From the Archives- My 100th post
Following was my first post… the message in this post is as relevant today as it was one and a half year ago when I blogged this post or about six year ago, when I actually wrote this couplet.
Three days ago, I was watching a programme on the story of Bikis Bano… who lost her family in the Gujarat riots… and was brutally raped.
What struck me was not that the state was a mute spectator… or that it is perceived by some as collaborating with the rioters… Instead I felt numb at the fact that the crimes on Bilkis were perpetrated by her own villagers… the same villagers with whom her family had lived for more than 50 years…
This is the depravity of humanity and human values… my best friend a Muslim lives in a Hindu dominated area… most of his friend are Hindus… what if we choose to kill him…!!!! what if I choose to kill him....!!!! What worse decadence I can undergo.
I did not feel ashamed for all those villagers… I felt ashamed for myself- for being a human being.
Three days ago, I was watching a programme on the story of Bikis Bano… who lost her family in the Gujarat riots… and was brutally raped.
What struck me was not that the state was a mute spectator… or that it is perceived by some as collaborating with the rioters… Instead I felt numb at the fact that the crimes on Bilkis were perpetrated by her own villagers… the same villagers with whom her family had lived for more than 50 years…
This is the depravity of humanity and human values… my best friend a Muslim lives in a Hindu dominated area… most of his friend are Hindus… what if we choose to kill him…!!!! what if I choose to kill him....!!!! What worse decadence I can undergo.
I did not feel ashamed for all those villagers… I felt ashamed for myself- for being a human being.
Dandi March, a jallianwallah, a Bapu and independence
Fifty years hence…
The dust settles and the veneer erodes
And
Out emerges a nation with ethics stenched
Rights… often misused
Freedom… often mocked
Values … often murdered
Traditions …. often mutilated
The vibrance of Indian palette
With colours of peace, of harmony and of fraternity
Is replaced beyond recognition
By chaos, by anarchy and by hatred
Past… as they say, slips away
For present
And the face changes
We have come a long way
A long way ….indeed
From prabhatpheris to rathyatras
From donations to bribes
From Ahimsa to bloodshed
And who else can bear a testimony so striking...
Than mentally deranged old man
Who weeps in the solitude of a dark street corner
Whose daughter was raped
Wife and son murdered
Because they said…. He belongs to the other side of an imaginary line
It is the time, when we looked back
And confronted us
Is this the legacy we leave behind?
The day we did it
Not as a person, but as a humanity
The song of Iqbal will sing again
Sare jahan se achcha hindostan hamara
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