We need to talk

We need to talk- you and I - without anybody to moderate our conversation. We need to talk about this border that separates us. About our history texts tarnished with lies to suit a section of the world. About how our hands were entwined so intricately with each other's that when they tried to pry us apart faster than we expected, we didn't have the time to let go of the other. Now we have a knot shaped tangled mass of fingers lining our border , some fingers scarred, some bleeding. 

I know that you have lost loved ones on the other side of your border. So have I. Maybe that is why as greedy hands of power try to pull us apart, tangling the knots further; even though I have now lost track of which finger is mine and which is yours , I refuse to take an active role in freeing my fingers away from you. How can I? We are family .

They tell me that it is a fight of religion. They tell me that my country hates your country and your country hates mine. Ridiculous. We haven't even met. Aren't we all individual genetic masterpieces? The question of whether we would like each other or not, should honestly be left to us. Generalising a country to be of a certain kind would be a showcase of ignorance. Differences of opinion can occur. That isn't a crime. War, however isn't the solution. We may or may not read the same books on 'religion' , but we recognize this, don't we- the need to keep our family safe, the prayer that they stay healthy and never sleep on an empty stomach, the hope that we get to see our children as they grow older and make their mark in the world, not haunted by the effects of acts of violence from our end.  This too, is a kind of religion, isn't it? 

We were victims of a crude plan of power hungry men willing to risk anything to rule. Even today, this hatred is being fed to us consciously by countries who benefit by this war. You see it too, don't you?

While my country hikes it's defence budget every year to get ready to fight you when the time comes; poverty, illiteracy, unemployment and lack of adequate Health care remain the pressing issues. I am sure that you have your own set of hurdles in your country.  

Here I am; extending a hand of friendship , silencing the voices around me that tell me that it will be chopped off; to instill in me fear that will turn into violence. They feed on our hatred, you see.. 

But I find that my hand is already

in yours, entwined as one at our border. They have buried it under years of bloodshed and hatred; but I can feel my fingers against yours. Can you?  

Life In a Nightmare

The best things about nightmares are that they are just nightmares. You wake up- and everything is fine. Today however , I woke up sans the relief of this being a nightmare after all- it was a condensed version of the life I was living .
My problem was simple- I was being stalked . There was no real evidence that he was bothering me. He was everywhere and he wanted to talk ; sometimes touch. All this while, I was never on the dreaded lonely road. I was always surrounded by people. They would react- oh yes, they would. They would ask me why I wasn't wearing a dupatta over that kurti , or that these things were common these days because 'kids like me' were not like 'them'.
I wanted to file a complaint, but I realised that I ran the risk of the following: an acid attack- because that is usually the next step, my character being put at the stakes- because I stepped out of my house , or even if I was lucky enough to live to see the man go to jail, he would obviously get a bail like everybody else and would want to get back at me for the disgrace I have put him to. Helplessness was quite the hero in my dream  .
I woke up realising how much I had moulded my life so as not to 'encourage' behaviour like this.
I wear clothes that hang loose from my shoulders, I am never out at night, I don't travel alone if I can help it, I don't drink, I don't wear clothes that are revealing. My biggest fear while talking to men- sounding flirtatious . Because being called uptight or reserved is better than being called a flirt. A flirt to them translates to being called a prostitute. Did you know that they think that you do not need consent with a prostitute?
I have been very careful and yet been molested multiple times- I was not asking for it. For instance, when a doctor who happens to be a girl is rushing in the casualty from patient to patient because delay could mean death- she is NOT asking for it. You think that a mob that watched the very doctor who made them feel better being assaulted to bits ,would react when I 'claim' that somebody groped me? Yeah right.
Remember the 'me too' posts that flooded the internet? That took immense courage. Because being molested in India automatically makes you damaged goods. (If a boy is molested, that makes him gay and unmanly) Nobody will ever want to marry or be associated with damaged goods, they say. Although I am yet to meet one person who hasn't made it through life without what they call baggage. Some wierd thought process makes you the cause for disgrace in the family - even if the molester is a family member. After all, we hide the faces of rapists, and talk about the time the victim was out wearing those revealing clothes.
What was I even expecting you ask? My government wants to adorn me with bindis and kumkums which for them is essential (for their pleasure) , while a sanitary napkin is a luxury. My teacher taught me that a luxury meant an inessential , desirable item , which is expensive or difficult to obtain . No, using a piece of cloth isn't a good option- it is unhygienic and it doesn't absorb the menstrual blood well enough. We cannot function at our best when we need to go to the rest room every hour. You may not want to understand this , because you- the ones who wanted taxes imposed on them ; are a group of men who might have never gone to school. If you have, you are a good example of how education is not equalent to knowledge and compassion .
While you still scream Bharat mata ki jai on the mike sets, or debate about national anthems in movie theaters ; do not open your mouth and ever call me India's daughter. You do not know the meaning of the word- you are not a good parent .