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Women have a funny relationship with bras. From the myths of bra burning, to listicles showing what relief being braless once home brings to everyone who chooses to wear a bra daily. There are conversations about understanding all sorts of bras, some preferring one type to another and many, not wanting to wear one at all. I have always hated this piece of cloth since I can remember. As a youngster rebelling against anything that pleased others when the question of appearance arose, especially, demanding dorky teenagers to look all girly and feminine, I assumed that the bra was be worn to make a girl’s breasts look presentable. I remember cringing at the thought and deciding not to comply.
I can’t blame my childish self for presuming that. Back then, media selling lingerie danced to another tune as opposed to the current tune of making bras desirable for women for their own likes (hell, make them cheaper?!). Shreds of memories of men selling lingerie at counters and once that of watching a man pick out bras by testing out the strength of the cups while accompanying mother to the store left some very strong marks on my desires to wear one when the time came. I pushed the inaugural date by a whole year and I remember my friends all stare with widened eyes every time I would proudly say that “I am bra-free”. I can still picture the look of immense pride on my face, almost as if I had conquered the Kumbhalgarh fort and the judging eyes of my friends.
I would definitely say that I have had the most forward thinking mother, in a geography like Rajasthan, who had always set the example for me. She would talk about bright colours and rather nudge the deliberately prudish daughter of hers to buy the nicer colours. As I learnt more and evolved more, I did accept that these pieces of cloth weren’t that bad at all and that, at certain times, they are much needed as well. It is just a manner of choice and whatever is comfortable one must choose. Like your favourite cocktail, the best fit for you will always be different and no advert, model, film star or the salesgirl at the lingerie store should dictate to you what you would like best.
Why am I talking about bras here?
I was reminded of my entire bra journey recently when walking towards the gate of a reputed gated colony in Mumbai. Let me recount – as I was walking, I saw a lady in a yellow and red t-shirt and pink track pants sitting and staring into space, presumably taking a break from her morning walk. I only glanced at her from afar and continued on my way. As I passed her, I heard a loud yet attempted hushed up “listen!”. I looked at her and responding by way of raised eyebrows asked her if I was the one she wanted to talk to. Happy that I had heard her, she promptly whisper-screamed “its transparent, your top…its transparent, I can see it.. (you know what)”, all of it with a look of urgent secrecy and a mission oriented glaze in her eyes that my modesty, centred around the bra I was wearing was almost saved since my hero sat right there in pink tracks.
In response, all I could do was stop myself from bursting out in (actual and not mirthful) laughter and just nod and say “okay!” as I hastened to run and laugh as she gave me a look of utter annoyance at my not getting the point of bra hiding sisterhood.
I am not saying that I was always like this. When on my personal adolescent mission to not wear pretty bras to dress up for the world that looks at desirable breasts in one way, shape and size; I was a hater of halter neck bras. I did not see the point of those and I still don’t like them, primarily because of my bad neck. But, the point is that I had always presumed the possibility of this to be in a smaller city / town and not in Mumbai where school kids grow up way faster than women my age have. I still don’t appreciate school kids imitating pop idols or models and wanting to wear hot pants or anything to ‘fit in’. If it’s out of own choice and comfort, of course no one must say anything. However, it sure felt funny to be called out by a resident around for an allegedly transparent shirt (was not wearing cellophane or any NSFW shirt) while living in a locality with quite a few of those grown up school kids.
This brings me to my point again that feminism clearly isn’t anti men. Here, it was a woman telling me and requiring me to cover up something which was already covered up and she had no business doing that! It is against such mindsets that are rooted deep in our culture to surface in this top notch cosmopolitan city of mine. I realise today that I could have probably had a dialogue with her trying to communicate to her why the bra is not something to be so scared of, that a suggestion to the world that women have breasts under the cloth is not to be fearful of, that patriarchy controls the female sexuality precisely in this manner and hyper-sexualisation of the female body on media is just an economic gimmick. But then, I shall leave it for another time when I am more well prepared and not as taken aback, even humorously so.
Wasn’t what happened in Bangalore assumed to be only limited to the new pussy grabbing America?
Or wait, maybe these men were just following the world order of aping the West?
But, aren’t we very simple and cultured Indians?
So? They still can.
Duh! Because they are men and they can.
