The Nation Erupts in Protest
December 6, 2010
New Delhi – India Gate, Protest Ground Zero
The air above Rajpath Avenue was thick with the acrid scent of burning effigies, smoke rising in ghostly trails as thousands of protesters flooded the wide boulevard leading up to India Gate. From students to railway workers, from union leaders to disillusioned voters, the crowd had swelled into a sea of anger, chanting slogans that echoed through the capital.
"Bharat Bech Diya!" (India is being sold!)
"Echelon Go Back!"
"Public Transport is a Right, Not a Business!"
At the center of the gathering, a makeshift stage had been set up—a rusted truck with loudspeakers blaring out slogans, where speakers took turns rallying the masses against what they called "the great corporate handover."
A young student activist stood atop the platform, holding a tattered copy of the Indian Constitution in his hand. His voice, sharpened by anger, carried across the restless crowd.
"They told us globalization would bring jobs! They told us private investment would make our lives easier! But what has it brought?" he shouted. "They took our roads! They took our electricity! And now, they are taking our trains! How long before we are forced to buy tickets to walk on our own land?"
The roar of agreement that followed sent a ripple of tension through the police lines standing watch.
From the back, a group of disgruntled railway workers surged forward, raising their fists.
"My father worked for the railways, and his father before him!" one of them bellowed. "Will my son now have to beg a private company for a job?"
The anger turned physical. Someone hurled a brick at the police barricade.
It shattered on impact—and like a spark in dry grass, the riot erupted.
Within moments, tear gas canisters arched into the sky, landing with hissing bursts among the crowd.
Screams. Running feet. The heavy thud of batons against shields.
As people fled blindly through the white fog, masked protesters turned on police vans, smashing windshields with iron rods. The riot police, in turn, charged with lathis, dragging protesters into custody.
And across the country, similar battles were unfolding.
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Kolkata – Sealdah Railway Station
While the protests in Delhi were chaotic, the ones in Kolkata were more organized, yet equally explosive.
At Sealdah Railway Station, one of the busiest transit hubs in India, a coalition of trade unions and leftist leaders had gathered in the hundreds. Unlike the usual processions, this wasn't just a workers' strike—it was a political statement.
A tall, sharp-eyed man, draped in the red scarf of a leftist movement, stepped up onto a wooden stool, holding a microphone. His voice boomed through the station.
"They said we were anti-development when we opposed corporate land grabs!" he thundered. "They said we stood in the way of progress when we refused to let the factories take our fields! But tell me—where is that progress today?!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
In the back, some of the younger college students murmured among themselves.
"But isn't private investment good? Our public trains are decades old. Maybe a change is needed?" one asked.
His friend shot him a glare. "Then let the government do it! Not some foreign-funded corporation!"
That was the real conflict—between those who saw change as necessary and those who saw it as betrayal.
Meanwhile, in the State Secretariat, the leftist government was facing its own dilemma.
For years, they had vehemently opposed corporate takeovers of public infrastructure, yet they had also struggled to modernize West Bengal's crumbling transport system.
Now, the pressure to take a stand was mounting.
Would they stand with the protestors?
Or would they risk being seen as weak on development?
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Lok Sabha – The Debate in an Empty Chamber
New Delhi, 3:00 PM
Parliament Hall – Winter Session
Inside the grand Lok Sabha chamber, voices rose in fury—but there was one glaring absence.
The ruling BVM party had no seats in Parliament.
They had not existed when the last general election was held, meaning this debate had turned into an internal war among the traditional parties.
The Leader of the Opposition rose to his feet, his voice dripping with outrage.
"Look around you, my fellow countrymen!" he declared, gesturing toward the empty seats where the BVM might have been. "Where are the architects of this disaster? Where are the men who have handed India's future to a foreign monopoly?"
A chorus of "Shame! Shame!" rippled through the chamber.
A senior MP from Uttar Pradesh slammed his palm against the wooden desk.
"The Chief Minister of Maharashtra believes he can run a democracy like a private corporation!" he bellowed. "But India is not for sale!"
An elderly politician from Bihar, adjusting his glasses, added in a calmer tone:
"Privatization is not inherently bad. But this is not privatization. This is capture. Once we hand over our public infrastructure, we will never get it back."
The Speaker of the House banged his gavel.
But the debate was no longer a discussion—it was an all-out war.
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Prime-Time News War – "India is For Sale?"
By the time evening fell, the battle had moved to television screens.
On Omni News, the government's allies defended the plan.
"This is the future!" an economic analyst argued. "We cannot cling to outdated socialist models. India needs efficiency, and private investment brings that!"
"At what cost?" a journalist fired back. "Shouldn't basic transport be a right, not a privilege?"
Meanwhile, on Bharat Live, the narrative was completely different.
The screen flashed a graphic, depicting a cartoon of India being auctioned off to Echelon executives.
"This is a disaster!" the anchor shouted. "What will they privatize next? Our electricity? Our water? Our air?"
A retired railway official, invited as a guest, sighed heavily.
"We have served this country for decades. Now, we are being discarded like old parts."
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The riots had started.
The Parliament was in uproar.
The media war was reaching new heights.
The people of India were split.
Some saw this as progress.
Some saw it as betrayal.
Some just wanted stability.
And yet, in the background, the BVM government had not uttered a single word.
The silence only made the noise louder.