The Culvert We Left Behind in Tezpur University

There was a culvert.

I guess it’s still there.

If you came from inside the University, exited through the gate and took the road towards the right, you had to walk for about 500 metres before reaching a stretch where, at least in those days, the line of shops ended and the open fields began.

And somewhere along that road, there was a culvert.

It was a lonely stretch of road then.

This was 2007.

We were new to Tezpur University, new to hostel life and still trying to understand this new world that we had suddenly found ourselves in. I had entered Brahmaputra Chatra Niwas, BCN Boys for us, only a few days earlier. I still remember the nervousness of that first evening, the room allocation, meeting my roommate and wondering what kind of hostel life awaited us.

And then came the seniors.

They seemed to be everywhere.

There were introductions to be given, questions to be answered, the strange ritual of the “90 Degree” and evenings that could suddenly turn into long sessions with seniors. We were learning the unwritten rules of hostel life one day at a time.

Perhaps that was why that culvert became important to us.

Escape from the hostel.

Escape from the seniors.

Escape from the constant feeling that someone might call out our names and ask us to report somewhere.

But gradually, that little escape became something more.

We would sit there for long stretches in the evening, talking about classes, hostel life, people we had met, things we had seen and probably a hundred other things that seemed terribly important to us at that age. There were jokes, gossip, plans, complaints and occasional silences.

It was the four-five of us and the darkness of the night.

And then there were the nights when the moon came out in full glory.

Under the moonlight, the open fields looked completely different. For a few moments, there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. We could simply sit there and look.

We kept returning to that place through the first few months of university life. But as the months passed, our visits became less frequent. Hostel life changed. We grew more comfortable with our seniors. Classes, assignments, sports, hostel activities and the thousand little things that fill up university life gradually took over.

Our visits to the culvert almost stopped.

Slowly, it became just another place we had once gone to; a small, almost forgotten corner of those early university days.

We completed our studies.

Years passed.

Then, in 2023, I was staying at the Guest House of the University for three days, and one evening, I decided to go there again.

Perhaps it was nostalgia. Perhaps it was simply the quiet pull that certain places continue to have over us, even after years have passed.

Whatever the reason, I wanted to see that culvert again.

I stood there and looked around.

The place had changed.

The road that had once been quiet was now busy. The open stretch that had once seemed so secluded no longer felt quite as remote. The University around it had grown and changed too.

But standing there, I could almost see the four or five of us again; young, new to the University, sitting on that culvert in the fading evening light, looking towards the open fields.

I took a photograph that evening.

 

 

The photograph does not really capture what the place looked like in 2007. It cannot. The darkness hides much of what is there now, and the camera can only record what was in front of me that evening.

But perhaps that is appropriate.

Some places are not remembered for how they look. 

They are remembered for who we were when we were there.

That culvert was just a concrete structure beside a quiet road. It had no name, no significance, no reason for anyone else to remember it.

But for a few of us, for a few months in 2007, it was our little corner of the University.

A place where we could sit, breathe, talk, laugh and sometimes simply look at the fields under the moonlight.

The road has become busy now.

The University has changed.

But somewhere in my memory, those evenings on the culvert are still exactly where we left them.

 

 

When the Flood Became Personal

19 July 2026.

The Football World Cup Final was about to begin.

Ishani and I were preparing to watch the match and were watching the pre-match show.

Around ten minutes past midnight, Ishani checked her WhatsApp and saw the status of a girl who lives in the house opposite her parental home in Janji in Sivasagar district. She showed it to me. The entire front portion of their house was flooded.

We were already getting news about flooding in different parts of Sivasagar. But Ishani’s neighbourhood had rarely seen floods. In the past, the worst they had experienced was water reaching the front steps of the house before receding. So, we did not think too much about it. We assumed the water would go down.

We watched the Final. By the time the presentations were over and we had watched the players celebrate, it was already around 4 in the morning. There was already a faint light outside.

As we talked for some time and prepared to sleep, Ishani checked WhatsApp again. This time, there was a look of shock on her face.

The same girl had posted another status.

The water had risen dramatically. The gate of her house was almost completely submerged. The video also showed Ishani’s home and we could see that the water had reached almost halfway up their house.

Ishani immediately woke up her mother, my mother-in-law, who stays with us in Guwahati. She tried calling her aunt and cousins, who lived in another part of the house, but the calls did not connect.

Throughout the day, they kept trying to contact relatives and neighbours. Nobody could be reached.