Ummm, okay but, not all men behave like that I think. These were some stupid ones I think. They were just drunk… But, then doesn’t Abu Azmi say that ALL women like sugar and ALL men like ants? If he is in power, then he must be speaking the gospel truth right? ‘Cause it is ONLY honesty that makes you a cop or a politician? Only the regular people are dishonest aren’t they? Oh sorry, it is the women’s fault. They got too liberated because of these stupid liberals. Those women should have known their place. Where is that, you ask? Inside the walls of patriarchy but, of course!
Till today it is difficult for me to believe that the city where I spent two of the most wonderful years of my life witnessed such an atrocity. It was that city that had sent me back to my home state with a set of very uncomfortable questions. It was that city that was safe to be traveled in buses as opposed to Delhi. Only once in 2 years did I witness lecherous behaviour there and heard of a few. I brushed it off assuming that where we were was, after all suburban Bangalore, where a serial rapist and murdered had escaped from the state jail. Such things were okay to be heard of or read about in suburban or rural areas or as many spell out the names of Delhi, Haryana and Rajasthan – the last one, especially, with a strange smile that asked too many intrusive questions without uttering a single word. But, now it has happened in a very central part of a growing cosmopolitan city. When a photo journalist was raped in a mill compound in Mumbai, it was again forgotten quickly since she was alone and they were ‘illiterate, north Indian men’ who do such things often. But, now Bangalore and the numerous protectors of women’s modesty, the owners of open spaces in the society did something unimaginable.
I can only imagine by a little ounce of what those women must have felt as 2017 dawned and they found many, many city dwellers, maybe quite a few ‘educated ones’, act as if these women were nothing but, stupid toys that could be flung here and there or maybe lab rats that could be poked here and there and just observed.
I am not saying that the northern part of the country is heaven or is even in some twisted competition against the south / east / west in its sex ratio or data of (ill)treatment of women. Living in Bombay, I have seen an amazing number of cases of harassment, stalking, sexism at workplaces than what was combined in Jaipur, Delhi and Bangalore. I will also say that I had the fortune of being told that I am a girl and need to behave accordingly very few times in my life. Even when I was, thankfully, I knew better. However, that is not the case for so so many of my friends who told me that feminism or belief of total gender equality are things to be read in books but, compromised with when out in the real world. What do I say of the the vast majority of unknown female Indians.
Why I did not pay as much attention to the media, nor did I get passionately angry like I know myself to get at the hands of injustice of any kind is because somewhere deep down, I have been conditioned to accept that such things happen and we can only fight our own petty battles, that even when some people are caught, people are going to go back home and still make this world entitled to the male sex. What is needed is a cultural shift and a consciousness of thought, speech and action. It is each human’s responsibility and I believe that the ‘change’ or the equality of gender can be brought in only through attitudinal shifts in understanding that the one with a vagina is a human being at the end of the day. Formal education does not guarantee any change. I have been dealt sexism at the hands of the smartest (well educated) men and women – even those who shout out for creating an equal world.
What does this say to you? What kind of world are we living in? Grabbing them by the pussy or by the breasts or even dragging them by the hair. Haven’t we learnt better?
If it is religion you follow, seeking the principled Ram and his conduct with his wife, also remember Durga. Religion, philosophy is what we choose to believe in at that crucial moment when all we have to behave as is a human being.
To the men who read this and cringe saying not all men think like this, I would just say that its quite good on you if you dont but, every time you see a woman pass by, I hope you dont eye her as if she is grilled meat no matter what she wears. I hope you dont cut through what a woman might be saying at work in a meeting to just repeat what she said a minute back. I hope you dont judge a woman based on her relationship status or sex life and her position of power in the workplace. I hope you don’t feel slightly crestfallen when someday your first born is a daughter. I hope you dont tell her that some things are not meant for her. I hope you share such ideals of yours with other men around you and raise a son who follows all of this and treats a person simply as a human being without being biased with whats between their legs.
Its been a month since I have posted (and published) something on here. I have tried writing different things but, chose to keep them private for the sake of better understanding and soaking in of those ideas before putting them on here. Out of the many things that I have wanted to write, one was the hopelessness of the times and the horrifying sense of disbelief and disillusionment that my generation is burdened by as a result of incident occurring in the matter of a few hours.
Now, I am not the most cynical person I know and I am the last to crib about things, however bad the situation might be but, I too have vented out my anger in the past month on a certain national decision. So, when I thought of writing about disillusionment, youth (these two words sound very literally paradoxical when placed side by side) and the times that lie ahead; I could not write much beyond a rant that sums up the unfair business that is the global machine. But, I also believe that mere ranting does not change anything. What would be best, I believe, is a balanced view on everything – one can at least try even if it seems difficult.
