The hypocrisy leaks through like a bad patch on borrowed saffron cloth. The “well meaning majority”, so quick to pat themselves on the back, beam when a Muslim woman wears the Indian Army’s uniform. Look, they say, secularism is alive. See, we empower. They wrap her in the tricolour, their conscience too, for a brief moment, clean.

But not once do they pause for Bilkis Bano.
Not once do they whisper her name.
Not once do they say: she stood up. She resisted. She survived.

They will not speak of how this “well meaning majority”—welcomed convicted rapists with mithai, garlands, and blessings of a hundred Gods. The men who shattered her body and burnt her family alive. Not a flicker of outrage. Not a line crossed. Where is your shame? No, they were not the fringe celebrating hate. They were you.

We are proud of Sofiya Qureshi.  Trolled and threatened for her Muslim identity by Hindutva cheerleaders, by someone not less than a minister of state. And not one FIR was filed, not one from the well meaning majority spoke against these men. Where is your shame?

Yes, we are proud of Banu Mushtaq. Her success is not your story. It is hers—stitched with defiance and dissent, against god, against men, against the rules written to keep her small.

We are proud of Bilkis Bano.
She fought.
Kicking. Screaming.
A woman alone in the face of a mob of beasts. We do not even know how many. But she knows. She remembers. And she continues to fight without a whimper from you.

And we will not forget Kausar Bi.
Violated. Burnt alive.
Her pregnant belly cut open.
Her child torn from the womb.
This happened.
This country let it happen.
Where is your shame?

And don’t you dare say you feel for Muslim women. You don’t.
You have not earned that grief.
Their struggle is theirs.
The silence, the complicity, the cowardice—that’s all yours.

Don’t you see your hypocrisy?

When Muslim homes are bulldozed in broad daylight, women and children thrown out of their homes—without notice, without trial—just punishment for daring to protest.

When shops run by Muslims are razed after a temple procession claims hurt sentiments. Just because thy exist.
When the law turns its back, and the mob does the cleansing. It started as a laboratory of hate in Gujarat, replayed in Delhi, and now the cancer has reached out for your soul. No ritual can cleanse it.

When the poor man selling vegetables is asked his name—and then beaten to death for giving the wrong one.
When Tabrez Ansari is tied to a pole and forced to chant “Jai Shri Ram” before he dies. How can this bring any pride?

When Junaid is knifed on a train for the crime of being Muslim in public.
When Akhlaq is dragged from his home and lynched over a rumour about beef.

When poets are jailed, their verses called seditious.
When Muslim writers are hounded for speaking truth.

When Muslim girls are heckled in hijabs at the school gate, told their education is now conditional.

Don’t you see your hypocrisy?

Where is your shame? Where is your shame?