I had my first encounter with hate as a Muslim woman living in Delhi while travelling from my house with my parents early in the morning of May 17. My parents had to catch a flight to Ranchi. I told the cab driver that I will get down on the way, at the Hauz Khas metro station. As the station fell on the way, I did not add an extra drop location. The driver felt that I should add an additional drop location. I disagreed. He ended the ride midway and asked us to get down, saying, “Meri gaadi hai, jisko chahunga baithaunga, jab chahunga utar dunga (It’s my car. I will take on who I want and remove people when I want).” I had heard reports of cabbies ending rides in the middle of the trip and chalked it up to misbehaviour. I tried reporting to the Uber helpline at the scene of the incident. While I was on call with Uber support, the driver tried to snatch my phone. The representative from Uber support heard the driver and asked me to move away from him immediately. They disconnected the call and tried to get in touch with the driver to hear his side of the story. The driver took their call but began shouting at them. By the time Uber support called me back, the driver was following us and began recording us on his phone. He zoomed into my mother’s abaya and my hijab, muttering words like, “Ye log, ye aise log, ye Jamia ke log (These people, these kinds of people, these people from Jamia).” He kept filming us without our consent. My concern was my parents’ safety so I started the process of booking another cab. The cabbie followed us with his phone camera. He was closing in, despite the fact that I was requesting him to step back. I made my parents sit in the new Rapido cab I had booked, and went inside the metro station. My parents insisted on watching me enter the station safely. Once in, I called my father to ask if they had set out in the cab. It turned out that the Uber cabbie mobilised a group of people and they began to heckle parents. My parents later told me that as the cab driver filmed, the crowd asked the Rapido cabbie to open the doors. The Rapido cabbie, as a result, refused to take my parents. My father got down and explained to the people who had gathered what had happened. That prompted them to leave the spot. The entire episode left me with a scar. It made me ask questions. It has been over eight years since I shifted to Delhi. This is the first time I personally witnessed something so aggressive. Who was responsible for this sudden change of attitude among people? Who was behind these random attacks on people who looked visibly Muslim? What made a blue-collared professional suddenly turn into a goon and harass his passengers? Who gave him the power to mobilise a crowd against unarmed people, intimidate them, and spread fear and panic? Who gave him the audacity to use derogatory language against someone’s religion? The incident was a public demonstration and reminder that the personal is political in a specific sense in the case of people like me. Politics defines what people become. In the case of the cabbie, it defines what he thinks of Muslims. In my case, it forces me to understand myself in relation to the world that has grown hostile to my presence. The politics of Hindutva has damaged the nation’s psyche. Over the years, I have woken up to news around attacks on minorities in India every single day. There has been an exponential rise in hate crimes against minorities, especially Muslims, in India. These incidents increase during religious festivals. Most victims come from socially marginalised sections. It is easier to instill fear in vulnerable people.I posted about the incident on my social media accounts and the comments I received on X made me see the layers of hate towards Muslims. Words like “jihadi“, “mulle” and “pigs” are used effortlessly, without any ethical qualms. This hatred towards Muslims is largely cultural, but it is also structural. Social media gives structural shape and impetus to this culture of hate. The political class has enabled this free flowing traffic of hatred to thrive by their silence, or sometimes, encouragement.After this episode, my mother asked me to delete Uber. Her fear made me reflect on global technology platforms which involve professional interaction. Simply having community guidelines for employees is not enough. There must be a more effective procedure that ensures passenger safety. There needs to be strict warnings, and certain offenses made punishable. The Uber customer support called me the next day and assured me they took action against the employee. They added however, they cannot guarantee my safety. Who guarantees our safety? I was reminded of a couplet from Rahat Indori, “Lagegi aag to aayenge ghar kai zad mein / Yahan pe sirf hamara makan thodi hai (If fire breaks out, it will engulf many homes./ My home is not the only one here.)” I realised my social privileges had kept me safe all this while. The fire of hate finally reached me. Sooner or later, it will burn all of us.Midhat Samra is a researcher and multimedia producer at The Nehru Centre, New Delhi.