Before leaving London, I just rushed to a place I had always wanted to visit. I used to sit on my father’s lap and listen to the stories of the greatest leader of his time, Dr. B. R. Ambedkar. My memories with my father are mostly filled with those stories. He was always busy with his activism, and whenever he had time, I would ask him for stories. The ones I heard from my parents and grandparents were the most meaningful.
I started reading him in my twenties. But even before that, I knew him. I have always known him through my father.
Keeping my head on my father’s chest, I carefully listened to stories about his hero, his thirst for knowledge, and his relentless stance against injustice. My values have been shaped by it. My dreams have been built on it. I dreamt of pursuing a PhD even before I understood what it meant to be, because I knew Ambedkar had one.
Ten years ago, around the same time, my younger version sat down with a pen to write a suicidal note. I was humiliated and discriminated against, and couldn’t find anything to hold on to, but when I started writing, I remembered my father, and I remembered how my sister and I used to distribute small notices on Ambedkar Jayanti about the seminars my father conducted. And I could then remember the small inscription that forever changed my life- “Educate, Agitate, Organize.” At that moment, I could only think of my father, my parents, and their parents- how they struggled to survive- how my people survived even when they found no hope of a dignified life. They struggled, they fought, and moreover, they survived. That reminded me I needed to do the same, even though I didn’t find my life valuable or exciting at the time.
When I look back, I realize now I’m a happier, more confident version of me- I’m surrounded by the best people. I’m slowly reclaiming my life.
An Ambedkarite I met there today asked me, “How do you know Ambedkar?”
How can I not know him- when everything meaningful and memorable about my life is filled with his presence?
I have always known him through my father.
I smiled and told him,
“I know him through my father.”
He replied that it is the same with him.
I wanted to say, “Your Ambedkar is mine too!”
I saw him lying down to offer his respect. As a goodbye gesture, he said, “Jai Bhim,” and I responded, “Jai Bhim.”
I never saw my father say “Jai Bhim”. I have no memories of it. But I knew that he was selflessly immersed in his pursuit for the cause he believed in, with clarity and conviction- even when it wasn’t appreciated, and that I wanted to take from him. Perhaps my respect for Ambedkar is, in a way, my love for my dad.
My ways of knowing him are as personal as they are political, as emotional as they are intellectual- something that has always shaped our knowledge systems.
Let’s celebrate Ambedkar’s- our personalized, diverse memory of him. But also remember that knowledge comes with responsibility- and only when it is shaped by ethical reminders can it truly bring change to the world.
I left London with a heart full of gratitude and many memories, wanting to know and share more with the wonderful scholars and kind individuals I met there.
❤️
Exceptional writing