When will we paint the world white?

​Feminism, sexism, racism, castism, ageism. The gala words and the world goes gaga. The 100 other ‘-isms’  and the more recently my self proclaimed addition to this list – wordism. Though the word absolitely doesn’t make any sense, I would like to define it is as the practice of sprinkling seemingly sensitive words to make a point on serious issues for the sake of being crowned the SMART ONE. 

There is a  sort of obsession with these words today. Stories, reports and our day to day experiences do color our maps dark, but painting such serious issues with exciting tones is a mockery of the struggle that we as a mankind are going through. But are we all really together in this struggle? If we had been a wee bit more sincere, we wouldn’t have scavenged on petty things to prove that the challenge is for real. 

When I read media articles on sexism, when my facebook wall is filled with the stance of left and right wing leaders, I am saddened. Not because I prefer to agree or disagree , but because I feel that the world has failed to decide, to honor the commitment it is not only meant to but also obliged to. People have atleast started talking about these things and such issues have increasingly become hot topics of conversation is no argument for being content with the progress. Because what then? What happens when the coffee goes cold? What happens after all said and done we still judge a person for his/her skin color,  roots, or sex? Our conversation, perhaps  only reflectred an opinion of the well read class and not of the class which meant well. 

Petty issues are seen in perspective of caste and religion, when the background to it entitles a different story altogether. That being said, don’t misinterpret my statement to sweep the realities under the carpet. Because the tales are sadder and their ends haven’t seen justice.  

I am not here to preach about how to free ourselves from the shackles of such a long history of being unjust and facing injustice. That has a rather simple answer , and to the dismay of my readers I will like to keep that question open for introspection because we don’t need the answer but the courage to accept that it is indeed the true one. We need the courage to change our attitude. It is going to be tough, the war of two thoughts has never been easy, but no where was it said that we can’t claim victory. We live in a country with a history of diversity, value system, complex social and patriarchal hierarchy, and things will need time to run it’s course. It may question our values, it will try to break the system that now seems obvious to us. The war does bring casualties and though the wounds may heal, the scar will remain. 

So what are we then talking about? We are talking about the need of maturity to deal with it. To be able to inculcate a long forgotten lesson of think before you speak. In this age of social media, the gravity of words have fallen. Nothing is important, everything just passes. Words once mightier, find it difficult to get expression among the so called sensible. Everything is divided in two, the middle path is lost into the arguments of the extreme. Hypocritical comments are condemned, but I myself find hypocrisy to be more of a natural instinct than a flaw. Because more often than not we are not in the position to decide and what we choose doesn’t reflect our minds but rather it manifest our helplessness in this mad world in these mad mad times. 

This battle has been long. The debate of a perfect society is a monologue of the more privileged ones. It is not easy to dissuade oneself from the liberty to speak. But it is the responsibility that should matter more now than ever. It is time we give back the words their power, by cumulating its presence in actions. 


Portrait of a Father

​He sat down on the couch, being the victim of his own offenses. He had begged to differ with the world at one point of his life, but now he was one of them. It disturbed him. How his silent but optimistic web of dreams had succumbed to the wars of his own creation. He had tears in his eyes and a blank smile on his face. 

He looked at the frame on the wall opposite to him. His father stood tall and sincere. He respected him all he could, but never did he love him. He stood up and gazed at his reflection on his father’s photograph. He had his father’s eyes, he knew. But he didn’t want to find himself there anymore, for he thought he had lost all reasons and dignity.

That night was going to be long. He heard a knock on the door. He knew it was her. He opened the door. She was cumbersomely dressed, her hair all wet and kajal smudged. He was surprised and stared at her for quite some time before he asked her what had happened. She rushed inside the apartment and he stood still in amazement and doubt.  He  was scared and the fog of mystery didn’t promise to disappear anytime soon. 

She sat on the couch. She tried to appear strong and unaffected from the ghost of her doings. My weakness must not be revealed, she told herself and that was the only thing that kept her going.  He offered her water. She took a gulp down her throat with a heavy breath. She tried hard but couldn’t succeed. She cried. Out loud, disturbed and perpetuated by what time had made of her. Her voice cracked, and he felt feeble. He didn’t gather the courage to ask her. He wasn’t a coward, he just cared far too much. 

He sat there. Waiting for her to vent out her feelings. He was helpless and his only source of strength was withering away. But still, he waited. He knew no good could come of consoling a troubled heart. Her anger, her anxiety all were accepted without question. At the end it was only her smile that mattered, and he awaited for that glimpse. His sister could not surrender herself. After all that had happened, she was the only person who could take them to where her father wanted them to be in life. A life of content and peace. A life adrift of agony and fear. The time had come to lose the hope of perfection. It was time to accept that flaws are not so bad after all. He wiped her tears, baked his emotions in the furnace of his will to win over his life.

Ego, fame and recklessness had cost them a fortune. Lost of their father’s hard earned respect and money, they held each other’s hand. The photograph was still there. It still stood tall. But the smile appeared a little more brighter this time.