By then, we knew that the entire area had been flooded by the Janji River.

Since my mother-in-law stays with us and Ishani’s elder sister lives with her in-laws in Jorhat, their portion of the house usually remains locked. We knew that this part of the house too must have been under water.

From the morning of 20 July, we kept receiving news about the scale of the devastation.

For me, the flood was no longer just another disaster being reported in the news. It had reached a place that was deeply connected to me.

At the same time, I was also involved with the Tezpur University Alumni Association (TUAA), where I am the Treasurer for the current term. As the situation worsened, we decided to start a flood-relief initiative through TUAA.

We appealed to our alumni and well-wishers for support. People responded generously. Contributions started coming in and volunteers came forward to help. What began as an immediate response to the floods gradually became a larger relief effort. Even now, the work continues.

While coordinating the relief activities, however, another thought remained at the back of my mind: We had to go to Janji.

Because of some official programmes, we could not go immediately. We decided that once those commitments were over, we would travel to Janji, stay there for a few days and clean up the house.

We finally went on 8 August.

What we saw was difficult to describe.

The images we had seen on WhatsApp and in the news had not prepared us for the reality inside the house.

Mud and dirt had settled everywhere. Things that had been part of the household for years were damaged or destroyed. Furniture, books, clothes, household items and many other things that had little monetary value but enormous emotional value had been affected by the water.

We spent the next eight days cleaning the house, repairing whatever could be repaired and throwing away whatever could no longer be saved.

But the damage was not limited to the house.

We visited other homes in the village. We spoke to people. We listened to what they had gone through during those days.

There were stories of people being forced to leave their homes, of families waiting for help, of houses remaining underwater for days, of livestock being lost and of people watching helplessly as things they had built over years were destroyed within hours.

For Ishani, the experience was even more painful.

She had spent her entire life in that house. Every corner carried a memory. The rooms, the furniture, the walls and even ordinary household objects were connected to her past.

Seeing them damaged was not simply about losing things. It was like seeing parts of her memories being damaged.

I could see the mental anguish she was going through, even when she was busy cleaning and trying to put things back in order.

While we were in Janji, I continued coordinating the TUAA flood-relief activities.

But, being there changed my perspective.

Until then, I had mostly seen the flood through photographs, videos, phone calls, messages and reports. I had been coordinating relief from Guwahati: collecting contributions, identifying people who needed help and trying to connect volunteers with affected communities.

But living in an affected village, for those eight days, was different.

I began to understand that flood relief is not only about distributing food, clothes or other essentials.

Those things are extremely important, especially in the first few days. But once the water recedes, another struggle begins.

People have to clean their homes. They have to throw away damaged belongings. They have to repair walls, floors, electrical systems and furniture. They have to replace documents and household items. Children have to return to school. Families have to restart their livelihoods.

And, above all, people have to recover emotionally.

A flood may remain for a few days, but its effects can remain for months or even years.

The flood also made me think about how differently the same disaster is experienced by different people.

For some, it may mean a few days of inconvenience. For others, it can mean losing their home, their livelihood or years of savings.

For some families, the loss may be measured in money. For others, it may be the loss of photographs, books, furniture inherited from parents, certificates, childhood belongings or things that can never really be replaced.

The water does not distinguish between what is expensive and what is priceless.

And when it finally recedes, it leaves behind a very different landscape.

As I write this, the relief work through TUAA is still continuing.

We have been fortunate to receive support from alumni and well-wishers from different places. Their contributions have helped us reach people who needed assistance.

But my experience in Janji has made me realise that relief cannot end when the water disappears. Recovery takes much longer.

The flood of July 2026 taught me something that I had known intellectually but had never experienced this closely: a disaster is not just an event. It is a long period in the lives of the people who experience it.

For me, this flood will always be personal.

 

 

Vishwakarma Puja, 1st Sem, MBA 2007

 

Some memories have a way of embedding themselves so deeply into our minds that they become almost indelible. One such memory from my early days in university is the Vishwakarma Puja celebrated in our department during the first semester of our MBA programme in 2007.

We were just beginning our journey as MBA students, still navigating the maze of university life. The day before Vishwakarma Puja was a Sunday, and in the Hostel, we were all abuzz with questions: Would classes be held as usual or would there be a celebration for the occasion? According to our seniors, we would have regular classes and the Puja festivities would be confined to the engineering blocks.

