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Sudeep and Pratik — I’ve changed their names to spare them embarrassment — are childhood friends. They grew up as neighbours in Ballia, a small town in Uttar Pradesh, and unlike many bosom pals who eventually drift away because of life’s compulsions, they have remained thick friends, even though Sudeep now lives in Chennai and Pratik in Delhi.
I’ve known them only for two years or so, and having observed their bonding from close quarters during drink-laced evenings, I can even say they are interchangeable in terms of personality. Spending an evening with Sudeep can be like spending an evening with Pratik, and vice-versa. So alike they are. Or so I thought.
Two weeks ago, Sudeep shared on his Facebook page the link to a story that praised Vinayak Savarkar, the man Hindutva-baiters love to hate. Pratik promptly left a comment, not only questioning the greatness of Savarkar but also asking his friend, “Since when did you become an RSS-lover?”
A public argument ensued between the two, and 25 comments piled up over a span of as many hours, each comment stronger and longer than the preceding one. Common friends watched silently, lest they be seen taking sides. Sudeep, in the >social-media lingo , was the ‘ bhakt ’ and Pratik the ‘sickular’.
Eventually, good sense prevailed as they both agreed to disagree on Savarkar, and Pratik put out an old picture of them together, to let the world know that their friendship remained intact. I clapped silently.
What’s worrying is that such a spat should have happened in the first place. I mean, it is perfectly normal for two (or a bunch of) people to air their political views within the confines of a drawing room. You scream, shout, abuse — but in the end you have one last drink cordially, followed by dinner, and thereafter you disperse.
But when a spat takes place online, it becomes a matter of prestige because you know people are watching. At no point did the argument between Sudeep and Pratik get personal, but it was evident that each was taking the other’s comments personally. When they couldn’t find online links to substantiate their respective points, they took pains to quote lengthy passages from books at their disposal. What began as a debate had turned into a duel, with each willing to fight till the end.
Finally, they realised there was only one end to the debate — the end of their friendship — and that’s when they poured themselves imaginary drinks and clinked glasses virtually.
When a spat takes place online, it becomes a matter of prestige because you know people are watching.
Politics has always divided people, and perhaps that is what it is supposed to do — how else will one political party win against the other? But for the first time in the history of India, the division created by politicians is percolating down to the individual level. The ongoing conflict between pro- and anti-Hindutva forces, the showdown between ‘nationalists’ and ‘anti-nationals’, the never-ending spat between ‘ bhakt s’ and ‘sickulars’ — these are all now threatening personal relationships, which includes friendships and even marriages.
I know of a couple — and I am not making this up — who did not speak to each other for three days because of Kanhaiya Kumar. The husband thought Kanhaiya was the new hero India had been waiting for, while the wife believed that students, including student leaders, should concentrate on their studies. The argument that followed eventually became personal, with each pointing a finger at the other’s family background and upbringing and education, and they arrived at the conclusion that they shouldn’t have got married in the first place. Peace returned after Kanhaiya ceased to feature in primetime news. Today, both agree that they overreacted.
But overreaction is inevitable in the age of social media. There was a time when it was perfectly fine for two friends — or different members of the same family — to support different political parties. Political preferences did not affect relationships, mainly because elections came only once in 60 months and for the remaining 59 months politics was hardly discussed.
During the 1980 Lok Sabha elections in Kanpur, for example, my father voted for the Janata Party and my mother for the Congress. Peace prevailed at home, and we were only too happy when our Mizo neighbour, a die-hard fan of Indira Gandhi, gave us a box of laddoo s when her party won.
Politics has always divided people, and perhaps that is what it is supposed to do — how else will one political party win against the other?
For that matter, my best friend during my late teens, a Sikh boy called Amardeep, hated the BJP, whereas I was all for the BJP back then. But we remained — and still remain — great friends, spending our time together discussing body-building rather than politics. We only argued over our favourite actors: he was a great fan on Sunny Deol whereas I idolised Jackie Shroff.
Social media has changed the dynamics. Imagine two friends — one supporting the BJP and the other strongly opposed to it. Until, say, five years ago, they wouldn’t let their respective political allegiances come in the way of their friendship and would wait for election results to be proven right or wrong.
Today, thanks to social media, instant opinion matters more than once-in-five-year results, and that’s because almost everybody online has the tool to express his or her opinion — that too 24/7. Supporters of the BJP, when they find five pro-BJP and five anti-BJP stories/views on their newsfeed, get all charged up and want to tilt the balance in their favour. Likewise, BJP-haters want their newsfeed to be filled with stories and opinions to their liking.
Even if you want your smartphone to be free of politics, you can’t help it. You are so badly badgered that even if you are neutral, you feel like taking a stand. The casualty is human relationships. Who knows that better than me?
About three weeks ago, I wrote a status message on Facebook saying how I did not like the idea of India being represented as Bharat Mata. Ms. Maya — who lives in the campus of IIT-Kanpur and has been a great friend of mine since 2005, asked me after reading the status message, “What’s your problem with Modi?”
“Nothing at all,” I had replied, “All I want him to do is make a speech denouncing the fundamentalist elements within the BJP.”
“Do you think he has the time to do all that?” Maya asked.
“Why not?” I asked her back, “It will take him barely 10 minutes to make such a speech.”
“If he starts making such speeches,” she retorted, “who will bring about development in the country?”
That was the last time Maya and I spoke to each other.
