The future of hate

Premise..

Came to my ears, just yesterday
It could not see, the light of day
A promising start, a fresh new life
Clinically cut short, through culture's knife

The man she loved, was Muslim
The Hindu girl, knew chances were slim
Under deep-rooted, centuries of hate
Swallowing tears, she accepted her fate

The history of hate..

In a quake of sorts, the Arabian deserts shook
Blood-thirsty tribes, recieved a new outlook
Peace had yawned, on a people savage
A prophet had promised, a golden age

A commune formed, with ideas revolutionary
Evangelist zeal, formed a well-oiled machinery
It unified people, under a tight regiment
But at the cost of tolerance, some lament

They were right, and only they
There was but, only one way
War cries boomed, at high decibels
The faithful, versus the infidels

As savageness peaked, frenzy caught on
With dogmatic might, the juggernaut rolled on
Crushing people, that came in the way
Destroying cultures, that had something to say

Then one day, they reached our land
A motley people, a mystic band
An artist's canvas, colors aplenty
Spiritual treasures and riches in plenty

Plunder followed. Carnage! Conversion!
Pray what rationale, for such subversion?
Why transform, a splendid rainbow
To a monochrome, by a show of crossbow?

Imposition attempts, went on for years
But it still didn't ring, in the tyrants' ears
That religions can grow, by the force of sword
But in coerced hearts, can there be love of the Lord?

In the present..

The scars of hostility, are yet to heal
But the land stands firm, with a progressive will
Regression sulks, in an isolated cage
Facing relegation, to a history page

Future of hate..

We must though, continue
To look at all, from a liberal view
Uphold our diversity, and tolerance
With a broad mind, not a narrow lens

Each of us, must have the right to choose
Faith is a necklace, surely not a noose
Abundant sunshine, water, fresh air
And freedom to grow, is a sapling's best care

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**Premise based on the Rizwanur Rehman murder case.
Additional reference on the 'History of hate' @ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persecution_of_hindus

Compromise

Splat! It missed my feet by inches - a colorful concoction of beetlenut-leaf juice and human saliva.
This sudden external stimulus was akin to a viper spitting venom. The momentary defensive response gave way to volcanic aggression. Anger, disgust and rush of blood joined hands to become choicest Hindi expletives!
Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&*#, teri *&^ *@!
All in vain. The anonymous enemy had disappeared into the motley crowd of passengers, visitors, taxi drivers, policemen, beggars and stray dogs. Could there have been a better welcome outside the Mumbai internatioal airport?

A few deep breaths later, I had time to reflect on my behavior. The queue for taxi-booking was proverbially a mile long. "Was your outburst commensurate with your image? An MNC manager returning from US - does 'Bh@#%^&#' sound nice emanating from you? Relax! Control yaar!" I told myself sarcastically.
"Hold on, just a dozen more heads before your turn comes..hold on!" I reassured myself. Hot and humid evening, a crowd of sweaty smelly people and the mountain of luggage I was lugging along formed a potent combination of irritants. But the destination was visible now. After almost half an hour of jostling, the paan-stained glass-shattered taxi booking counter was finally visible.
Not so soon.
In walked from the passenger exit, a big-burly figure wearing a spotless white pathan suit. The area upwards of his forehead was as infertile as the Thar desert. All vegetation had moved to the face it seemed. His thick, dark beard made him look
ferocious. "Surely a Jaat from Haryana" I thought. I hated the very look on his face.
He walked towards us assuredly and calmly turned straight towards the counter. I was infuriated. I summed up my courage and raised my voice.
"Boss, humlog ek ghante se line mein khade hain. Aap line mein kyun nahin aate?"
I then looked behind, ahead and sideways for support. None came my way.
The only thing that did - was that big-burly figure. He said in an unperturbed deep-baritone voice, "Aapko koi taqleef?".
After a brief pause, I wiped the sweat off my forehead, took a gulp, looked 'up' at the looming figure and replied nervously -
"Umm..aaa..Nahin Sir, taqleef kis baat ki. Aaa..Aap ko jaldi hogi. Koi baat nahin Sir!"
"Bh@#%^&#, ch#$&(#, teri *&^ *%" came out yet again as the Jaat turned his back. Only that the decibel level was much lower.

