Their circumstances could not have been more different from each other. Uma Mishra and Saroj Devi are both mothers of young adult men. Within weeks of each other, both have had media persons with cameras and microphones asking them to react to the news of what has happened with their sons.
Uma Mishra is a distraught, bereaved mother. Saroj Devi, on the other hand, is the proud parent of a champion athlete. Despite social pressures and their own personal overwhelm, both these women have not allowed dominant narratives of hate and divisiveness cloud their judgements of what they know as justice and correctness.
Uma Mishra’s 19-year-old son Aryan Mishra was shot dead in a car chase in Faridabad by self-styled “cow vigilantes” who mistook him for a Muslim man attempting to smuggle cows. The boy had gone out with friends for a late-night snack. Responding to journalists, Uma, an upper caste Hindu woman, says, “They say they mistook him for being a Muslim. Are Muslims not humans? Are they not our brothers? Why would you kill a Muslim?”
It took a grieving mother to shake off her own sense of shock and remind everyone else that the grave mistake is not that her son was misunderstood to be a Muslim. The mistake is that we have normalised the killing of Muslim men at the hands of those who pretend to uphold Hindu religion.
Saroj Devi is the mother of Neeraj Chopra, the javelin champion who is India’s first athlete to win an Olympic gold medal in 2020 where he defeated Pakistan’s Arshad Nadeem. In the 2024 Olympics, Nadeem reversed the results by winning gold; Chopra won silver.
“No, I am not disappointed, I am very happy” says Neeraj’s mother to a reporter in a video clip that gave birth to countless memes online. “The one who has won the gold medal is also my son. He has worked hard to achieve the gold.”
It took the grace of a mother to dismiss the lazy attempt to frame Chopra’s loss as a narrative of India vs Pakistan and Hindu vs Muslim. Her son is an excellent sportsperson, and the woman knows what it means to be a good sport. When the spotlights were turned on her, she rose to the occasion instead of allowing her son’s second position to be used as fuel to incite petty rivalry between neighbouring nations. Chopra and Nadeem are friends.
They have trained together and supported each other to become champions. As a return gift, Raziah Parveen, Nadeem’s mother in a village in Punjab in Pakistan, also referred to Neeraj as her son. The news cycle was forced to pause and make space for the solidarity and wisdom of mothers across borders.
Uma Mishra and Saroj Devi did not choose to become part of the news. Both of them had it thrust upon them. Neither of them flinched when it was time to speak their mind. Watching their videos on YouTube and Twitter timelines, I am reminded of the women farmers who marched to the borders of Delhi in the winter of 2020 defying fears of the Covid pandemic and the barricades put up by the state to keep protesting farmers out of the Capital. Months later, the government repealed the controversial farm laws.
In December 2019, within days of the introduction of the Citizenship (Amendment) Act, the nation witnessed the tenacious power of the women-led Shaheen Bagh protest, which began as a response to the violence inflicted by the police on students in Jamia Millia Islamia University. Till March 2020 — and the pandemic, Shaheen Bagh remained the symbol of solidarity and protest against CAA. Most women were first-time protesters.
Some were students, some matriarchs. There were young women with small children in their laps. Libraries and art projects sprung up on the sidelines of the protest site. Inspired by them, peaceful sit-in protest sites came up in various parts of Delhi and other cities across the country, demanding their constitutional right to equal citizenship.
Prominent news anchors made attempts to discredit the women; they were mocked and vilified daily on prime-time news channels but the women did not give up their vigil. They invited the Prime Minister and Home Minister to come and meet them.
What does it mean to hear words that build bridges and seek to preserve and nurture rather than tear down relationships in a shrill age like ours? What does it take to push back against hyper-masculine politics that mainstreams hate and violence against minorities and others on the margins?
The grieving parents of Aryan Mishra should not be the only ones asking the obvious question, “Who gave the cow vigilantes the right to shoot anyone in the name of protecting cows?” Neeraj Chopra’s mother isn’t the only woman who knows how to express an inclusive love.
They have spoken their mind; their words have gone viral. The baton must pass on to the rest of the silent majority. Common people, who have honed resilience as an everyday skill, have shown us how to repair the fraying of our socio-political fabric. They know that community and mutual respect is all that matters in the long run. Love is the resistance we need.
The writer is a film-maker, teacher and the author of My Daughters’ Mum
