Sector 36

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Watching Sector 36, one can’t help but be haunted by the grim reality it portrays—a reality that has unfolded in India over the past two decades. The movie leaves you questioning: how could such atrocities have occurred? And why was there no uproar when they did? The answer is stark and troubling—it didn’t happen because the victims were poor.

In India, wealth and power create shields of protection. The tragedies that befall the underprivileged are often met with indifference. This becomes painfully clear when you compare the muted response to the Nithari killings, where over 30 children were brutally murdered, to the outcry over the rape and murder of a doctor from a higher social standing. Both cases involved massive cover-ups, yet only one sparked national outrage. The victims’ socio-economic status determined the level of public sympathy, a truth that resonates throughout Sector 36.

The film shines a spotlight on the systemic injustice that plagues India. The system is a well-oiled machine, designed to serve the powerful. Crores of rupees are spent on lavish weddings and towering statues, while rapists walk free, and whistleblowers languish in prison. We rage against the system, yet we are the system too, perpetuating the very inequalities we decry.

Over the years, India has witnessed several high-profile rape cases that stirred public conscience and led to legal reforms. The Nirbhaya case, for example, resulted in nationwide protests and swift changes to criminal law. But the hard truth is that justice tends to be swift when the accused lack political connections. Where political power is involved, the wheels of justice grind to a halt. Take the Unnao rape case—BJP legislator Kuldeep Sengar evaded arrest for months until media pressure became too loud to ignore. On the flip side, crimes in opposition-ruled states often face heightened scrutiny, with political rivals quick to weaponize these tragedies for their gain.

Sector 36 forces us to confront the fact that crimes in rural areas or involving marginalized communities, particularly Dalits, often go unnoticed. Media coverage is heavily skewed towards metropolitan incidents, leaving the most vulnerable without a voice. The case of the Hathras gang rape—a Dalit woman raped and murdered by upper-caste men in Uttar Pradesh—barely scratched the surface of national consciousness. In these cases, patriarchal values, victim-blaming, and political protection for perpetrators drown out public outrage, creating a system where justice is reserved for the few.

Vikrant Massey delivers a brilliant performance, as expected, but the surprise standout is Deepak Dobriyal’s portrayal of the inspector who uncovers the horror. The film’s pacing is swift, allowing the story to unfold without lingering unnecessarily on the grisly details of the crimes themselves, though their very nature is horrific enough to leave an indelible mark.

Ultimately, Sector 36 is not just a film about a series of murders—it’s an exposé of India’s deep-rooted inequalities, where the poor remain invisible, the powerful remain untouchable, and justice, for most, remains a distant dream.

My Atheism

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

As an atheist, I’m often asked why I celebrate festivals of all kinds. Many people assume that atheism, defined as the absence of belief in gods or deities, would naturally exclude participation in religious or traditional festivals. However, I believe it’s precisely because of my atheism that I can embrace and celebrate all festivals, appreciating their cultural, historical, and communal significance without being bound to the religious beliefs behind them.

Atheism and the Freedom of Tradition

Atheism is often misunderstood as an outright rejection of anything religious, including the festivals and traditions that come with various faiths. However, as philosopher Alain de Botton states in Religion for Atheists, “One need not believe in God to find the practices and insights of religion useful, interesting, and consoling.” Atheists can find value in rituals, festivals, and cultural traditions without subscribing to the theological narratives tied to them.

In this way, atheism allows me to approach festivals from a place of open curiosity and appreciation for their essence. For instance, I can enjoy Diwali for its celebration of light and community, Christmas for its warmth and spirit of giving, and Eid for its focus on family and compassion—without feeling the need to partake in the religious doctrines associated with them. This perspective is echoed by many atheists who view festivals as an opportunity to connect with loved ones, participate in shared joy, and honour heritage without any theological obligations.

Celebrating the True Nature of Festivals

I wasn’t always an atheist. In fact, I grew up with a deep love for Krishna, Ganapati, and even Jesus. These epic figures were a source of comfort, and I cherished the stories and lessons they embodied. I still hold affection for them, as powerful symbols of human ideals and values. Over time, as I delved deeper into science and developed a broader understanding of the human condition, I gradually grew into atheism. My journey wasn’t a rejection of spirituality, but rather an evolution of thought. I began to see life as part of a larger collective consciousness, akin to Carl Jung’s ideas, where the divine exists not in the supernatural, but within the shared experiences and psyche of humanity. This understanding has enriched my appreciation for the world around me, allowing me to engage with it more fully, free from the constraints of dogma.

For me, festivals are more than religious events—they are moments of collective joy, opportunities to reflect on shared values, and a way to stay connected to cultural heritage. By removing the religious connotations, I am free to appreciate their true nature: the symbolic representations of harvest, renewal, and community. This view aligns with Richard Dawkins’ argument in The God Delusion, where he suggests that “there is no reason why secular humanists cannot engage in cultural practices as long as they’re detached from the supernatural beliefs that often accompany them.”

Take Holi, for example. While rooted in Hindu mythology, it is ultimately a celebration of colour, joy, and the victory of good over evil. The festival’s deeper message is universal, and as an atheist, I can celebrate the spirit of renewal and community without any reference to divine forces. Similarly, Christmas has long transcended its Christian origins for many, becoming a time of family gatherings, gift-giving, and goodwill. These themes are not tied to religious belief, but are part of the human experience.

Festivals as Human, Not Divine, Creations

From an atheist perspective, festivals can be seen as human creations rather than divine mandates. Historian Yuval Noah Harari notes in Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, “All large-scale human cooperation is based on shared myths,” and festivals are one way we manifest these shared narratives. Whether religious or secular, these traditions have been passed down through generations, evolving over time and adapting to new cultural contexts.