The best thing that happened to me this past year was a sort of awakening to feminism as a belief system. This year has taught me what feminism means to me and how essential it is for each human being to understand what the word means. I have, like most people I know, always known the literal meaning of the word, understood what the theoretical aspects of the beliefs were but, it is another ball game to look at the world through the eyes of a seeker of gender equality, where even the smallest of ignorance or bias is not brushed off as something that always happens. Until this year, I had been conditioned beautifully to conveniently (and maybe organically?) sweep small traces of sexism under the proverbial carpet. But, suddenly I found the dust bunny under the same carpet to have swollen in size well enough to trip me. It was therefore, time to clean out the dirt. I do believe that I am privileged when it comes to my access to good education, lots of internet and literature etc. but, this year, I truly understood and actively applied the difference between theory and practice. However, the process that happened over this years was quite organic. I, honestly never realised how I had become the person that I am today.
This realisation happened when I decided to work out in my head the reasons I disliked certain people around me or even the American TV show FRIENDS and now, Bollywood and film personalities.
This thought process started off when I turned to look at the latest posters stuck on a BEST bus when it passed by me and found a very gaudy looking poster of Indian Idol. Now, I did enjoy it when watching it with my mother when younger. I remember laughing at those auditions, cringing at Anu Malik and finding Farah Khan a strong-ish figure. Right now, I am unsure who all feature on this recent season but, I remember cringing at the tonnes of smoothened Photoshop and make up on the faces. While I did judge the industry for being superficial etc. but, then I stopped that realising that it is, at the end of the day, a business and no audience accepts grey haired singers and women who don’t make them laugh if they are not slim. I was saddened by the hypocrisy of our society and momentarily felt a little bit of sympathy for them.
Not too long after that, I decided to watch a show called ‘Koffee with Karan’. Yes, I did. Why? Because I wanted to go back to that space of ignorant appreciation momentarily, that time as a child when nothing mattered beyond the screen but, the more time ticked on that episode, the more I found myself upset and agitated. Something had changed, I had changed but, was I being snooty like many of those here, in choosing to cringe upon Bollywood while looking at Hollywood like a lovestruck pet.
Watching two episodes of KWK told me that it was the process of evolution as a feminist that had made me “intolerant” of crass entertainment. Why feminism? That’s because someone like Karan Johar who advocates himself as a very liberal, tolerant persona (by writing an open letter to the haters who comment on his Instagram account that he is gay and that he should not pout), still chooses to ask female actors questions of a very private nature digging more so on the personal lives, their personalities, their appearances while the male actors are spoken to off money, homes, girls, ambition etc. No, they do not say things blatantly like “women need to be pretty etc.” and “men need to be blah blah”. No, that doesn’t happen but, there’s something eerie about the way the host’s persona changes when talking to 3 men who came together and then 2 women who came on a later episode. (If you’re on it, I think you should watch the two episodes back to back to understand what I am saying.) Why that is a problem because, like a female actor put it, the Indian audiences look at the show as the place where celebrities speak “the gospel truth”. When that happens, then in the minds of the audiences as well, the personalities of the female actors shrinks to their bodies, their make up, their hatred for other women and their relationships. The men are bracketed into larger beings who are all accommodating, decision makers and practical thinkers who don’t get emotional! What? For a man who pouts on Instagram, this is how he reinforces his liberal belief systems about gender and sex? In this season in particular, the two female actors seemed to gel a lot and are actually new generation people who think a lot and rationalise everything as human beings and not as bodies with breasts and oestrogen. However, the more they spoke their minds, the more they were mocked (lightly, of course!) as being boring and tiring to talk to. So, basically, reinstate the fact that women ought to not have thought and opinions while men can rant and joke about their ex-wives? Hmm.
Why I thank 2016 is because the year has given me bagfuls of opportunities to deal with sexism in all possible forms – blatant misogyny, subtle remarks of the inabilities of women to do this and that and then the slyest one where the perpetrator of sexism comes in the shape of smart, well informed and well spoken people who always speak of working to bring about gender equality in their own ways.
To sum it up, my distaste for Bollywood comes from the simple inaction on the behalf of the most influential people in the country to change their own attitudes and speak of them then. While the industry is making films like Parched (that receives little mention, little theatre running time and little business), it is also making films like Sultan that crossed 100 crores revenue marker in the first weekend. Even someone like Amir Khan who was earning huge respect from the slightly more informed section of the Indian audience, ends up praising Salman Khan’s Sultan that basically has a man wanting to become a wrestler to woo his crush and then the said girl giving up on her ambition for him. While yes, some women can choose that but, to glorify that sacrifice of a woman’s ambition in a country like ours that already expects it to be the case is outright irresponsible and stupid. And then, Amir Khan too fell in the bin with the likes of the others for me. True, Satyamev Jayate did feel like another publicity gimmick.
