Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Utter Lamentations of a Bard’s Jaded Mind!

By Sadho Ram

It’s almost three months now, almost! Three months of life living behind the concrete walls of a very hostile house, yes, a ‘house’ not HOME, a very-very hostile ‘house.’

And though, this house, in a very posh but quiet, not serene, ‘quiet’ locality, stands proudly with poise and confidence; a confidence that only comes to a soldier standing at the border guarding his country, but isolated; isolated from the much needed chaos of daily life and happenings, isolated from chirpings of birds in the morning, and isolated from the barks and howls of dogs in the night, in fact so isolated that his eyes longs to see a fellow human being who is receptive, but alas as he finds none, so do I, after almost three months, almost, found none with whom I could share that how it feels like to stand in crowded town, but isolated.

The only saving grace is the wind that blows here, unperturbedly, but then it carries nothing except a few more ounce of quietness; a quietness which instead of being the source of comfort and bliss, frightens the soul to that extent that the ‘remote’ which controls it, yes, that tiny piece of muscle ‘pumping gallons of blood and beating in rhythmic cycle’ in the chest, starts to shiver so peculiarly that it hurts, sometime for hours, to breathe; hours which sometime surpasses the usual day-night cycle and still continue to an unforeseen period of time, and in those ‘hours’… in those longer than day & night ‘hours’ I find myself gasping for air even though it’s flows like a river all around me, but seems as if it has barred me, cast me out from her club of lovers, from touching and feeling her, from experiencing the ecstasy that her touch would provide my soul.

Ah, how I long to be cast away from here, from this town called Barddhamaan, to that place where the wind instead of prohibiting me from ‘making out’ with her, would indulge herself in the ‘foreplay’ which would reignite the soul within; a soul that drives me and my passion – passion for people and poetry, passion for life itself, passion for adventure, passion for compassion to some extent and moreover passion for passion itself, the place called Bombay!


My mornings here start with a very unusual headache; a headache which begins its journey from one side of the head and then travels towards the other side of it, daily, leaving me in acute pain for the day that doesn’t easily ends. The days here lingers, actually it’s the feeling that lingers but seems as if the days have stopped, and so I try to endure the days and nights here and indulge myself in the work that though otherwise enlivens me but due to the catastrophically monotonous life of mine, the work too, has become so dreary that I often look at it with repulsion, yes, repulsion for that same work for which I once gave out a sumptuous banquet treat to the comrades of solace – my friends.

And as the night approaches, the restlessness grows inside; restlessness to go out ‘prowling’, to slaughter the silence that I forced myself to endure during the day, but as the night starts to discolour itself, I once again force myself, this time to endure the restlessness within. And I succeed to an extent, but then silence and restlessness are two utterly distinctive feature of human nature, and that too, with their own set of different natures, as where the nature of silence, which is like a baby, allows her to be tamed, the nature of restlessness shatters all control, like a insanely flowing river destroys any barrier that tries to forcedly stop her, thus, my soul, after losing the battle, abandons me, making me almost a ‘carcase’, which then collapses over the big bed in my BIG room, for few hours, only to come back into it and wake me up with the same headache that begins its journey from one side of the head and then travels towards the other side of it.

Sigh.

I now think that this was not what I’d imagined when I came here and this is something which I’m sure I will never experience anywhere. Before it happened, I always used to say I wonder – ‘how living alone, away from the chaos and cluster of the world will be?’ – but today when I now no longer need to ‘wonder’ about it, when I know about it more than I ever ‘wondered’ about it, I pray that – ‘if living alone, away from chaos and cluster of the world is like this, then I don’t want it, ever again, not even in my worst of dream.’

And I now wait for the September to come, like a child waits for his father to pick him up. So, till September comes, I will have to keep myself from going bonkers, which is obvious to happen if …I fail to wake myself up… when September comes!


Saturday, July 24, 2010

Of Yore and Of Hope [Emotional Atyachaar]

By Sadho Ram

Author’s Note: The below posted narrative is one of my personal experiences. It happened with me about a year ago. My motive behind posting it here now is nothing specific except that I’m participating in this month’s Indiblogger Emotional Atyachaar and Weblog's  Sleepy Sunday contest. Though partly sad, partly mad, but I enjoyed completely while writing it and I hope you all enjoy it too.

Have fun reading it, friends!


Part 1

On the 4th of June 2009, I was in Pune, about 170 kilometres away from the suffocating humidity of the furiously sweating city, Bombay, and it was warmly cold in there (yes, warmly cold).

