The Silence Between the Votes

From the diary of someone who’s watched too much, and said too little

They told us democracy was about speaking. But over the years, I’ve learned that silence has more power. It creeps in. Fills the corners. It grows when institutions fold and neighbours nod quietly at things they once called wrong.

I haven’t stopped voting. But I’ve stopped expecting.

Not because I’ve given up on the idea of India—but because I can’t see it in the mirror anymore. The republic I was promised has changed its face. Smiles louder. Shouts harder. Listens less.

And the rest of us? We’ve become spectators of our own undoing.

This series isn’t a cry for nostalgia. It’s a quiet act of remembering. Of peeling back the slogans, dodging the hashtags, and sitting down to ask: When did we start mistaking performance for participation?

What you’ll read next isn’t an argument. It’s a long, reluctant sigh that became a sentence. Then a paragraph. Then this.