I would end this with just one thought – the struggle that humanity faces is because we all choose to and are conditioned to believe that certain things and situations in the world are fixed and that in front of those things and situations, we are powerless. Probably thats the case with Bollywood as well where they believe that they will run into losses if they only produced films like Parched. However, the US elections and demonetisation and the Middle Eastern situation are enough proofs that no thing or situation is permanent and as individuals we have the power to change things. I could do it at my sexist workplace and so can anyone on the face of this planet.
PS: I will write later on my dislike for FRIENDS and why no one must watch it. In the end, would again thank all those exemplars of sexism and patriarchy for making me grow. I hope you do to.
Two days ago in 2010, Mosaic was born on a whim to put down the waves and streams and trickles of thoughts that invaded my mind; sometimes against my ability to function ‘appropriately’ in the social. I will not say that it brought me immediate relief or that, like I have heard some say that, it can help vent out. Nope, it never did that as I dealt with the trauma of my father’s death. In fact, all it did was leave me burning with desire. Desire, to reach out to him, to reconnect to him through my words. I realise that I have taken to writing through my father. I was never nurtured or conditioned into reading and writing like #parentinggoals suggest. I was just made to be and observe and find my pleasures and joys and my own goals. School rotted some of it though he was always there to ensure that it did not corrupt my heart. I am happy he did not let it do so.
I never realised that I learnt a lot from him – that was his way of parenting, leading by examples. I will not say that he was not flawed – no one is without flaws but, like he had said to me once when I was working towards an exam and was very focused on acing it stating that number 2 was not an option, he simply told my 14 years old self that no matter what I am (number one or someone who is a failure), he will always love me the same. I believe that I picked up writing from him and I am just thankful that I did. When I started Mosaic 6 years ago and whenever I would write something from the place of a daughter missing her father, grieving over his loss, I hated what I came up with because they spoke of unrestrained and unedited passion. As I grew as a writer and explored more ideas and passions through my words, somewhere at the back of mind, I decided that for me to write something as my father’s daughter would be childish or maybe a piece which is cringe worthy. I realise I am my biggest critic there which again, I was warned against by my old man.
November 30th is his birth date and he would have turned 63 years old today. :)
Had it not been for tonight’s playlist that has Cohen’s last album, I would have cringed at myself again for writing about my father but, a conversation with a friend worried and scared and hopeless about what goes on in our world today where humanity is literally threatened in the scariest ways possible with humans against humans, I am happy to write things I have learnt from my wise, wise old man.
This world is a scary place
People have taken up arms against each other
Children cry as their mothers lie raped
And men lie in a corner drunken in their sorrows and defeats.
But, you who see this.
You, who feel the pain, why have you stopped?
Why do you believe in these
scenes of torture that you witness?
Don’t believe these to be your reality.
You are human,
you were born with courage.
Use it now and create a new reality.
You think it might not work?
Is that your fear?
But, isn’t that your job, to try that is?
Try and be your best.
Try and give it your all.
Get up now, now is the time to rise.
You might not see anything change in a second
But then, mountains weren’t moved in a night, were they?
You know the kind of world you want.
Believe in it and build it.
All you have to do is try.
I realise that as a writer I enjoy poetry the most. It’s simple, variable in the readers’ interpretation and spontaneous. So today’s poem is a Hindi / Urdu one which came to me one morning when I just could not sleep. There were just too many thoughts whirring in my brain and I had to write.
I usually do not like explaining the thought behind a poem because I feel it takes away the possibility of differing opinions and perceptions but, this ones different. This one, is about unrequited love or infatuation. Inspired by a sticky situation that a friend has been in off late and from many stories of unrequited love / feelings (maybe, including mine!), I can safely say that love is indeed a beautiful feeling / emotion, especially romantic love. However, love isn’t forced or that, it does not chain one’s heart. From what I understand now that those Bollywood flicks or old school poems were trying to convey, love is a free emotion and can be felt by anyone for anyone or thing, something that makes you become better – though love for things is greater these days! Won’t kill the read now and will stop here. Read on!
Sketch in black Indian ink on ruled paper
Hindi / Urdu
Kaun tha tu?