In that slow Sunday evening, I received a call from a batchmate in the neighbouring hostel. He informed me that one of the seniors needed to see me immediately. When I arrived at the senior's room, I was told that Vishwakarma Puja would be celebrated in our department and I had been selected to perform the Puja. A friend of mine would be assigned as my assistant to help with the ceremony.

I was taken aback by this unexpected responsibility. "How can I do that?" I asked, expressing my concern about my complete lack of experience with Puja rituals. The senior handed me Xeroxed pages of Vishwakarma Puja mantras and said, "These are the mantras you'll need to recite tomorrow" (I found out later that he had gone to the home of a Priest, took the Mantra book from him and got it xeroxed). Despite this, I remained uneasy about the task. He then mentioned that we had permission to hold the Puja during the first half of the day, with regular classes resuming in the second half. However, if we extended the Puja beyond the allotted time, we could enjoy a full day off from classes. The prospect of a free day suddenly made the idea much more appealing.

Returning to my room with the pages of mantras, I began to study them and felt confident that I could manage the recitations. However, I struggled with a few verses that resembled poems and had no clue how to sing them. Fortunately, one of my friends reached out to his mother, who sang the verses over the phone. Her guidance helped me grasp the correct tune, allowing me to practice effectively.

The next day, I prepared myself for the Puja. Although we were scheduled to start around 9:30 AM, I decided to arrive late, hoping that this would delay the start and subsequently extend the duration of the Puja, thus ensuring we would have no classes.

I showed up about an hour late to the department. The Puja was set to take place in the computer lab, where a small area had been prepared for the ceremony. Everything was in place, but I had no clue how to begin or proceed with the ritual. Thankfully, a friend stepped in and guided me through the process, explaining how to use the various items and what needed to be done. Without her assistance, I would have been at a complete loss that day!

Finally, I began the Puja, feeling a mixture of nervousness and determination. The faculty members were seated attentively behind me, while a supportive circle of friends and seniors gathered around, their eyes fixed on the small, makeshift altar in the computer lab. I took a deep breath and started chanting the mantras, following the sequence and gestures that my friend had meticulously demonstrated to me.

As I continued, the rhythm of the mantras began to flow, but soon I noticed that the pages were nearing their end. It dawned on me that the Puja, which I had hoped to stretch throughout the morning, might come to a premature conclusion. Faced with this realization, I needed a strategy to prolong the ceremony.

I began to creatively repeat the mantras, cycling through them by taking lines from different stanzas and rearranging them in a continuous loop. This improvisation was meant to extend the Puja as much as possible, giving us the chance to enjoy our day off from classes. My heart raced as I chanted, hoping that my repetitive strategy went unnoticed. I kept a focused demeanour, all the while wondering if anyone would detect the pattern in my recitations.

Eventually, the Puja came to an end, though I can’t recall exactly how long it lasted. After the ceremony, one of the faculty members complimented me on my recitation of the mantras, and another faculty member - who would soon become the Head of Department - praised my performance as excellent. The positive feedback was immensely gratifying.

Both the senior and junior batches had worked hard to organize the Puja, and it was rewarding to see it come together successfully. The satisfaction of knowing that the faculty were pleased with our efforts was a great boost.

The following day, one of our faculty members mentioned that she had attended Puja ceremonies in other departments but considered ours to be the best. This was a significant compliment for all of us involved. Yet, amid all the praise, the most memorable aspect remained the simple fact that we enjoyed a day free from classes!

2022: My Year as a Writer - Learning & Evolving

I enjoy writing. It gives me immense pleasure when I see words turn into meaningful sentences – sentences that convey happiness, sadness, love, passion, melancholy and various other emotions we feel as human beings.

Over the years, I have written several stories, poems, research articles, study reports as well as articles for journals, news papers, among others. But the year 2022 has been a totally different and better one as far as my writing is concerned. This year two of my stories were published in Paperback format. Titled, ‘The Kiss of Midnight’ and ‘The Fetishes of Darkness’, these two books have been well received by the readers and as an author this gives me immense satisfaction.  

I mostly use my own experiences (and sometimes experiences of my close friends!) to weave out stories by mixing it with layers of imagination. In a way, these stories act as a journal of my own life and help me keep my memory afresh of events and happenings gone by. Nostalgia is a feeling which I often relate with and many of my stories have a nostalgic touch.