And for the first time in 3 months I found myself almost so very close to shivering (in the season of summer), and so naturally it was unbelievable for me but it seemed like magic, I mean the feeling was something I had only experienced once in my life (I will get to that too). So the first thing I ask myself,

“Man, am I not supposed to sweat?”

And then this thought appeared into my mind,

“Maybe not”

Because I was in Pune, where the sky was frigidly blue and was smiling as vibrantly as my animated heart, which was so filled with the fragile but sturdy thoughts of that girl, Sasha, whose mere glimpse were enough to send me into the world of serendipity and romance.

I first saw her on the very first day of my new class in my college, which was held in our Auditorium.

I was sitting on the first row, waiting for our new faculty to arrive, and chatting with others quite loudly, when she walked in and while the entire auditorium went on just as it was before her arrival, I (trust me, friends) somehow went into an unknown state of quieten trance where calmness took over me and my eyes followed her to the third seat from the left in the third row and then remained constant there on her charmingly simple face. I had completely lost it… my senses were somewhere, while I was out of sync with the nearby happenings and my heart was drooling when all of a sudden (when the guy seating beside me kicked me with his leg) my beautiful dreaming world came to a screeching halt and brought me along with my senses to the middle seat in the first row. As I came back to my sane state I realised that the class has gone silent and everyone was staring at me (including our new faculty who, I don’t know, when had walked in).

Here I must confess, that I had to literally force myself to stand still (given my condition a moment ago) and at the very first glimpse of our new faculty further demanded that I now must force myself from laughing out loud while not to blurt out the obvious (WTF).

You see, our faculty actually looked just like the character ‘Jack Sparrow’ from the movie ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’ (I know all this sounds weird but I’m telling you this is what happened).

And so from that afternoon, Jan 14th, 2009, I have been simply watching her, while she played games in her mobile and took notes simultaneously, though I did confess my instant feelings for her to few of my class mates and other friends outside but I somehow was not been able to gather the courage to go and tell her all that how her presence and absence, both, made me feel.

That how her confident voice made me nervous when she spoke in class (which she did very rarely), that how lucky I felt when she unknowingly looked at me even if it was only for a second, that how badly I wanted to go to her and just say, how special she is to me, but somehow I just couldn’t say.

Why?

Well, (including the above mentioned factors there was something else too) that I actually wasn’t ready to repeat the same scenario of my perplexed past, in which I once had felt the same emotions sparkling inside my 4 inch tiny heart and then was left to moan after being used like a mere toy for a little fun.

It was the month of December 2005, when the pathos came into my life hiding behind that innocence, which, without any qualm, ridiculed my days of adolescence.

******

Part 2

‘Excuse me, are you Gopal?’

A sugar like voice knocked at my ear-barrel and the spoon, with which I was feeding myself, stopped just inches before my open jaws (yes, pretty BIG mouth I’ve). I then looked up and for a moment I forgot to blink my eyelids.

There she was, standing just before me, on the other end of that round table in which I was busy gorging myself just like I did daily, but that day it was different and also new but somehow it felt surreal, because, I thought,

“This can’t be real”

And so just to make sure that she was actually standing in front of ME and asking if I indeed was who I was (Gopal at that point of time and Sadho at this moment), I looked on both sides off my shoulder and when I found no one there, my heart suddenly started pounding so heavily that it seemed like it was going to burst anytime now.

‘Excuse me, I am talking to you, are you Gopal?’

That sugar like voice once again knocked at my ear-barrel and this time it slowly made way towards my heavily pounding heart.

‘Oh, ‘m sorry, what? No, I am not Tejpal.’

(Yup, bloody me) it was the first line that flushed out of my (BIG) mouth and in reaction to it, her face displayed the signs of disbelief and her eyes got widened.

‘Are you deaf?’

She shot at me and in reply this time it was I, who had to widen my eyes.

‘What?’

I shot back at her.

‘I asked …are you the Gopal?’

She threw another question in reply.

‘Of course, I’m Gopal, the or not, that I don’t know.’

I said it with a tone that even surprised me (don’t know what it did to her), as I thought,

“Dude, I sounded pretty arrogant there, didn’t I?”

And which could have been enough to send her off on any other day but as I said “that day it was different.”

‘Listen, I need your help. Can you please ask your friend, Zahid, to stop following me? I have tried telling him myself, but he seems least interested in listening to me.’