I had paid Rs. 300 for an old dilapidated yellow-black taxi for a 7 km distance - a princely amount by Indian standards. This was my chance to relax a bit after the 16 hour air-travel. More than a 'bit' actually - it generally takes an hour to cover 7 Kms in Mumbai.
I tossed some luggage into the back-seat and settled in the front. I had just about closed my heavy eyelids when the vehicle came to a screeching halt. As I opened my eyes, a woman and her kid smoothly crossed the road - barely inches ahead
of us! Despite being so close to a fatality, nobody seemed to have been alarmed!
Was I the only one that felt the goose bumps?
I realized I was done in by six months of conditioning - driving in the US. The next half an hour was a nightmare to say the least. Aggressive lane cutting, absence of traffic signals at important crossings, pedestrians jumping in impulsively - whuff! Price tag on human life seemed so cheap. Pedestrians put their life at risk, so did drivers and so did the general public that inhaled the deadly polluted air. My pulse rate raced. So much for wanting to relax a bit.

In the last leg of my 7 Km journey, a thousand comparisons between US and India flooded my mind. I had lived a regal life back in Atlanta - a huge apartment with a swimming pool and tennis court, an awesome car and terrific clean roads to drive on. There were systems and processes setup for everything and more importantly, everyone adhered to them.
Comparedly - India, like before, seemed so unruly. Everyone had to fend for themselves in the daily struggle for survival. And in that struggle, people seemed to have adapted to anarchy. Indians seemed to have resigned to Jungle Raj, and I would have to fall in line too, in due course.
"You chose to!" I reminded myself. I could have extended my assignment, but had felt home-sick, and decided to return.
"Was it the right decision?" I contemplated seriously.

I rang the door-bell. I was exhausted from the ordeal of the last 24 hours, and perhaps a little bitter.
Ma opened the door. It had been six months since having seen this expressive face. Expectancy in her eyes turned into childish joy. It warmed my heart.
Shveta came out of hiding from behind Ma. She had been a perfect wife - a source of dependable support for the family in Mumbai and also for me from so far away. Her smile said it all. She was relieved to have me back.
Dad and younger brother were more conservative in their welcome. The familiar smell of the small yet cosy 2-BHK apartment felt nice. My fatigue melted away effortlessly.

At the dining table, over my first helping of favorite home cooked food, only three things stayed with me. Ma's expectant eyes, Shveta's relieved smile and the sweet smell of what I knew as home. I somehow knew instantaneously that this ecosystem could not be replicated at or exported to any other place. I realized how critical these factors were to what makes me as a person. I would not say that in that one moment, my inferences were all rational. But one thing is for sure - there was absolute clarity.
I was convinced that I could not give this up for anything in this world - not for the daily conveniences, not for the quality of life.

I had afterall made the right decision. Paan spits and the great Indian anarchy were compromises I could live with :)

Some days back

The MARTA train chugged along to North Springs.
As I got into my car, you leapt at me.
That familiar smiling face, the warm embrace.
Some days back, you were for real.

Driving down GA-400 was directionless.
In a desperate want of destination.
But then, Exit 11 was home, wasn't it?
Some days back, my house was home.

I opened my mailbox.
The usual ad pamphlets - dustbin fodder.
This time though, I put them in my pocket.
Some days back, you'd found them of use.

At a slight detour from the mailroom.
The swing - crafted of wood, amidst a nice green patch.
I swung under the bright afternoon Sun.
Some days back, it was freezing cold.

I unlocked the door. Entered my apartment.
Was it you - lying on the couch?
Was it you – the little girl running around?
Some days back, these were sights to behold.

