This poem just blew me away.
All INDIANS needs to THINK like this.
TAKING SIDES
By Ernest Flanagan
When we grew up as children,
did we even know
Who prays standing up or who prays bending low?
Did we care who scored
the goal when India won
Was he a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian's son?
Did we care if our sweets came from the north or south
No we did not as long as it tasted good in our mouth.
We held on to each other
and considered them friend
With arm around shoulder, should this friendship end?
We did not divide each other then,
why should we now?
Just ‘cause politicians value people less than a cow?
Recapture those years of innocence,
follow our own hearts
Don't be forced to take sides, that's how the trouble starts
Turn a deaf ear to their calls for war,
turn a blind eye to their views
Will we murder our brothers now
like Hitler killed those Jews?
God made the earth for each and everyone
to equally share
Does the sun shine more on you
or on everyone who's there?
Does the breeze blow only on you
and leave others alone?
When a good man dies doesn't everybody mourn?
Does the rain fall only on one tree
and leave the other dry?
Doesn't everybody live under the same beautiful blue sky?
Should we tell each other what to eat
and who to pray to?
Shouldn't we respect their traditions
and let them continue?
Can you tell the Tiger
that it should not eat the lamb?
Then why should you force your will
on another man?
As children we shared everybody’s food
it tasted quite all right
As children for that last piece of cake
did we not happily fight?
Did we ask veg or non veg before grabbing the plate?
When we were hungry children
everything tasted great
We did not make divisions then
why do we do it now?
Is not another human more valuable than a cow?
When did we become communal
and start taking sides?
Who are we to differentiate between the colour of our hides?
We bonded as school children
to people of all faiths
Now we burn their places of worship in some states ?
Hold up a mirror to yourself and tell me what you see
With our fellow Indians did we lose that camaraderie ?
~ Ernest Flanagan
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"IT STILL LIVES."
by....
Deepti Prasad
I have come to the city of Lucknow for my mother’s knee replacement surgery. We are staying in the Officer’s Mess in the quaint old Cantonment.
It is a flashback to a nostalgic old lifestyle. The "bhaiyya" brings “bed-tea” sharp at 6.30 am. The “bhaiyya” then serves us cooked Indian breakfasts on the coffee table with napkins and cutlery. The “safaiwala” comes to clean the bathroom and floors everyday. And even the laundry is attended to by the old style “dhobi” who collects the bundle of clothes in a “gathri” tied in a sheet every morning and brings them back crisp and sun-dried and ironed wrapped in a starched clean sheet in the evening.
Today is “Navami”, the ninth day of the Navratri fasts. It’s the day of the ritual of “Kanya Pooja”, where all Hindu homes invite and worship the little girls in their neighbourhood to honour the goddess.
I remember the delightful feeling of being treated so special back in the days of scampering around in frocks and slippers. I remember sitting cross legged on the little wooden platforms in the fragrant Pooja rooms (Prayer Rooms) and being worshipped by the families dressed up in their beautiful silk and finery. I remember the taste of the offerings of poories and halva and black chana. And the thrill of all the one rupee coins all us little girls collected as blessings.
The Dhobi didn’t show up on time this morning. When we called him to remind him to pick up the laundry, he explained he was delayed taking his little girls around to all the officers homes where they had been invited this morning to be worshipped in the “Kanya Pooja”.
Eventually he showed up with one of his little girls in tow. A skinny, bright-eyed 7 years old with an eager smile. “Namaste aunty ji” she chirrupped in her high pitched little voice. She’d obviously had a very special day being worshipped as a goddess and was feeling wonderful!
“What’s your name?” we asked the dhobi. “Mohammed” he said. My heart skipped a beat.
And then when I realised the full importance of what I had just learnt from just a name, it made me smile.
A little Muslim girl worshipped as a goddess in Hindu homes!!! And they obviously know well that she is a Muslim. Her father had been working for those homes for years.
My heart swelled with pride. My eyes dampened with Joy and Pride.
This..... THIS is the India I grew up in.
It still lives ! It lives in the hearts of those simple, joyous, generous, tolerant, inclusive and kind Indian folk of all religions.
My India is still alive and doing well, after all ! May it never succumb to the disease of intolerance. Ever !