Another interesting source for my stories got added to my quiver in 2022. Earlier I did not prefer travelling through trains, but over the last one year, I have started to enjoy train travels. Speeding along the tracks with an array of people from diverse backgrounds has given me further fodder for my stories. One such story, based on my train travel along the picturesque Western Ghats, will be published next year as an E-Book. Titled, ‘Love Along the Western Ghats’, the story is a mix of reality and fiction, the core idea of which was developed while we chugged along the hills on the Vistadome coach of the Karwar Express.

In 2022, I also got introduced to a wonderful place called the Himalayan Writing Retreat (HWR), a place nestled among the Himalayas in Satkhol, Uttarakhand. A visit to this place and attending a Writing Course at this place is in my bucket list now. This year, I participated in a 30 day writing challenge organized by HWR in the month of November; it being recognized as the National Novel Writing Month. Based on a daily prompt, I enjoyed writing 300 word stories each day of November.

I also entered into a Flash Fiction contest organized by HWR. Powered by the Story Cabinet App, the Contest invited short stories on certain categories. I was elated when I found that my story – The Price of Life – was one of the winning stories in the Contest. A beautiful T-Shirt from HWR further added to my elation. I had written the story based on a real life tragic incident that occurred in Dima Hasao district of Assam and the story winning the contest made me feel that I should keep writing more such stories based on incidents that occur around us. There are certain things that need to be told!

In the month of November, I also completed my goal of writing one lakh words in the month. This included study reports, research articles, short stories, chapters for books/edited volumes, among a few others.

Towards the end of the Year, in Christmas of 2022, I received quite a good news. My name was featured among "50 Aspiring Authors and Researchers" by Fox Story India, a Google-verified news platform of India.

The year 2022 taught me several things as far as my writing in concerned. I learnt to observe more, to be more patient, to write and re-write the same thing over and over again till it gets perfect, and to be more reciprocating to what a reader feels and want to read.

I have several literary goals set for the year 2023 and I hope I will be able to accomplish those.

Hope you all too had a good year and have learnt and grown over the years.

Wishing you all a Very Happy New Year 2023.

 

 

Restraint: The Need of the Hour

Assam – also known as Shankar-Azanor desh – is a place where people, irrespective of religion, caste or ethnicity, have lived together in harmony for centuries. Bound together, not because of their similarities, but rather for the diversity, this place has been home to several communities who have shared this land and its resources.

And, now this very land has become the cause for polarization. We are now witness to such a phase in contemporary Assam history, where the level of polarization can be said to be on a record high. The eviction carried out by the Assam Government in Darrang district few days ago increased this a few notches higher.

But, this very eviction also brought forward a plethora of questions; the most important being – which side is the one to blame? Is it the Government who carried out this eviction or is it the settlers who were residing on this land?

I would say that the blame lies on both sides.

Without being provided time and place to re-settle to the people residing in that area, going ahead with the eviction was surely not a well-conceived idea. Political calculations as well as compulsions were also behind this eviction, which ultimately led to a violent retaliation from the settlers.

But, one cannot blame only the Government for this. It was a known fact for many months that evictions would be carried out in these areas. Community leaders of these areas were informed beforehand about this. As such, the logical step for the settlers should have been to request for an alternate resettlement plan. Instead, no such steps were taken. On the contrary, some organizations collected money from the settlers on the pretext of filing court cases to stop the eviction.

Most of these settlers are not well educated. They blindly follow the advice of local community leaders as well as leaders of some organizations and political parties. These leaders should have come forward to explain them the situation and also should have discussed with the Government about the queries of the settlers. But, this hardly happened. These leaders, who claim to represent these settlers, did not do their part properly. They remained non-committed to the cause of these settlers and are now blaming the government for everything. It is an easy thing to blame the government for everything but they should have also shouldered their responsibility.

Here, I would also like to highlight another crucial issue which might become a cause of concern in the future. A few days ago, a book by an eminent sociologist from Assam, Dr. Abu Nasar Saied Ahmed, was published. He presented me a copy of the book, with a request to review it. The book, titled ‘In Pursuit of Puritan Islam Wahhabi Outreach in Assam’ is a pioneering work on the Wahhabi-Salafi outreach in Assam. The book makes a detailed assessment of the extent of penetration that the Wahhabi-Salafi ideology has made into Assam and whether its influence sways the Muslims of the State. 