She said and was about to turn and leave (I guess).

‘Wo, wo, hold on, lady, Zahid, and my friend? Who told you so? I don’t even know him properly.’

I, in complete company of instant surprise, immediately shot back at her and she at once stopped and looked at me, with only innocence in her eyes.

‘But that girl in my class said, you two are ...’

I cut her in middle.

‘Listen, I don’t know why the girl in your class told you so, but the truth is that, you can ask anyone out here and each one of them will say that We, Gopal and Zahid, are not friends.’

*****


Part 3

It was fine till there. And my life would have been as smooth as it was minutes before her ‘excuse me’ approached me, which infected me with the terminal bug called love. But, I guess, it was not supposed to be like that and so I promised her that I will try to talk to him (even though I really didn’t know the guy at all).

She smiled and turned to leave but instead stopped abruptly and said,

‘Thanks, hoping to see you around sometime.’

And I stood there like a box watching her leave and fixed my hypnotised eyes on her (she had the most curvaceous figure I’ve seen in my entire period of life) till she disappeared into the crowd outside the canteen.


Three months went by, we became friends and then one day on the eve of Valentine’s Day, I finally proposed her in front of the entire college. She said yes and I felt like, I have conquered the world.
But the euphoria lasted only for few weeks, as one day when I accidently bumped into her and the Zahid in a pizza store.

I was shocked (understatement) to see her cuddling in his arms and when I went near to their table in the corner, she after seeing me, didn’t seemed to care enough as if… as if I was a total stranger to her.


‘What the hell is going on?’

I, after standing there for like almost 5 minutes (which in reality seemed like an eternity), shouted at them and pulled her away from his arms by grabbing her hand.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

I once again shouted at her.

‘Seems like you are as blind as deaf you were on that day in canteen, Tejpal.’

She said while jerking her hands off mine.

‘Hey, Zahid, look at his face, poor baby, I broke his heart, touché.’

She continued her verbal attacks on me, while Zahid continued to enjoy the show along with others, who seemed as insensitive as those pizzas, that they were piling themselves on.

My mind had lost its basic understanding and so it wasn’t able to decipher what was happening and I could not believe what my ear-barrels were listening, and so I thought that I am dreaming, yes, I’m dreaming (oh, how I wished and still wish that I was dreaming) and it will be over as soon as I shall open my eyes, but I wasn’t actually dreaming and neither could I open my eyes, because, I don’t really know how to open those things which never ever closes (you see, my eyelids remain half opened even when I am sleeping).
‘But why, Neha (yes, that was her name), why did you play with my heart?’

I somehow asked her, while trying to garner the audacity to stand still.

‘Huh, you still want to know? Well, I was a bit bore by my monotonous life, where I only dated hunky guys, so just to freshen up it a bit, I, as you said, played with your heart for a little fun.’

She delivered her last part of dialogue as innocently as if I was a mere plastic toy straight out from her cupboard and so has no feelings whatsoever, which stays as its owner keeps it and remains silent even if its owner beats it.

But I was not a toy and so I finally fell on my knees, tears dripped out of my red eyes and I chocked as if I was about to die (this is true… you see, I had genuinely fallen for her and given the factor that she had the figure any woman would be jealous of and any man would kill for, besides, I’m an emotional man, so this – chocking down – was bound to happen).

She left with Zahid, hand in hand, leaving me alone more than I was before she had come.

And so, since then, almost half a decade have passed by, but those blunt memories of my yore are still so sharp that it leaves a cut mark every time I try to walk by it, ignoring unknowingly and sometime even intentionally (can’t help it), with a companion which I quite often choose in these days of my chilling solitude.

And, I know my past was like a bad dream but unlike the bad dreams, I’m yet to get over it, and so the pain of yore continue to haunt my times of hope.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Why, Just Because I'm A Woman?

By Sadho Ram

Just because I don't mourn like you,
O' Untamed World,
You think I have no sorrow and have no grief?
Just because I am a Woman,
Hiding my tears and keeping a smile on my face;
A smile so serene, a smile so quite,
A smile so full of pain, a smile so awfully white,
A smile which is raped
Why, Just because I am a Women?
-----

A woman in our “self-centred, orthodox-ion and full of jungle laws”, which we so fondly call “society”, is like a tool. Tool of mass pleasure, of nationwide teasing, of taking the nation on top of the chart by increasing the already uncontrolled population, and if she is married, then she becomes the ultimate tool of household cleansing and a toy carved out of card-box, which then is being used by the member of the family as per their requirements.

