Of War and Peace

The existence of hate and jealousy has been seen since Kane and Able. The greed of what is not ours has always been the motivation of brute action and subsequent reactions of negative emotions.

We are living in the world which is powered forward by the good that is done for society but are held back by the wrong that happens around us. History has been an evidence of the ruthless nature of humans and how we are so happy when we hurt others.

In the early days, war and treachery were a part of life where the mighty were powerful and the weak were simply slaves. The change of structure happened at a slow pace where war was condemned and the weak were given the strength to exist without fear. There was a change in the perception of war.

The 20th Century saw the most gruesome of world wars and the formation of the UN council which is supposedly the mediator and the supporter for the just. Media played a major role in seeking the need for peace and sustenance in the world. The number of artists who have sung of happiness and joy, the movies which have shrieked the life out of us to understand the environment of peace as subjected to that of war and hate.

Little do we know of the daily lives of the people who wake up to the sounds of bombs bursting around them. A child who fears of loosing a limb if he were outside playing football because of the shellings. A girl who was raped by the soldiers meant to protect them. The horrifying tales of parents burying their children because the opposite side mistook them for terrorists.

War exists till today in the very backyard of our homes. We just refuse to acknowledge it. We are too involved with our daily lives to figure out the love that doesnt exist in the minds of those influencers of hate. For when will hate turn to love or when would they be a need for the lost to be found.

History has been an example and a learning for us but we simply refuse to read between the lines. War only causes casualties and more hate. Dialogue and communication with a refusal for brute force or action can amicably resolve long pending issues and make us feel more comfortable.

The happiness of a parent to see their children graduating. The happiness of a child to play in the field without the fear of being bombed. The glory of a girl to play with her tea sets and dolls. The love of a husband towards his wife. 

The beauty of love that could fill the earth is still a long stretch away. There is but a need for each one of us to work in the direction of love and giving. Our choice of No WAR but offer PEACE....

The Drive.....

It was just another day going to work or was I mistaken?

A monday morning all ready to start the week, the car engine roared and I took a deep breath to focus my attention to the week ahead. As I reversed from the garage I could faintly remember the beautiful weekend that just passed by and how I wished it were a day or two longer.

The traffic was at its peak and was at snail's pace. As I waited at the signal I saw the beggars making their rounds at each car. A woman was carrying a child, not more than 2 years, on her waist and walking from car to car begging for money. She was using the child as a tool to persuade the occupants in the car to give her money.

I looked and wandered about the child and what would be his/her plight in all of this. He would be groomed to be a thief or a beggar when he would grow up. His life was meant to be doomed from the time he/she took his/her first breath of air and started to cry. The cry would have been of pain rather than of happiness to be welcomed into the world of misery.

I sat back and thought of the children who I had met, children of my cousins, friends, acquaintances. All those children would have had been born in the same manner as the child on the street but their destiny would have definitely been different to the child in front of me. The love, care and tenderness their parents bestowed on them would be only a dream for this little one.

If fate had played its cards right, this child could have been an asset to society. He/she could have been a writer, an actor, an engineer, a doctor or any other professional but because of the bad parenting he/she was to be in the life of misery with the goons of society.

The drive didnt last long as the thought of the child kept playing in my head and made me wonder. What could I have done to make this a better place for the children of tomorrow? How could we as the elders of today work to make the city a better place for all to live in?

If we all were to make our cities, towns and villages a safe haven for children that would be a start to ensuring our children would not have to bear the same brunt or anguish that we as children may have had to endure.

The drive to make this world a better place needs to begin and start at home. Else there would never be a home left for the future generations.

The Train Journey

It was a journey like no other. I anticipated the endurance of the journey with the stories recited the night before by my cousins and they never gave an opportunity for me to feel any better.

It was going to be the first day I traveled by the local trains in Bombay and I was petrified with what they had told me. I was only 13 years and was travelling with my father. He was to go from Andheri to Churchgate for official work and I had brilliantly insisted on accompanying him. The relations that I had revered; were questioned when they told me of the nasty travel experiences they had and how the train is a place for rogues and ruffians. How they push people around and do not care of the passenger next to them.

My cousins took the chance to scare the jeepers out of me as we did not reside in India then. We would come only for a brief period of time and were here on the holidays when the schools would close for Christmas. The sinister nature of their prank had me want to back out of the journey but for some unknown reason, I pursued it with a knot in my throat.

My father had anticipated the fear I would have with the maiden voyage in the trains of Bombay. We were travelling in the rush hour at 930 am and he bought first class tickets to avoid the hassles I would face in the second class compartment ( I was a pampered brat back then).

We did not take much time at the queue as there was a separate line for the first class ticket. We were in and out of the ticket counter in about 5-6 minutes. My dad then ushered me onto the platform and we waited for the train to arrive which again did not take long as it was the peak period and there were trains coming into the platform every 6-8 minutes.

I remember we didnt board the first train as I was frozen to the ground when I saw the flood of people getting out of and in to the train. It was as though there was a riot behind the people who wanted to get out and of the people who wanted to go in. In the fight to get to their destinations, we remained stranded outside the train and my father had second thoughts on my boarding the train. As the train started to pull away from the platform, I saw people hanging out of the train and shouting at the people to move inside. I didnt think of it much, except to the extent that if I would have been able to hang out with people pushing me.

I told my father that I was not going to board the train and that he better leave without me. I would be safer to catch a rickshaw home and stay there. He motivated me to board the next train and told me to be in front of him so that he could push me inside. Not sure of the logic but his words gave me strength (for the time being) and I agreed to him.

The train arrived and my time of reckoning was in place. I stood strong and with the guidance of my father I made my way inside the first class compartment. As he carried and pushed me, he was pushed by someone else. I was pushed by atleast a dozen men whose bellies were crushing my face. I was jammed like sardines in a can and there was no place for me to move. I was jammed in between two, three, four, ten, twenty individuals who had an extra belly. The people were shouting and asking to move in. It was a ruckus of sorts.

My father asked me if I was doing well; I would have liked to give him a piece of my mind then. But I gave him a grunt and made a face of sadness and pity. I couldn't breathe with my face between the freddy bellies. It was unbelievable to know that people would have to travel like this everyday. I was in a place being crushed by the bellies and wanted to burst all the bellies next to me or use a towel to cover my face from the sweat and grime that was dripping all around. It was a journey that lasted me a lifetime.

It took about a few stations to pass after which the crowd started to dwindle down and I could catch a breath of hope and life. I signaled to my father that this was not the journey that I had in mind or what was told to me. It was worse than expected. I went on to curse the people for behaving badly and pushing everyone around, while we were still on the train and trying to understand why these people behave the way they do.

My father was silent at all my questions and sarcasms. He silently nodded to me and said, "This is the life in Bombay (now called Mumbai)". I was astounded from what we were used to living and the world of torture on the trains of Bombay.

12 years on, we came to settle down in Mumbai and it turned from a vacation home to our permanent home. Travelling by train is now a routine for me and I now have to listen to my friends who come to Mumbai of how horrible the trains are and how they cannot get into a train without having to push, slide, rub, caress, or shout at a person. And I reply to them, "This is the life of Mumbai."