no longer ‘Hidden Figures’.