About woman, one thinks that one can ‘make use’ of her as one wishes to. And the sad part is that, they actually are also able to do so. Therefore, several hundred thousand women trapped in our “orthodox-ion jungle” are forced to endure atrocities of several kinds, and that too, on a daily-wages like basis.

Now atrocity, as per the definition of dictionaries, is ‘the quality or state of being atrocious’ in other terms ‘an extremely cruel act or a horrid act of injustice.’

Some might say that this basically falls into the physical torture ‘category’ and to prove themselves right they will dig up stats and arguments in favour of it from long dead books and Vedas, though I personally have serious problems with such kind of people and thus, I also possess an extreme form of hatred for these people who also like to call themselves the “follower/builder of real society.”

But that’s not the main issue what this ‘critique’ talks about. The issue here is that there’s no ‘category’ for any crime which is being executed against the women in this “orthodox-ion jungle” of our and atrocity, too, is not just limited to the definition so profoundly provided by the man-made dictionaries.

Now, I will not further argue or write anything what I personally think about it, but will share a real story and let you people decide if what she is forced to endure should be termed as atrocity or just another act of some random violence defined by the books and Vedas.

Sunita is a 22 year old woman (though at this age she should basically be called a girl but as she got married about a year ago and is now on the verge of having her first child, so the ‘tag’ woman suits her best). She lives in a small village in Bihar state.

She was 12, when her mother was killed by their own blood relatives over property issue and she became the object of pity for everyone around her. And losing her mother at such small age, left her devoid of right guidance in her life, but before anything worse could happen, her late mother’s mother came to her rescue and adopted her, because after 4 years of her mother’s death, her father, who was the Mukhiya of the village, was also killed over political issues.

The loss of both her parents made her extremely weak from inside but, she for reasons best known to her, never showed any signs of it nor did she complained about life being unfair to her. Her granny, the one who adopted her, got her enrolled at Saraswati Shishu Mandir, a school part of the school groups run by the RSS, so that she could at least have an education every girl requires for her own betterment in our society.

After she completed her board exams with relatively good results, she was forced to sit at home by other members of that family to which she now belonged to, though it was done only by considering the raising rate of rape cases happening around the village and so she didn’t argue with them over the issue, but she continued to study own her own. Gaining whatever knowledge that she could get from used books, she found at the house.

4 years went by; she learned and mastered many tasks which would help her in later part of her life, tasks like – Computing, Stitching, Weaving, and Cooking, embroidering, Painting and many other such things. These things helped her keep herself busy in her rather empty life and so, she often found her lost happiness whenever she indulged herself in them.

But in these 4 years, she had also grown up, signs of girlhood were splattered all over her, and thus, proposals of marriages started coming up. She kept rejecting them one by one (a very rare phenomenon in the life of a women in our society) as she wanted more out of life, she deeply wanted to study in college for higher education but this was not in her hands.

After almost rejecting dozens of marriage proposals for several reasons, she finally agreed to the one which came in the year 2008. The guy was very rich businessmen and was good looking too. She liked him at first sight itself and so decided to break her chain of rejection. The family too, was glad that finally their girl has agreed to settle down and now will have her own family.

After about a week, she got engaged and after a year, in the end of 2009 she got married to Amit. And just like it was supposed to seem, everything indeed seemed perfect at the start. She was showered with all kinds of gifts and was fed her favourite dishes. But, but… the term ‘perfectness’ actually is a myth, and this she found out when she lost her Granny, who happily passed away a month after. Now when she was ones again an orphan, with basically on one to ask for her from her mother-side of family, Sunita’s mother-in-law started showing her true colours.

But Sunita, at first, did not think otherwise, as she was previously taught by her granny that, after a girl gets married she has to listen to what her mother-in-law says. But when she realised that her keeping silent over no fault of hers will eventually lead to bigger problems, she, being an outspoken girl, started voicing out her displeasures.

Now the main thing:

As of today, she is in her 7 month of pregnancy and her health has also fallen down due to continuous household work that she has to do in absence of a maid, which her mother-in-law refuses to keep. Her part of argument is that –

“If I’ve to hire a maid to do my household work then why did I marry my son to this girl?”

