‘Mera naam Mohammad Deepak hain’
- Independent Ink
- 10 hours ago
- 6 min read
Said Deepak Kumar, gym-trainer: “I intended to convey that I am an Indian and everyone is equal before the law. I would not consider myself a human being if I did not protect the old man.”
By Suresh Nautiyal 'Greenananda'
In the foothills of Kotdwara, nestled in Uttarakhand’s hill district of Garhwal, Deepak Kumar lived a humble life marked more by discipline than drama. His father had died nearly two decades ago, leaving his mother and him to sustain the family through an improvised chai tipri—a tea kiosk she still runs.
With few privileges and no safety nets, Deepak’s life was shaped by hard labour, personal resolve and resilience, and self-discipline rather than ambition or dreams.
Now, a gym-trainer and owner of a gym, he worked closely with local youth, promoting physical fitness, discipline and self-improvement. Those who know him describe him as a grounded, serious, community-oriented individual. He had no political affiliations, no history of protest, and no public role.
Nothing in his life suggested that he would soon emerge as a national symbol of civic courage and pluralistic conscience. And, also, a man of conscience who stood up to his belief in humanity and human values, and who is now being hounded by the predictably typical Hindutva fanatics in the new hate lab of Uttarakhand.
His life changed on 26 January, 2026—India’s Republic Day!
In a narrow market lane near his gym, Deepak witnessed a disturbing scene. Vakil Ahmed, a 70-year-old Muslim shopkeeper suffering from Parkinson’s disease, known to everyone in the locality for decades, was being harassed and hounded by a furious group of Bajrang Dal youths. They demanded that Ahmed remove the so-called Hindu word “Baba” from his shop’s name—a title that had existed peacefully for decades.
On the surface, the demand appeared trivial. In reality, it was an act of symbolic domination, using identity as a weapon and fear as leverage in everyday life.
Deepak, 43, intervened instinctively. He stood between them and Baba, protecting the old man.
When challenged and asked his name, he replied without calculation: “Mera naam Mohammad Deepak hai.”
The words were not rehearsed. They emerged from a moral reflex, rather than a political script.
When asked by this writer over a WhatsApp call about that tense what was that moment when he jumped in, and what were his thoughts, he simply explained, “I did not do anything wrong, anything special. I tried to save a neighbour whom I knew well, and without being biased or influenced.”
Deepak, a Kashyap Rajput—generally classified in the Other Backward Class (OBC) in several parts of North India—further clarified his intent: “I said my name was Mohammad Deepak because it was the right thing to do.”
When asked what is his idea of hope and humanity, Deepak replied: “I am a human being in the first place. Everything else comes later. Standing up for an old person who was being attacked for his religion was a humane thing only. And, hope sustains this belief.”
This was neither conversion nor provocation. It was an assertion of shared humanity at a moment when vicious communal boundaries were being aggressively enforced. By choosing a Muslim first name alongside his own, Deepak dismantled the imposed division.
The confrontation with the Bajrang Dal brigade was captured on video and spread rapidly across social media. He became a household name across the country. Within hours, a local gym trainer became a national figure—celebrated by many as a symbol of moral clarity and pluralistic solidarity, and vilified by others as a disruptor of the zenophobic “order” imposed by Hindutva forces tacitly backed by the establishment.
Television studios, digital platforms, and political commentators turned a market-lane intervention into a wider debate on intolerance, citizenship, and the risks of civic courage in contemporary India.
The legal consequences were swift. Multiple FIRs were registered—some against the harassers, but false ones against Deepak and his friend Vijay Rawat, who had stood beside him. As a result, police patrols increased, checkpoints appeared, and security was tightened, converting what could have remained local incident into a prolonged law-and-order flashpoint.
Deepak -- he paid a high personal price.
His gym faced disruptions and temporary closures. His family lived under constant anxiety and threat. However, he stood steadfast.
He spoke candidly about the strain: “Fear is constant. My daughter has stopped going to school. …I have to work, but the circumstances are very difficult.”
