Inferno within my little pulsing breast, tornado in my much occupied mind, whirlpool in my nervous nerves and crisscross electric signals wandering through the narrow lanes of my old city much occupied by vendors and hawkers , making me a stupid chattel amidst subtlety of macabre mechanism of common sense. How now these ersatz encounters are fetching awards and rewards for the one so called ‘guardian of peace’ for a reason that seems unreasonable for all practical purposes. The medals on the shelves of their offices, if at all ‘office’ are a genuine term to tower a fallen head in the disguise of beating terrorism.
Aysha for a certain reason seems like filling more pages in “We the Subjects” section. May be her objective is to register a cry of which she takes serious notice; maybe she is a daring ‘Eve’ of this disturbed land. Whatever be the cause, “We the Subjects” is turning to be a serious script of a sensitive mind butchered by modified axes of ‘Violence’.
How this ‘uniform’, so well stitched and ironed has failed time and again to bring ‘justice’ at its proper shelf where from an innocent can reach out to prove his blamelessness. My heart sinks whenever a man from military is motivated to assassinate an innocent because he stands right in the sensitive areas without food, shelter and basic requirements only to keep ‘dirt’ out of his uniform, yet this ‘uniform’ has sieved my confidence for being utilized and misused to derive a temporary pleasure which like a fallen leaf is reduced to mere debris. Should I develop a habit to hate everyone who stands for peace and prosperity or shall I pull this hem of expectations more towards my own ambit of hopelessness or shall I avoid believing in secularism, its dulcet dishes of universal brotherhood and candid concern that promises upholding my rights and riotousness.
My literature book in the class teaches me that elite Indian Police Service has a great potential for the “Power to Do”, the “Power to Get Things Done”, and the “Power to Correct” and my experience down in the field breaks my spine for all this looks a scarecrow down in the field lonely in rags tattered with a broken earthen pot over the bamboo pole to serve as a head with two frightful eyes painted on the curve of the pot only to terrify little birds. My literature book further confuses me when it says: The Raman Magsaysay Award has recognized the “Power to Prevent” but now how can I believe that preventing a crime is what ‘uniform’ is meant for, as down in this vale this ‘uniform’ has rapped, looted and killed all those whose only innocence is approved after their corpse are dumped. They are labeled by ‘uniform’ but shockingly compensated by politicians. This book further breaks my ribcage when it goes on and on like a sermon of our raw clergy that voices the words of ‘Tradition’ without making the rest to converse and debate for better comprehension. My favorite literature book which I always keep in my backpack speak volumes about “Policing is for People”, “Keeping Security” and “Creating Security”, all these expressions, how beautifully framed only in a broken frame of reality.
I still in my free class plaster my legs before the section of literature to fetch wisdom, my eyes have lost much vigor, and my vocabulary has cheated me badly for I keep searching a column from our intelligentsia, from our budding writers and a response column from young readers to sooth my eyes. Alas! These transparent buttons people call eyes have failed to locate a genuine write-up to bring at fore the plight of ‘uniform’.
How now my librarian humiliates me when I keep asking for latest arrivals and reviews and reports. Her eyes, beautifully put into the sockets, appear like cylindrical lenses so harsh and ugly whenever her gaze scans my face, my chilled expressions and wish list. “I can’t help it Mr. Librarian, no I can’t. You keep fixing your razor edged eyes at me to chisel my innocence; I shall continue to ask you what I deserve in my school library”. “The drama shall continue till I am around. No change you can ever find in my demands”…. “Mind it, yes, better mind it”.
My words do hurt others because I am hurt. No reason why should I spare others seems to me absurd. Care for me, I shall care too. Ask me for a drop of blood, I shall donate bottles together, but with love. Under the apparel of a stick, never expect a droplet. For I live in my own world wherein rules are tough and scary but for the welfare of human race.
What irritates me most is the concluded part of my lesson in my literature book which reads as: “Abuse Prevention”, “Empowerment of Women”, “Mental Disability and Sports Promotion”. Joke! Never mind, phrases and quotes do emerge, lines and latitudes too draw their limitations, words and verses too serve a few, thorns and petals also ensure security and growth, power and penetration as well heals when cuts reach to laceration, Sermons and sayings too serve the politicians every now and then, songs and Ghazals along with sonnets serve a special class, slogans and sweet chattering bothers a few, non- sense and sense sensitizes a few and self created half lies add to the glory of gloom.
Shall this season be a season of serenity? Questions are like endless whirl of a fanatic lad who knows nothing save dancing where silence is required and he keeps mum when dancing can prove helpful. Seasons are just mere periods or slices of time, they drop in and move, replace and repeat like wind that comes from nowhere and vanish in vast vacuum. Summer, a crazy boy. A weeping girl is spring. Winter is an old man and the autumn is automation of “Fall”. Between these temporary phases the ‘uniform’ too changes its color, its grace and above all its size and sizeable man.