(The book review I wrote, can be found here: 

https://www.librarything.com/work/27088568/reviews/206136244)

The book has delved deep into the activities and reach of Tablighi Jamaat in Assam. Through several trips across Assam and discussions with community leaders, Islamic scholars, Maulanas, Muftis and Kazis, academics, and others from the Muslim community, the author has presented a detailed analysis of the type of activities carried out by Tablighi Jamaat in Assam, its religious ideologies and its influence among the local Muslims. The activities of Popular Front of India (PFI) in Assam also find a mention in the book.

The book, which is the result of an extensive Study undertaken by the author, mentions that although the number of hardcore followers of Wahhabi-Salafi ideology is insignificant, the activities of the Tablighi Jamaat is a point of concern. The author states that although their numbers are not large, but the very fact that they have spread to most of the districts of Lower and Central Assam, as well as the Barak Valley, it may influence the mindset of a section of Bengali-speaking Muslim population of Assam. Same was found in case of PFI, which the author found to be active in lower Assam and Barak Valley.

So, if we consider the extent of polarization we are witnessing currently in Assam, and the extent of infiltration of organizations like Tablighi Jamaat and PFI in the State, it can be inferred that we may see some sort of communal tensions in Assam, something which has never been seen before in the State. The security agencies are already keeping an eye on this.

The time now is for restraint and not aggression. Provocative statements from people, especially from those in power, may lead to further deterioration of the situation. This needs to stop. Also, eviction of people in Government land has to be done as per as the directions of the High Court, but this should be done after extensive consultations with the settlers. The local community leaders need to carefully assess their situation and not get influenced by third parties. This will prevent untoward incidents in the future.

  

Srimanta Sankardeva and Assamese Culture

Culture is the mirror to Society and its people. What people think, how they live, what is their emotional quotient, etc, can be judged by its culture. Culture is not only the storehouse of knowledge, but also its application. The evolution of humans is also a mirror of its cultural transformation too. And every human generation has seen the rise of a special person who had enriched the cultural evolution with their contribution.

Neo-Vaishnavism sprouted in North India around fourteenth and fifteenth century, with Ramanand, Kabir, Ballavacharyya, some of the significant names associated with this. In Assam, Srimanta Sankardeva brought in a wave of Neo-Vaishnavism in the fifteenth and sixteenth century and changed the cultural landscape of the state. Through his contributions to religion, society, literature and arts, he ushered in a new era of cultural revolution in the state.

Assam was divided among various royal kingdoms at the time when Sankardeva was born. The Chutiyas ruled the east, Kacharis the south-east, Kochs on the west, Borbhuyans ruled areas towards the west of Chutiyas, and the Ahoms ruled the Brahmaputra valley. In that era of royal feuds, Sankardeva brought all of them together under a common religion and language and thus contributed in bringing in a unity in the Assamese society.

Sankardeva used the teachings from Bhagwat Purana, Bhagwat Geeta and Padma Purana and spread it across Assam, Kamrup and Cooch Behar. Till then the Assamese society was fragmented along the lines of separate religious practises, separate languages, various tribes and sub-tribes. Sankardeva through his teachings was able to unite all these under a single umbrella and thus unify and strengthen the Assamese social fabric.

In order to permanently codify his teachings, Sankardeva created a religious literature of his own. Apart from translating the first, second, tenth, eleventh and twelfth chapters of the Bhagwat, he also incorporated his own religious teachings into some stories from the Bhagwat and Purana. This led to the creation of the Kirtan Ghosa, which has a considerable influence on the Assamese cultural life. Almost all the religious teachings of Sankardeva – including borgeet – can be found in this Kirtan Ghosa.

Sankardeva created popular religious folk music, dipped in devotional purity, based on Shri Krishna’s life and activities. These borgeet are the cornerstone of our classical music. The depth of its subject, the beauty of its recital, and its tone and portrayal makes it different from other types of folk music. The language here is Brajawali. Though classical music was practised in Kamrup sicne ancient times, but it was the borgeets of Sankardeva that created a new era of classical music. There may be some influence of north Indian, kannaddi or south Indian music in the creations of Sankardeva because of the experience he had during his 12 years of religious pilgrimage. Recited with the use of musical instruments like khul, taal, mridang, etc, the borgeets have a fervent appeal among the people.

Another important contribution of Sankardeva is Ankiya Naat and Bhaona. Based on Sanskrit plays but created with his own style, these plays are a treasure trove of Assamese culture. He developed his first Bhaona just after returning from pilgrimage, which was a dialogue-less play, based on hand gestures. This was the beginning of an era. Soon he wrote many more plays whose creative skills were unique. These Ankiya Naats were different from other Sanskrit plays in various aspects, like the use of geet slokas, imagination of the sutradhars, lyrical dialogues and use of the Brajawali language.

