The Protest Ended. The Awakening Began.
The Protest Ended. The Awakening Began. It is half past 6AM, as I walk past Kerala House on Jantar Mantar Road toward the protest site, I feel as though I am not merely moving through Delhi, but through the pages of history that has come alive. My mind is completely absorbed in the CJP movement. I had flown to Delhi, to join the protest, of standing among the young voices demanding justice. The urgency feels real, immediate, and personal. Still unwell with a heavy throat infection, I had taken sick leave and gone back to sleep. But my mind refuses to rest; it was consumed by the movement. And then, slowly, it becomes clear. I am not in Delhi. I am not walking past Kerala House. I am not at the protest. It is all a dream—yet so vivid, so immersive, that I never wanted to accept that I wasn’t truly there. But something profound has happened here. The air still carries the echoes of slogans. The pavements remember the footsteps of young people who arrived carrying placards, ...