By recognising festivals as human constructs, I can participate in them as celebrations of our shared humanity, creativity, and resilience. Festivals serve as reminders of the values we cherish—whether it’s love, kindness, or the changing of seasons—and participating in them allows us to reconnect with those around us, irrespective of our beliefs.

Atheism and Inclusivity

One of the misconceptions about atheism is that it is inherently exclusionary. However, my atheism has opened the door to inclusivity, allowing me to celebrate not just one or two festivals but all festivals, from different cultures and religions. As atheist author Hemant Mehta notes, “Atheism isn’t about rejecting the world; it’s about accepting that this is the only world we’ve got, and we should make the most of it.” By participating in a wide array of festivals, I’m able to embrace the diversity of human culture and experience without feeling constrained by any particular belief system.

Celebrating different festivals is, for me, an expression of unity in diversity. I can partake in Eid, Hanukkah, or Christmas not as a follower of those religions but as a fellow human being who shares in the joy, togetherness, and values these festivals embody. This inclusivity enriches my life and allows me to connect with others across cultural and religious boundaries.

Atheism as a Path to Universal Celebration

Far from alienating me from the world’s traditions, my atheism has allowed me to celebrate festivals in their purest form—as moments of joy, reflection, and community. Free from religious dogma, I can engage with the rich tapestry of human culture and participate in celebrations that honour our shared values and experiences.

In the end, festivals are not just religious events—they are expressions of human creativity, resilience, and unity. And as an atheist, I feel privileged to be able to embrace them all.

Darkness

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I’ve been feeling quite low lately. I’m guessing the depression isn’t easing. Today, I sat alone in the bedroom, just browsing my phone. I felt the wave come over me. I looked outside the window, and without my glasses, the cloudy sky merged with my beige curtains. In an instant, I thought of all that I’ve lost. My best friend being the latest addition to the list, and I couldn’t stop the pain that erupted from my eyes.

Later in the evening, I sought comfort from my partners. But one hasn’t given me a spontaneous hug in over a decade, perhaps longer. With the other, I’m always wondering if I’m doing enough in his eyes. I keep feeling like I’m falling short. But it’s not just with lovers.

It started with my dad. It continued with my mum, sister, grandparents, friends, colleagues, teachers… you name the relationship, and I feel like I’ve disappointed someone in some way or another. I can never measure up. In my own head, I create comparisons. In my own head, I admit defeat and failure. But then I constantly seek validation again, sometimes from people I don’t even know.

I wrote my sister a letter today, expressing how much I care for her and wish her the best. She wrote me a beautiful sentence, one she’s told me before. She said: 

“I have never lived in your shadow; I’ve always lived in your glow…”

It made me cry again at night because I felt so touched and wondered if I truly am how she sees me. There’s this boy I’ve known since he was 18, and he’s now 37. I call him the brother I never had. He visited me after two years, and when we met, he said, “Look how beautiful you are,” and hugged me. I burst into tears in his arms. I couldn’t stop crying for a few minutes.

I know depression is often linked to feelings of insecurity and the belief that I’m not good enough. These feelings are common in people struggling with depression, as it distorts the way you see yourself and your self-worth. Depression magnifies negative thoughts, creating a cycle where self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy grow stronger. I’ve been deeply affected by this.

Insecurity leads me to compare myself to others, to question my abilities. It makes me feel like I’m constantly falling short of expectations, whether they are my own or others’. Over time, these thoughts have contributed to and worsened my depression, making it harder to feel positive about any of my achievements.

I try very hard to remember that these feelings are often a symptom of depression rather than a reflection of reality. I wish I could go out there and seek support through therapy, but I’ve lost my trust in friends and loved ones. I desperately wish to break this cycle and gain perspective.

I started masturbating at a young age. It offered me temporary relief from stress and anxiety. I know now that masturbation triggers the release of endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin — chemicals associated with pleasure, happiness, and relaxation. These “feel-good” hormones can briefly improve mood and reduce feelings of sadness or stress. For me, engaging in masturbation can serve as a distraction from overwhelming thoughts and emotions that accompany my depression. It always provides me a momentary break from negative self-reflection. Not to add the physical and mental relaxation that follows that reduces tension, making it easier to cope with the weight of depression and inadequacy for a short time.

For many years, I used to masturbate before I slept. Since my thoughts interfered with sleep, masturbation’s calming effects helped me fall asleep more easily. Most importantly, the activity fostered a positive connection with my body, something none of my lovers have never been able to achieve. It then alleviated more negative thoughts associated with my self-worth. But they didn’t stay away for long. 

Sometimes, I feel stuck. Not in my life—my life seems to work out fine—but in my mind. It prevents me from breaking routine. I keep feeling that people will be taken away from me. I know clinging to them won’t help either them or me because, after all, who wants to be with someone who doesn’t want them? But all the time I’ve spent offering trust and love to them makes me wonder if that’s all there is to life—endlessly giving of myself with nothing required in return.

The depression really wears me down, and I get addicted to a game, or binge-watching TV, or a writing spree to get rid of the weight of insecurity and the underlying darkness. It just waits for me, lurking, until I finish my distractions and pay it some attention. Because once I lock eyes with it, I’m lost. Then I can’t deal with people, and I can’t even look them in the eye. Is it really so hard for someone to love all of me, including my anxiety and tears? Or is this just my depression speaking? Even if it is so, can’t it be loved as a part of me like I love the whole of – you?