Kahan hai tu?
Kaun thi woh, jo padhi tere pyaar mein?
Itni besudh hui tere ishq mein
Ki bhool gayi thi apna wajood main.
Jise ishq samjha tha
Woh to nadaani samjhi tune.
Ik pal mein mera jahan ban gaya tha tu
Arey haan! Thi to bilkul nadaan hi main.
Par tu to samajhdaar tha?
Tujhe nahi dikh raha tha?
Kyun behlaya tune mujhe fir?
Kyun nahi apna asli chehra dikhlaya?
Khair, aaj mujhe tujhse nahi hai kuch gila
Na ki thi tab bhi maine koi shiqayat.
Jis pal tune mere jazbaat ko nakara tha
Jis pal tune apne banaye sach ko jhutlaya tha
Us pal hi maine apna wajood wapis paaya tha
Shayad us samay tabhi mere muh se sivay hasi ke kuch nahi nikla tha.
Mere mann me chhayi ik ajeeb si shanti thi
Jaise bahut ghane toofan ke beech ek chuppi
Dabe paon meethe meethe sannate mein mujhe gholi ja rahi ho
Jaise ki wo sab aur kuch nahi has ek sapna tha
Aur ab main jag gayi hun.
Who were you?
Where are you?
Who was she, the one who fell for you?
Was so lost in your love
That I had lost my self.
What I thought was love
You took it to be silly infatuation.
In a moment, you had become my world.
Oh yes, I was indeed silly.
But, weren’t you wiser?
Could you not see?
Why did you lead me on then?
Why couldn’t you say the truth?
I have nothing against you anyway, now.
Nor did I complain then.
The moment you denied my feelings
The moment you broke the truth that you had built
That moment itself, I found my self again.
Maybe that’s why in that moment, all I could respond with was a smile.
There was a strange sort of peace in my heart
As if in the midst of a terrible storm, a silence had
Creeped up and stirred up sweet silence in my heart, in my being.
As if all of it was a dream
And I am awake now.
In all this demonetisation hullabaloo, I have tried real hard to refrain from writing about it. Why? Because I feared feeling like a hypocrite to myself complaining about something that does not affect me much. Yes, it does not ’cause of a little salaried income that gets spent easily since I stay in the most expensive city in the country and more so, because I have the privileges of accessing net banking facilities of a highly powerful bank – even if at a small price, since I prefer that to ATM withdrawals.
I also did not want to write anything ’cause I was overwhelmed. I had had enough of the newsfeed on Facebook with opinions all kinds and people bashing each other in distress and social media egoism along with people globally mourning over Trump’s victory. Suddenly, everything turned from bad to worse and add terrible theatrics to it. But, this was until I spoke with the cleaning lady who comes to sweep, mop floors, wash utensils and hand-wash clothes to my apartment. Though she seems to have planned well in terms of cash kept at home since her husband has been falling sick often and she feels secure but, she says she does have a bundle of 500 rupee notes which will have to be exchanged. As we spoke, I developed a more practical insight into the matter.
To me at first, the demonetisation did seem like a viable step which was done towards a more progressive goal as going cashless is safer and more convenient for those like me. Unsure about the heroic ‘fighting terrorism’ claim. However, thinking more leaves me with a lot of questions.
- How does one define black money when calling this a surgical strike on black money? Who has this money when most of the country’s populace is an adarsh man willing to lay himself down for the nation?
- Where do the funders of our hero’s campaign fall? Don’t tell me they have all ‘white’ money! They do? Wow.
- Why can there not be more than two and a half lakhs in cash savings in someone’s house / cash register?
- Do they think this is the “shop floor” level developed state of roads, oops, Gujarat?
- Is this a democracy or a dictatorship that has to direct how I handle my money, even with the meagre salary?
- Why was decision taken in such sudden secrecy and announced by the hero of the Indian telly that is Indian polity now, instead of the FM?
- More importantly, why was this done without any appropriate survey on the daily expenses of an avg Indian. The person from that random think tank who allegedly suggested that since most of India’s population lives in rural areas, expenses there are upto INR 20 per day. I have had the opportunity to work where I have dealt with people from the informal sector – rural and urban – the same people who have been badly hit by the heroics of a certain man. They spend INR 100 on avg per day. Even if it was INR 20, what about medical expenses, any other sudden expenses? What do they pay in? Credit?
- What is this nation that “the poor are ready to sacrifice” for?