Sankardeva created various plays, like Patniprasad, Kalia-daman, Keli-gopal, Parijat Haran, Rukmini Haran and Ram-bijay, based on the tastes of the people and local needs. The Vaishnavite literature in Assam is based on Shri Krishna and this same aspect can be seen in these plays too. Even in Ram-bijay, while speaking about Ram, Sankardeva has not entirely kept Shri Krishna out of the story. The stories of Patniprasad, Kalia-daman, Keli-gopal and Rukmini Haran have been taken from the tenth chapter of the Bhagawat; Parijat haran’s story from Bishnu Puran and Ram-bijay from Adi Kand of Ramayana.

The Bhaonas too have their own specific specialities. The Bhaonas of Assam have a similarity with South Indian plays, rather than North Indian plays. There are certain similarities with Kathakali of Kerela, Yakshagan of Karnataka and Tamil (Tanjore) Bhagwat Melnatak. For example, in Yakshagan, two persons work behind curtains during the entry of a character and help the audience focus on the character; in Tanjore bhagwat melnatak, the gayan sing entry song as the slokas are recited by the granthik and the actor enters dancing to the tunes of the song. The masks used in Kathakali have a similarity with masks used in Bhaona. Thus, it can be said that Sankardeva had used his experiences of his travels throughout the country to enrich and expand the bhaonas.

In the same way in which Sankardeva had created various plays with dance and music, he had also enriched the society with the establishment of the naamghars. These have played an important role in cultural development in the rural landscape of Assam. It has helped inspire artistic talent among the people. The village youths learn song, dance, and art in these naamghars and provide for pure entertainment for the people. Thus, Srimanta Sankardeva have enriched our Assamese society with his immense contribution in the fields of religion, literature, music, among others.

Why we don't need CAB

There is one simple explanation as to why we do not need the CAB – we can no longer bear the burden of illegal migrants, whether he is a Hindu or a Muslim or any other religious community.

A counter-argument can be that we only have to take the burden of all those non-Muslim illegal migrants who came to India till 31 December 2014. But, how will the authorities be able to ascertain when a person had entered India? That person had entered India illegally, and hence there is no record of his date of entry. So, how will his/her date of entry be verified? Anyone can claim that they have entered India before 31 December 2014. No way of checking this claim. And, thus, someone entering India illegally today may also become an Indian citizen in due course of time, and, then demand and take a share of our resources.

Similarly, how will one know whether a person has been religiously persecuted? A Hindu from Bangladesh may have entered India illegally to look for better economic opportunities; but, he may say that he had faced religious persecution in that country. Where is the proof of that? Who will verify the validity of his claim?

(I sent an email to the Prime Minister’s Office asking these questions. Never got a reply. Guess, they don’t have an answer!)

And, when we talk about religious persecution, why is the Bill talking about only the non-Muslim communities coming from Afghanistan, Bangladesh or Pakistan?

If we want to be generous to religiously-persecuted people, why is there no mention about the Rohingyas of Myanmar? In Pakistan, the Shias face religious persecution. Ahmadiyyas who align themselves with the Sunni school also face persecution. What about them?

Or, are we becoming a nation, who only protects the Hindus?

I don’t think that our founding fathers wanted our Country to be only an abode of the Hindus.

India is a great nation, because this is the motherland of numerous religious communities, who had lived together for generations.

Our Constitution describes us of being a ‘Secular’ Nation.

The Constitution also states that there shall be no discrimination against any citizen on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex, or place of birth.

And, now those very tenets of the Constitution are being violated by the CAB.

The elected leaders of our State have turned out to be spineless – totally bowing down to the pressure being given the Centre. They are putting their personal gains above those of the people and the state. They will realize one day that History has never been kind to such people.

The onus in now on the people to protest and make the government understand that an illegal migrant is an illegal migrant irrespective of religion. Whether he/she is a Muslim or a Hindu, it does not matter. If they have entered India without valid documents, they need to be deported back.

In a democracy, it is essential that the Government listen to the views of the people. Else, what is the use of having an elected government, who do not take into account the concern of the electors?

The CAB is a totally regressive, unconstitutional act and its place is only in the dustbin.

And, I am sure majority of Indians will agree with it.