Yet, he refused to retreat into silence. Speaking to The Indian Express, he reiterated the ethical logic behind his actions: “I intended to convey that I am an Indian and everyone is equal before the law. I would not consider myself a human being if I did not protect the old man.”
As the video circulated, reactions sharply polarised. Across the country, citizens praised Deepak’s courage and urged resistance against everyday communal harassment. Simultaneously, organised protests emerged against him. Threats were issued, slogans raised, and his livelihood targeted—illustrating the risks ordinary citizens face when they challenge entrenched hierarchies of hate politics with powerful connections.
Political responses reflected this divide. Congress leader Rahul Gandhi publicly lauded Deepak, stating: “Deepak from Uttarakhand is a hero in India. Deepak is fighting for the Constitution and humanity…”
His issue was brought up in Parliament, The state Congress leaders criticised the police for alleged double standards in FIR registration.
In contrast, Uttarakhand BJP president Mahendra Bhatt described the incident as a routine law-and-order issue, accusing the opposition of politicisation and downplaying its communal dimensions. Leaders from civil society, the AIMIM and other political parties expressed solidarity with Deepak, framing his act as a living affirmation of India’s constitutional promise of equality and pluralism.
Beyond political statements, the local situation remained tense.
Days later, organised Right-wing and fundamentalist groups arrived from Dehradun and Rishikesh, openly threatened Deepak, raising slogans, and creating disorder within sight of the police station. Videos showed their faces and deliberate intimidation.
The police response? Cases were filed against unnamed persons, and FIRs were registered against Deepak and Vijay Rawat, for no apparent reason — despite Deepak having clearly provided certain names to the police.
In such a situation, his situation remains uncertain. “I do not know what the government will do about the false FIRs against Vijay Rawat and me, and what will happen to us,” he said.
The contradiction is stark: a citizen (in this case a secular Hindu) who intervened to protect an elderly man, is facing vicious attacks. He and his family are being hounded and targeted, he is being trapped in legal hassles for no rhyme or reason, while organised and visible aggressors appear to enjoy tacit protection.
Yet, Deepak draws strength from the public support, from inside Uttarakhand, and from across India, with lakhs supporting him.
“I am feeling very strong with the kind of support I have got from all around. All right-thinking people are with me. I am not fearful, and also do not feel that I am alone in the struggle for equal rights for all citizens,” he told this writer.
According to Vikas Kumar Arya, bureau chief of Vanchit Swar, a weekly paper based at Almora, “this pattern” is not unprecedented. In October 2025, in Devarampur (Motadhank) near Kotdwara, poor Scheduled Caste families, who reported caste-based harassment, faced custodial arrests and months of incarceration, while the dominant-caste aggressors remained free.
The parallel is unsettling: coercion applied downward, leniency extended upward.
“Together, these episodes expose deeper structural imbalances in policing and social protection,” added Arya.
Deepak himself recognises this broader reality, remarking with quiet resolve: “I’m not fazed by these protests… Someone has to speak up.”
His ethical stance extends beyond confrontation.
When the Jharkhand government offered him an award, he declined it, saying: “Give it to someone in need,” suggesting the money offered should be used to help those who genuinely need help.
Deepak’s story raises serious and disturbing questions.
What does citizenship demand in moments of visible injustice?
How should individuals navigate the space between moral duty and legal risk, in front of a viscous and fanatic mob?
And what happens to a secular and pluralist democracy and principles of constitutional justice when law appears to shield the catalysts of hate politics while punishing man and women of conscience?
Public response underscores the symbolic power of a single ethical act. The debate exposes a core tension within Indian democracy—between civic responsibility and institutional authority.
Deepak’s declaration—“Mera naam Mohammad Deepak hai”—now resonates far beyond Kotdwara. It signals a refusal to let identity legitimise harm and affirms a shared human space that is beyond all divides of religion, caste, party, or ideology.
In his own words, he said: “People will consistently and cautiously support truth as it is the highest value.”
Suresh Nautiyal is a seasoned journalist and environmental
activist based in Pauri, Uttarakhand and Delhi. He is Contributing Editor, independentink.in