I was watching the celebrations unfold at Jamia Millia Islamia with goosebumps. I was there as a journalist, observing the scenes, recording the moment and doing what my profession demands of me. But somewhere between the slogans, the embraces, the raised fists, and the unrestrained joy of students who had finally won a long and exhausting battle, another impulse was taking over.
I wanted to put my notebook aside, leave my professional distance behind, and join the crowd. I wanted to stand among those students, raise my fist and celebrate a victory that, despite the passage of 12 years, felt as much mine as theirs.
There are moments when the distance between a journalist and the story he is covering becomes almost impossible to maintain. This was one of them.
After all, we had fought for this, too. Some 12-15 years ago, when we were students, we had demanded a Students' Union, organised, protested and faced the consequences of questioning an administration that had little patience for dissent. Some of us were suspended, others were threatened with disciplinary action, and many eventually graduated carrying the unfinished business of a struggle that had begun before them and continued long after us.
And now, watching a younger generation celebrate, I felt that something which had remained suspended in the memories of an older generation had finally found its way back into the present.