If I was a contestant in the Miss World beauty pageant, I would obviously wish for world peace in 2023. But neither am I a candidate for that illustrious event (take one look at my caricature accompanying this article and you will know why), and nor are the odds on world peace any better than those of New Delhi’s air becoming safe to breathe. What else might I wish for that wasn’t completely improbable yet meaningful?
Let’s see, the wishlist in my mind is long. I might begin with the wish that our country be more inclusive in acknowledging our rich and diverse heritage, for example, by celebrating Allama Iqbal and Faiz Ahmed Faiz — both born in undivided India and both great poets. I could wish that our legislators stick to the political party they won the elections for (not least in my state of Goa, where the ruling party mostly comprises legislators who would fight elections wearing the Opposition’s symbol).
I could wish that our government embrace the media and civil society organisations that champion environmental and human rights concerns as essential to our fledgling democracy. I could wish our government practice science-based policy-making, for example, by addressing the challenge of problem drinking through well-established public health principles rather than the blunt tool of prohibition.
I could wish that our medical profession live by its mission of serving the sick rather than profiting shamelessly off of them by colluding with the pharmaceutical, medical devices, and corporate hospital industry. I could wish that my fellow passengers in the airport security check queue patiently await their turn to reach the baggage belt instead of contributing to the chaos we have witnessed recently. I could wish that same-sex partnerships enjoy the same civil rights as heterosexual partnerships and that romance between castes and communities be celebrated as a symbol of a mature multi-cultural civilisation.
I could wish that the millions of children growing up in poverty be provided with the nurturing care they need to realise their full potential. I could wish that our police would spend more energy enforcing traffic rules to stem the carnage on our roads rather than hunting pot-heads and opponents of whichever government they happen to be working for.
If you got this far, then I suspect your heart must be sinking with the conviction that I am living in an echo chamber, unaware of the reality. Indeed, even as I look over the list, I am left despondent that none of these wishes is any more likely than world peace in the new year. Perhaps I should set my bar lower, maybe I should focus not on what others should do, but on what I can do to make the new year one I look forward to. Only then, I think, will my wishes be well within reach.
So, I resolve to focus on caring for the things that matter to me. Caring for my loved ones, my work, and myself. I will make more time for my family and friends, recognising the fragility of life I have personally experienced in the past two years, assaulted by a relentless series of bereavements of people I deeply cared for. I could further immerse myself in the work I am so passionate about, focused on strategies to realise a better quality of healthcare for all, and in particular for people living with mental health problems. I will ensure that I make time for the things that give me pleasure, a list which includes swimming, walking my dogs, reading books, and cooking for friends.
But there is something deeply dissatisfying about giving up on my original wish list, even though I feel helpless. There is so little that I, as an individual, can do to make any of those wishes come true.
No doubt, some of you may also feel overwhelmed in the face of such formidable challenges and uncertainties. But I draw comfort from our history which has shown, time and again, that change happens not through the actions of mythical, heroic individuals, but through the collective, myriad, small ways in which nameless, and ordinary, individuals take a stand, however trivial, on the grand scale of things.
As chronicled in Sainath’s The Last Heroes, it was the millions of “foot soldiers”, ordinary people across the country, who were the lifeblood of the movement which culminated in our independence. And today, it is the legacy of that movement that makes our country different from its neighbours.
We must not only be proud of it but be ready to protect the freedom borne of that pivotal historical period. Seventy five years later, the spirit lives on in so many ways in every part of the country. For instance, in my own backyard launched during the pandemic, the inspiring “Amchem Mollem” campaign, a social movement led by young people fighting to preserve our precious forests, has scored judicial victories through the power of selflessness and conviction.
Such popular movements succeed not only because of their moral calling, but also because they comprise thousands, even millions, of ordinary individuals, each by themselves unlikely to upset the apple cart, but together, shoulder to shoulder, able to move mountains.
So, in my own small ways, I will do what I can to address the causes that I care about even if, at least for this new year, they may seem far off the horizon. I will continue to write here and elsewhere about these causes and I will support those on the front lines with my solidarity, my presence, and my donations. And I will draw hope from Faiz’s words (translated from Urdu) that, ultimately, “we shall bear witness to the day promised to us in the canvas of eternity” and then I will sing Iqbal’s words with renewed pride, Saare Jahaan Se Achcha, Hindostaan Hamaraa.
The writer is The Pershing Square Professor of Global Health at Harvard Medical School