Last I heard about Sunita’s condition, she is burning with fever, her legs are swollen, she has cough and her eye sight has gone extremely weak due to negligence of her current family, yet she is forced to cook for the entire family, feed them one by one in their separate rooms, clean the utensils, wash their clothes, and do other such numerable tasks.

Why?

Well, her mother-in-law won’t do it, saying –

“I’ve done enough, and if I continue to do the work, why did I marry my son to this girl?”

As a result, Sunita has gone into the saddest state of her life, not knowing what to do and how to do, though unlike other women who faces same situation in their own life, she keeps raising her voice but with time her courage is giving up. The atrocities (yes, there’s no other words which could define this act of treatment) have finally taken a toll over her and she, just like what other women say, says –

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s all part of my life and I’ll have to live with it.”

I, therefore, would not say anything on this issue. You all are the best judge, after all YOU have built this “Jungle” where insensitive animals dwell, and so YOU only will make it a place where, though still animals, but at least the sensible ones will dwell.
-----

Author’s Note: Due to reasons, the names of the persons and places have been changed to keep the identity of the real ones a secret. I, though, would like to know your views and ways to tackle such menace which has engulfed our “society.”

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Under Hibernation!

This is an information notice to all the Arth-addicts!

ARTH is sorry to announce this but due to major conflict, which is going between the Author of ARTH and his Mind, ARTH is going down for an uncertain period of time.

The Blog ARTH and the Facebook Fan page of ARTH though will be online and open to discussions but there will be no more posts for an uncertain period of time.

ARTH is thankful to all those who have been with it till here and would hopefully continue to be a part of it in future too.

ARTH hopes to see you all when ARTH starts posting once again.

With Hope for a better beginning, ARTH bids you –

Goodbye!

Sadho Ram

Thursday, July 8, 2010

A Journey, A Longing: From Bombay to Barddhamaan!

By Sadho Ram

It has been about 2 months or so since I stirred out of the concrete jungle, the city of dreams – Bombay, leaving my friends, my foes, the gatherings at Rock-Beach, the much awaited 4th Tuesdays of every month for one of the best things in Bombay – 2 hours of poetry reading Session at Prithvi and virtually a bit of everything.

The day I left Bombay I also Left a part of me there… a part which was as liberated as wind and as gregarious as the streets are.

And at this moment I am confined in the aloofness of a rather small and an awfully conservative town in West Bengal, known as Barddhamaan.

The reason of my arrival in Barddhamaan was though an exceptionally ecstatic one but the sensation is rapidly vanishing… and as each day passes by, I feel more and more drowned.

Like an enslaved lion I am, searching for that ‘door’ to set myself free and flowing again.

Although I’m almost living the ‘dream’ but it’s only scarcely industrious.

And as a result, I’m always sceptic… sceptic about my abilities to fulfil the numerous commitments I’ve taken up, sceptic about the outcomes of the works I engulf myself in, sceptic of the people associated with it and sceptic about practically every small things.

Life, it seems, has unexpectedly become a conundrum of little nothings, which in a way doesn’t count imperative most of the times but then, they do matter the most sometimes.

But I am determined to bring this ‘detachment’ of mine to its end and I’m going to do it pretty soon. Though I’ve no idea how but I guess my hope will show me the door.

I still very well remember, what my science teacher Mr. Anil Murmu has once told me –

“Sadho, you are a man of free will, a will of a very rare kind, possess it, son, but never let it possess you”

At that time, I just smiled to him, as I didn’t know what to say. But as the time went by, and I started travelling I found out what exactly he meant by it.

And, today, though, I may be “a nothing” but one thing I know and I’m pretty much sure is that, my this ‘free-will’ will make me what I want to become, so there’s nothing for which I’ll ever trade this ‘will’ of mine, as I know I’ll be “a something”… something of a very rare kind.

And one very important thing –

I would have never made it this far… if YOU all would have not been here at ARTH with me all this while. So a GRAND thank you to each of my reader who has now become my friend of solace.


Thank You. Thank You. Thank You… from the bottom of my heart.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Woh Subah Kaise Aayegi

By Sadho Ram

Naxals Killed 27 CRPF Men With Horrifying Brutality.
76 Troops killed In Dantewada Massacre.

These are just two of the many news headlines of last few days of killings happened in one Indian states. I wonder what would be the condition of other affected states.

In the year 1958, Sahir Saab penned the hope filled and heart-wrenching lyrics “Woh Subah Kabhi Toh Aayegi” to give hope to the then hope-emptied hearts and souls and till today the song continues to fill the “empty” hearts of millions of people all around the world with hope… hope for a better and improved dawn.

