Rastriya Yuva Sansad 2026

For three days, we built walls from words. Rows of desks, raised hands, carefully sharpened opinions.

We stood beneath flags and microphones, defending ideas as though the world depended on them. And perhaps it did.

But evening arrived regardless. The Sansad fizzled out, a place that saw the LOP being thrown out five times by marshals, was now empty. We too moved out, closed the lights, closed the fans, closed the doors.

Slowly, all moved to the open theatre. I could see the equipment lighting up with power, as the sun lingered above the hills, unwilling to leave first. Familiar faces shining among the crowd.

Soon, the rhythm of drums and keyboard picks up.

Soon, it all fills with Pahadi words that I can't understand.

But their resonance still hits us all, anyway.

And it all starts to come together.

The arguments loosened their grip.

The minister, the opposition member, the organiser, the volunteer, the stranger whose name I never learned, all became simply people.

One person stepped forward to dance.

Then another,

Then another,

Soon, the evening was moving.

Not everyone moved with the beats,

Some moved around awkwardly,

Some teaching and learning moves,

A couple dancing alone,

Among it all I saw faces from afar, that I didn't know for long, but worked alongside. Jury sitting in a corner. Flashes of recordings and photos all around. This night lit up like seeing fireflies enchanting the night.

Among it all I see, the deputy speaker losing herself to dance. Among students from almost every corner of this nation. It is this, right? The arts, the music, the ideas that broaden our horizons. From meeting the unknown. From respecting all, for just being. From having courage even if your body says, "Hide."

It was beautiful. Seeing so many backgrounds being treated as equals. Seeing how a member sat in a wheelchair, while others encircled her, smiling, singing, moving in unison.

A final goodbye, to all the faces we saw and talked to. And how even the speaker and jury would chuckle over all the drama that occurred.

Ghosts can only observe, and I know how to be one.

I don't fancy flashy and mighty things. I am content with the small stuff, the everyday stuff. Short goodbyes and promises to meet again. Memories saved in diaries and journals.

The ordinary moments

that quietly stay.

A.V