A Silence Before Diwali: When Hope Dims on Campus

The air, you could say, was thick with the anticipation of Diwali. A hushed quiet had settled over the Aligarh Muslim University campus, an unusual calm as students, one by one, packed their bags and headed home, eager for the festive break. Yet, amidst this exodus, a different, far more somber silence was about to descend upon the Begum Azizun Nisa Hall.

It was Saturday evening, and the usual hustle had faded. Sanya Khan, a bright 20-year-old in her final year of a BA program, was expected to join the throng leaving for Varanasi, her hometown. But her roommates, returning from a quick trip to the market, found her door stubbornly locked from the inside. A small worry, perhaps, that quickly escalated into a frantic alarm. They called security, other students gathered, and then, the inevitable: the door was forced open.

What they found inside was heartbreaking, really. Sanya, unresponsive. Swiftly, desperately, she was rushed to AMU’s JN Medical College, but it was too late. She was declared dead. Just like that, the promise of Diwali, the plans for home, all extinguished in an instant. The local police, naturally, were informed, and the unbearable task of contacting her family in Varanasi began. Her body, a cruel necessity, was sent for a post-mortem examination, the grim process of trying to understand a sudden, inexplicable end.

No note was found, not a single word left behind to explain why. Why, on the eve of a major festival, when she was reportedly looking forward to going home, would she take such an irreversible step? The police, of course, are looking into every angle, including the possibility of depression—a silent struggle that so many young people, unfortunately, face today. But without a note, it’s a void, a question mark hanging heavy in the air.

And here's the thing, it's not an isolated incident at AMU. This isn't the first time the university community has grappled with such profound loss. Only last October, a PhD scholar, Tauseef Ahmad, met a similar fate. Then, in February this year, an engineering student named Saud Alam. It begs the question, doesn't it? Three lives, cut short, in such a relatively short span.

It highlights, in stark terms, the immense pressures weighing on our students, the quiet battles fought within dorm rooms, sometimes far from the watchful eyes of family or even close friends. The university’s PRO, in a statement, assured cooperation with the police and an internal investigation. He acknowledged, quite rightly, the mental health challenges students encounter and spoke of the counseling services available. But perhaps, just perhaps, more is needed. A deeper conversation, a more visible and accessible support system, an environment where reaching out feels less like a weakness and more like a natural part of being human.

Because when a campus, vibrant and full of life, falls silent in such a tragic way, especially when a festival like Diwali is around the corner, it serves as a stark, painful reminder. A reminder that beneath the academic pursuits and future dreams, there are delicate human lives, sometimes struggling profoundly, waiting for us, waiting for all of us, to truly listen.