Thursday, 3 October 2019

Patriotism

“Patriotism”, No sahib , I don’t know what that means .”
I ask around , mike in hand , feeling very foolish . The Hindi translation too , doesn’t seem to make any sense .
But I am asking the home makers , slaving away every breath . Cooking , cleaning , wiping runny noses , laying out the roof , threshing , winnowing , bringing the crop in .
There is a group of village elders , sitting on a charpoy , smoking the hookah , surrounded by a group of village louts . Quite uncharacteristically , the louts slink away at my approach . The elders give me the silent treatment , become shifty eyed , and look away . Someone clears his throat noisily , but still doesn’t answer me .
I get my answer later that day when I enter some of the huts . There , framed prominently , on the mud wall , is the photograph of a soldier , a garland hanging desultorily, vermillion tilak on the glass , and a soot emitting solitary ghee lamp burning underneath. Making the dimly lit interiors, gloomier .
Almost every house has their resident martyr . This village has given its best sons to the nation , what was I thinking ?

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