My Reflections

A brown dog came running with big bone and settled in dilapidated hut. A white dog sprang from somewhere and pounced at the brown dog. The two beasts ferociously fought but white one ultimately overpowered and snatched away the bone.  Aleem, unemployed graduate of Basvaria village, sitting on the cemented platform under banyan tree watched with amusement the live demonstration of survival of the fittest. The brown dog was whimpering in the corner of the hut after losing fight putting its tail between the legs. Aleem felt empathy for the creature. 'The human race is not different from these beasts. The entire history of conflict and clashes were to capture land and resources. The advance race subjugated the backward ones. The cruelty and atrocities of humans surpass that of the most dangerous animals'. thought Aleem. Malang Baba, a madman of Basvariya came carrying polythene bag and old Urdu newspaper. Without looking at Aleem, Malang spreaded newspaper and emptied the content

Majid was in deep emotional distress when he returned from engineering department. He bunked classes and reached hostel early with sullen face, disheveled hair and tearful eyes. Belal his room partner was leaving for classes when Majid entered the room. Worried, Belal enquired about his health. Majid pretended that nothing was wrong with him. Belal Bhat, his room partner for the last four years was from Anantnag, Kashmir. Belal did not go home since he joined university due to the disturbances back in Kashmir. His parents preferred safety over their desire to see his beloved son. Belal’s elder brother Maqbool Bhat was Phd scholar researching on influence of sufi-ism in Kashmir at the same university. He too appeared to have made the university a temporary refugee camp. Belal and his Kashmiri visitors spoke Koshur, the language primarily spoken in Kashmir. Majid found the hissing sound of the language irritating so he would leave the room whenever Belal had some visitors.     Maj

The row over Jinnah’s portrait hanging at AMU student union hall has raked-up a bitter memory from my child hood. On one republic day I came back from prabhat pheri spirited and in festive mood, asked my father who was still in bed; Abba, why do not we chant Muhammed Ali Jinnah ki Jai as we do Mahatma Gandhi ki Jai, Jawaharlal Nehru ki Jai, Maulana Abul kalam Azad ki Jai? My father got astounded and furiously screamed at me. He was about to slap me that I ran away to join the celebration at village school. A teacher asked me to sing a patriotic song and I sang Kesariya bal bharne wala Saada hai sachchai Hara rang hai hari hamari dharti ki angdaai Aur kahta hai yeh chakra hamara Qadam kabhi na rukega Hind desh ka pyara jhanda Uncha sada rahega Though a loving and caring father, the reaction of my father that morning scared me from history, particularly the part of history which has Gandhiji and Muhammad Ali Jinnah on the same page. Years later as a student I encount

# MayDay   # LaborDay It is may day, labor day, worker’s day. Whom is this day for?  on this day of ours, I as a worker sitting in comfort of AirConditioning imagine other workers. In flashback workers appear, a lady in tatter carrying basket on head with dripping excreta, the young mother on construction site who has left few months old baby under shadow of tree, a sixty plus white bearded rickshaw puller struggling to pull overweight passengers. More pictures pop up, the filth covered brave hearts who enter the manhole and clean the gutter, the coal miners who risk their life to make the country 100% electrified, the entertainers in maut ka kuan, farmers toiling in the scorching heat and the housemaids who bear all the insult and humiliation and make the lives of Sirs and mem saahabs comfortable. I wonder, what is the relevance of such day? With the socialism being scorned and the communists having relegated themselves to the position of bystanders, who cares to cel