The kitchen looked aghast at its loss.
You had brought it the respect it deserved.
Cooking for just a single soul now, feels a burden.
Some days back, even doing dishes had its charms.

Politics on TV - invites scolds no more.
Netflix movies have lost their spice.
The comfy bed is but solitary confinement.
Some days back, I had your lap for pillows.

Your absence is bluntly unaffordable now.
A soul-less career takes a price too high.
Those few days are now worth in gold.
Some days back, I had made my millions.

Hide and Seek

An expert hand at hide-and-seek

You hid behind the fuzzy veil

Of my closed mind, only to peek

Like Sun from behind a cloudy bale

While walking down a common path

You genty tapped, from behind

Smiled at me, then as-if in wrath

Banished me from top-of-mind?

I ever longed for that soothing smile

Amidst all the worldly tart

Severely yearned for that un-travelled mile

That unsaid promise - made heart-to-heart

I traversed deserts in mirage hunt

Meandered among the human herd

Exhausted, consumed and almost burnt

In a futile search - fake, absurd

On my blighted soul, shone mercy some

Eventually, after the prolonged test

Little I knew, more was to come

As you would be at your playful best

A little girl wanting ice-cream

Another moment - a caring wife

Effervescence and joyous screams

Confessions later, of internal strife

You howl and scowl like an angry mom

Then cuddle in me like a little baby

You toil at work and then come home

To cook with love - my favorite gravy

Ambitious dreams, your desires up-scale

Of plush hotels and luxurious cars

In simple pleasures, you yet regale

With tears on my lap, you trade old scars

Awestruck I watch, day-after-day

The way you don your different masks

Performer top-notch! And I must say

In silent pride, your audience basks

Cobwebs in the mind**

Outside OT.
Forehead-folds.
Sinking hearts.
Cold, numb senses.

One of my own.
Under surgeon's knife.
That medicine smell.
Tense, frantic paces.

Sudden giggles?
A baby voice.
Stretcher wheeled in.
Few anxious faces.

What a gory sight!
A million pipes!
Of nostrils and veins.
One of critical cases.

Giggles some more.
At ignorant ease.
At elders' tears.
Through playful lenses.

A girl of 3.
Eased the nerves.
Melted all hearts.
Amidst heart-wrenches.

**Reflecting on a true incident

Part C: The Punishment: Trilogy of Sweet Melancholy

I remember that day in 5th grade
The Math teacher's blood-shot eyes!
His favorite student had failed the class test
In effect, I had failed him
I could see the hurt in his eyes
Through dark-rimmed spectacles sliding onto his nose

I stood on the last bench - holding my ears
What an embarassment!
Abhay, Asha, Saurabh, Nishant had all passed
They'd look behind every few seconds
I was free entertainment!
It pained me - Who invented 'Punishment'?
How cruel!

In a strange parallel today, someone
Stands on the last bench in my memory
I've spared her the embarassment
She's excused from holding her ears :)
Endure she must though! As I bleed -

With every inch of gaping distance

With every recapitulation of past neglect

With every begging yearn

With every image of my lonely tomorrow

With every moment in my hibernation

She has failed me, miserably
This is her just punishment

As for me, I now realize
Why someone who loves and cares -
Punishes

Part B: The Hibernation: Trilogy of Sweet Melancholy

When your own smile, charges an appearance fee.
You buy from the market, what comes free.
In the strive, to build your finances.
You forget life's little, nuances.
On the career path, by its curves and bends.
You get no time, for your friends.
When between airports, and hotel lobbies.
You profitably trade, your favorite hobbies.

Know it's time, to stop and take.
A deep breath, and then a status check.

When so-called friends, stand their real test.
And emerge but, acquaintances at best.
Even those few, for whom you care so very.
All you get, is their periphery.
Your belief, faith and trust turns rotten.
The moments sweet, are so easily forgotten.
When you are sure that none will miss.
When it's time for the goodbye kiss.

Know it's time for graduation.
A long-deserved hibernation.