- Why do even ‘educated’ people around me not accept that nationalism is nothing but, a dated concept. We needed it (globally) when the concept was adopted. Today, with blurred borders, nationalism is limited to your passport and not to who you are. We are all global citizens, being indifferent about global issues is not a practical choice today.
- Why do we Indians need a hero? Why can’t we handle our shit on our own? Why do we feel so helpless? I know most people have difficulties and struggles but, the ‘poor’ cannot change their destinies till they continue to shun the responsibility of change on one central figure by quickly ducking the ball stating that they are helpless. When talking to my help (Manisha), this clearly came across. She is a super smart woman but, is limited by this very thought – I am a poor woman, what do I know? She voted for BJP and then says but, they are all thieves. What does the poor know, what change can the poor bring? She has 3 sons – all educated and looking for a better life. But, unfortunately, today a better life or standard of living is defined by what products (clothes, electronics, food) one consumes. There goes the education down the drain!
- Is this emotional drama (our hero has left his family for the nation) the reason why saas bahut serials are still the rage in India?
- Why can my fellow country people see divide and rule happening to us again? Earlier it was Hindus versus Muslims (yes, thats still there) but, now its black money hoarders versus ummm, the deshbhakt martyr poor? The funders of the fantastic hero’s PR still sleep peacefully.
- Lastly, does anyone – bank employees who work overtime, workers and labourers and many like Manisha who will stand in lines for over two hours for a small withdrawal in this expensive city – get compensated for the losses? A loss of 3 hours (on a work day for most people who are daily wage workers) is a loss of pay. Will they reap the benefits in this lifetime or will that be witnessed by some generation in a world that might not even exist – courtesy, climate change?
I do hope that this gets resolved soon and there is a compensation mechanism or at least a better execution of policies designed. And more importantly, that people now start questioning, understanding, taking charge and that we get better and more options to vote for in the next general elections.
Inktober 2016 day 22’s prompt was little. Like always, an image is formed in the mind and this time it was the pinky finger, the little finger. Why I did not draw that is because not only the time spent on it would be too short but, more importantly, the intention with Inktober is to push the wheels of my brain a little to resonate within the mind, what each prompt would mean.
I started off with the traces of a discussion I had had with a friend of mine. We spoke of how the grandness of nature, Athirapally in particular here, makes one feel so insignificant, so little that all one feels is the power of nature and surrenders to it. The last time I had felt like that was when spending time in the Himalayan mountains. The image that flashed in the head was that of the grandness of the snow clad peaks where everything else seemed too small, too little to think about.
But, it has been some time that I have gone back to those places of wonder and sitting afar in this part of the country all that comes to mind when thinking about it is the LOC, the attacks, terrorism, fear, crisis and war. I had, as a kid, honestly assumed that post the second world war, there would be no war at all. I know that was naive and we can safely say that peace and harmony are far away for a LOT of our “brothers and sisters”. I remember in the innocence of childhood when we would sing the national anthem and read about Bankim Chandra Chatterjee and Tagore and Bose, I would be in awe of these figures who contributed to the nationalist movement back in time. But, the reason that I was in awe of them all was not for defending a certain bordered geography against another country. No, that was never it. I respected, honoured and treasured what I read about them, these heroes and heroines, because of their courage to stand up against inhuman treatments meted out to people of this land who were being tortured and made to feel less human owing to their colour and race. These people stood up for their people who were suffering due to racism. If you look at it objectively, like now back then too, the reason for those acts of cruelty were economic and political power and the subsequent tussle.
But, I wonder today, what is this power that still does not seem to let peace prevail in this land. I am an Indian and I see it just as a part of my identity. When I see fellow Indians walking on the streets, I do not think of them as Bengalis or South Indians or Punjabis – honestly, I am pathetic at guessing people’s “native” and also their age – but, I see them just as Indians. So, what is nationalism today? Why is it being looked at as a necessary “Hindu pride” and why is it also being looked at as “something I don’t wish to associate with” on the other hand? Isn’t Indian pride about not being divided based on principles and beliefs and just accepting the differences? When songs of Indian past and pride on it are sung, why do we forget that all nationalist movement happened to defend humanity and not anyone’s ego or greed?
I think I will leave this unfinished at this point and share the poem that I wrote for this doodle:
Little by little
I see it change, this land
that I call my home.
Little by little,
the snow melts, not into
waters gleaming but, pools of red.
Little by little,
the cracks in doors
shut in my face as I peer in to say hello.
Little by little,
the cracks in my heart
widen as smiles grow taut.