But somehow that dawn seems a far distant possibility in today’s time when each soul is corrupted with greed for money and flesh, and each heart has been contaminated with hatred for fellow human being.

Seeing fellow human beings suffer for no apparent fault of theirs fills my heart with unbearable pain and an unknown rage… a rage which I fear might destroy my faith in sanity and humanity completely.

In the song Sahir Saab writes “Jab Ek Anokhi Duniya Ki Buniyad Uthai Jaayegi, Woh Subah Kabhi Toh Aayegi” but all this talk of ‘hope’ and ‘dawn of a new world of togetherness’ only makes the unbearable pain of my heart grow by heaps and bounds.

How will that ‘dawn’ come when all we are doing is fighting each other, killing our own brothers, raping the women who lay the foundation of this very society and torturing the future by forcing it to work in factories and chai-shops and disgracing it by snatching away its precious childhood?

…Woh Subah Kaise Aayegi?

Sahir Saab further writes “In Bukhi Pyaasi Roohon Par Ek Din Toh Karam Farmaayegi, Woh Subah Kabhi Toh Aayegi” but I wonder what would he write after seeing the condition in which the poor are forced to live (here I am talking about those thousands and lakhs of Adivasi people who live in unimaginable atmosphere and condition). I wonder what his pen would ink if it would have witnessed the misery not of their life but of their death.

I have heard people say that “death is kind” but I have not seen a single poor die whose death was kind to him. In fact it, the death is brutal and it’s worse than the hunger which forced them to succumb to it and it is as frightening as the thought for you and me of living a life a without a drop of water.

You and I can’t even imagine the kind of life these people have to live and deal with, so I guess you and I should also not have the right to decide the kind of death they should be awarded with when faced with system made adversities and greed of upper/middle class mass, they chose that failed path of violence which ultimately leads them to their own destruction.

I know you won’t agree with me here. And I guess I have pretty fair an idea about what would you say to defend your point but for a while forget about YOUR own perfect life and place yourself in their shoes and then think.

Is the way the system has been dealing with them justified in its stand which is nothing but sheer hypocrisy? How a man is supposed to support his family of four when everything that he had was snatched away from him and was given a meagre compensation of few thousand rupees? And even after that when he somehow manages to provide two time of meal to his family, what is he supposed to do in YOUR eye when one fine day he finds his family slaughtered by the same hands for no fault, no crime of them, hands which were supposed to protect them?

Spread peace?

I guess not.

I was born among them, in the dense forest of Jharkhand, surrounded by huge green mountains, near the free flowing river, which now has completely gone out of water (thanks to the land encroachment in the name of development).

I have seen the pain in their eyes and disgusting looks that they get from the so called ‘elite’ class. They live in fear. Not because they are weak but because they are naïve and innocent and happen to have no formal training and exposure to study due to the lack of government interest and lethargy of the babus of these areas, who considers these people of no value to the society.

And when these same people raise their voice they are labelled… labelled as Maoists, Naxals and terrorists of different kinds.

No, no, I am not trying to justify their ways and their views; I am only trying to say that what a man is supposed to do when he finds no door, no window in that system which was supposedly created to protect him and his family but instead became the destroyer?

Tolerance has its limits and when forced it can be as torturous as tolerant it once was!

And in the year 1967, when the tolerance finally broke, a land of “voice-raisers” was born. Today the “voice-raisers” have become “violence-raisers” thanks to the ever continues stand of Indian Government to not give the basic rights to these peoples.

As a result the ink of the news papers have gone red and television media screens are burning with the daily dose of slaughters of CRPF Forces and innocent publics that these poor now execute.

Coming back to Sahir Saab and his lyrics where he further writes “Jab Ambar Jhoom Ke Naachega Jab Dharti Nagme Gayegi, Woh Subah Kabhi Toh Aayegi” though no matter how impossible this dream may sound but that flickering ray of hope inside the dark corners of my heart wants to believe that someday that dawn will come when no one will kill a fellow human being because everyone will have what they rightly deserve.

But till that dawn comes… I shall continue to ask –

How will that ‘dawn’ come when all we are doing is fighting each other, killing our own brothers, raping the women who lay the foundation of this very society and torturing the future by forcing it to work in factories and chai-shops and disgracing it by snatching away its precious childhood?

…Woh Subah Kaise Aayegi?

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