Tuesday, August 12, 2008
We live in an era where the word "Humanity" holds two meanings...one which exists only in Holy Books and the other in the world in which Humans exist...
I can now say with assurance that we rightly call Gandhi as the father of this nation. We are accepting slaps after slaps on our faces, with a deceiving hope that our neighbors will co-operate. That WAS the most practical solution with best possible outcomes. May be they are not happy with the phenomenal progress we are making, and they choose to be the thorns in the running feet, unaware of the fact that we can carry them along. Again, root cause being, typical "Human" behavior is an absolute rarity nowadays, as expressed by myself earlier.
Changing minds is important. Terrorists in a way are quite unclouded. They know what their goal is. They are dedicated and determined. That is a positive trait they hold, unlike us. Also, we do not learn from them. We move on with our lives like any other day. A dedicated youth only can make a change. A casual attitude is the last thing we want. An alert and vigil mind will detect any foul play promptly. A short term memory too is not desirable. We need to learn from our mistakes made in the past and remember the learning with practical application so as to avoid early damage.
We must change our minds, and also try to bring about a change in theirs. Considering the intensity of fan following in certain subjects among us, it is not difficult to imagine that all celebrities collectively standing for a noble cause can bring about a drastic change in their minds. I believe their source of entertainment is not anything out of a few selected arenas- film, cricket, music, etc. And I believe there must be some sort of malleability or impressionability left in them. (If they are not really that primitive as yet!).
Yes, changing minds is indeed important! We must now defeat the Gandhi in us. Even Bose was a dedicated leader! I wonder why we ignore him so much. Treating a single part won’t cure the disease. Putting out a flame won’t end the fire. Containing a side stream won’t stop the flood. Similarly catching hold of a handful of terrorists won’t end terrorism. We must reach the roots and destroy them, i.e. Afghanistan, Pakistan and the allied. Bose was indeed one step ahead of every one else! Innocent lives will be lost, but I would prefer calling it a “Sacrifice”. A sacrifice for a better, brighter future. For the world to be a better place to live in. Where “Humanity” in its pure form would REGAIN existence...
Feel free to type your views and suggestions regarding this issue.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
One sunny day...
When I was finally free,
The day everyone smiled at me.
When a lot of hands fondled me,
And many blessings were showered on me.
One sunny day...
When I had enough to drink,
With no worries on my mind to think,
When I felt most energetic,
Almost Super-human, Super-athletic.
One sunny day…
When everything was so fine,
Yet I could not help crying.
God had created His prettiest form,
On that day I was finally born…
The phone booth seemed too distant for him, but all he could do was wish. Wish that he could approach it and make his presence felt to his dear ones. He felt isolated and abandoned. He was broken and crippled. Lonely and drained out. The day broke and the sun gradually grew older. He couldn't move an inch and felt paralysed, as he lay there, motionless. He could do nothing, except to hope that he would survive just one more day under the scorching sun. He was rich. He had a bumper harvest every year. His lands were massive. Full of weeds...
The Muslim lady, who sat beside him everyday, had just completed an hour-long offering to her Lord. She walked away with a satisfied look on her face, as if she had nothing more to ask for. Every morning, as this daily ritual was enacted, he wondered what pleasure she attained in doing that. But in the end, he wished that a blessing or two, which the Almighty showered on her, fell on him too.
The everyday hustle and bustle had made him go insane. He wished that that hour had never ended, and that he had the innocence around him forever, which was awfully lacking in his surroundings. Everyday, the slum children came there yelling, and played their favourite sport, like expert novices. The game meant a lot to them. Everytime the ball hit him, he was asked to move away in an abusive manner. All he could do was move few inches. But the words only made him weaker, more than his own efforts. He could notice no difference in the brats and him. In his perspective- both had a lot of time. But on the one hand, it was sprinting and on the other, it made the snails feel better.
He saw the youth being wasted in front of his eyes. When he took a look around, he saw the same story, but a different scene. Children carrying loads, drawing conventional machineries, and a few of them lying by the roadside in a situation very much akin to his. Skinny, listless, malnourished and dehydrated. The sooty smoke being continuously pumped into their lungs. All these were inherited through their parents, who, along with loneliness gave them freedom and themselves got lost in the big world. He wished he could share a word of sympathy with them and shed a tear or two, for them. But he was too dry to be able to do that. He couldn't cry.
He survived the days and lived the nights. Too many people a majority of them, out of innumerable, who passed by him, had no time for him. But a few of them, threw pennies at him on which he survived. What he yearned for was their blessings. "Stay away old man, what you got was enough.", was all that he fetched. He knew that they were going through their worse days, and were only trying to make themselves feel better. He realised that the people who dint threw at him an unkind penny, were at least not hypocrites. In all of them, he desperately seeked a quality that he had heard, all humans exhibited. But never found it in one. It was called "Humanity". It dawned on him that the word humanity held two meanings- one which existed only in holy books and the other, in the world in which he existed.
Every night, he used to gaze at innumerable stars up in the sky. They were his only companions. The moon took his spirits to a high and made him feel romantic. But soon he realised there was no roof over his head. The dim sky got dimmer as the monsoon clouds started hovering over his head. And the city lights made the picture hazier. Within a few days, it started pouring heavily and that place was no longer safe for him. He had survived many monsoons, many summers and many winters, but this time he was giving way. His eyes were searching for those stars that he loved to watch, but all he could see were dark clouds conquering them hundreds at a time. He was desperately trying to hold on, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that the end was nearing. He yelled out something, but there was no spare ear for him.
"I am feeling drowsy, but I don’t want to sleep.
Give me some shots of cocaine, let me live.
Let me see my children, then I shall leave!"
The phone booth remained elusive.