I'll attempt it.

"I’ll attempt it."

Some tons of minutes away, my friend and I had gotten into this vigorous discussion about how LOC Kargil had certain characters overdone in the movie- especially one of Capt. Anuj Nayyar being played by Saif Ali Khan. I mean how could somebody be so ridiculously brave to go all full-fledged knowing the firing is on from the other side- As civilians, we tried taking sides, even rummaged through to eventually settle on “How’s the Josh?”, conveniently concluding “Must have been high, Sir.” And we moved on.

Not many days later, through the pouring glitzy evenings dipped in love themed declarations of many forever promises and red hearts singing the Valentine choirs, also bled to shame the losses of some patrons and guardians we probably never even sent a “Valentine’s Day” postcard to. The nation was petrified and we demanded an immediate actionable item- another Surgical Strike. I followed suit among the millions of Facebook & Twitter population changing their DPs to black, exposing the back stabbers celebrating this black day and even offering their personal details ensuring how they’re ready and fit to take on the rifles, bang the enemy nation down and avenge the attacks. JOSH- Josh like there’s lot of fire. Smokes?

“What could we genuinely do as civilians to help?”- I think I left just this one simple question as a text message to one of my closest friends, serving as a Captain with the Indian Army, currently posted at Himachal Pradesh, who admitted visiting Pulwama right about 4 or 5 days before the attacks. I was maybe expecting for him to explosively applaud the humungous amount of support we’re already showing through the black pictures or the over-hauled spirits, and what came about was a straightforward, elementary response – “Understand your duty as a civilian and if you really, really care, ensure that the protectors are not harassed by the system. Respect the soldiers. Maintain peace.”

I thought we’re already doing that. And enough. Then again, this Jawan shared his travel story after the Pulwama incident when he left his hometown to join his unit at Kargil and supposedly his train got delayed. He went to the TT requesting him to be allowed to continue the journey on a passing train over a vacant seat. The TT blatantly refused over how unethical and immoral this would be and sent him over to another examiner, looking to enquire about a vacant seat in the Third AC or the General Category. As an army officer, one is entitled to travel in the second-class AC but the Jawan never argued and went on to meet this other TT who was quick to offer a good bribing amount, knowing he’s temporarily in charge to make the most of this soldier’s appalling circumstances. With hopelessness and angst, the Jawan showed his ID and reinstated that he’s travelling not for leisure but to join his unit at a place getting numb with a temperature of -20 degrees. The TT paused, looked back at the Jawan again and revised the offer, this time with a sympathetic discount of 300 rupees.

The Jawan went back and forth among the authorities requesting them to let him travel on a vacant seat. But you’ve got to be saluting the spirit of these pretentious Ticket Examiners who were undaunted and unmoved that day- The young army soldier who didn’t hesitate one bit in packing his bags and leaving for his unit not even 24 hours post the attacks travelled that day on the floor of the train, between the exit and the toilets. Not sure if the journey made him revisit his vows towards the citizens of not even thinking twice before taking bullets for all of them who are only related in the binding colors of the national flag and not beyond that, not sure if we deserve such brave hearts through these demeaning acts of misusing our comfort, luxury & privileges, not sure if we still understand the magnitude of leading a non-civilian life from our routined, air-conditioned chambers of offices, homes, restaurants and playgrounds!

One of the viral videos of the wife(Nikita Kaul) of a martyred Major Vibhuti Dhoundiyal is enough to give spinning chills when she bends over his coffin bearing the handsome, smiling photo of her late husband and whispers “I love you” and ends on a brave note of “Jai Hind” as her departing words keep re-affirming how she’s forever going to take pride in being married to him- The internet flooded with the outpour of affection, sympathy and doubts over this video, some of the questions being raised about how this is a publicity stunt and we should ask Nikita if she uses English language to communicate at home like she’s using here for the speech. One moment away, we were lauding “Uri” in the theatres and the Indian Army and their families and how we can never equal their spirits and courage, and here we are, thoughtlessly, ruing in aggressive tones declaring if the Army is incapable of giving a befitting reply to the enemies, we will jump in.

We care- we think we care- we show that we care- we care because we should care- do we really care?

Right before landing onto the vocal expressions of readying ourselves wanting a counter attack, we did not lend our ears to the army personnel especially requesting us to save our energies and not become the hate mongers- We did NOT care.

Right before flooding the web with Muslim hating posts, we did not write to the government asking them to withdraw all appeals filed in the Supreme Court against disabled soldiers, military widows and families of the fallen- We did NOT care.

Right before burning effigies, criticizing the families of the martyrs and shouting slogans, we did not share and spread the appeals by retired army personnel humbly requesting everybody to be a veteran to the families of the soldiers- we did NOT care.

One nation away, a 26-year-old Indian residing in the United States fundraised over Rs. 5 Crores, a Muslim IAS officer from Bihar adopted daughters of two Pulwama martyrs, Startups opened payment gateways for contribution and in a million other ways, we had the option to choose to unite- miles and miles away from the path of violence and negatively ventilated anger. That’s NOT for us to do, that’s NOT for us to show.

My Captain friend appeals that we really understand now what we ought NOT to do, that we be the support, sowing and reaping love and presence- the healing shall go a long way making the soldiers feel more wanted, respected, valued and cared for.

Pulwama attacks shall be met with a befitting reply- As civilians, we aren’t to be telling the Forces how they strategize it, we are to stay aware, well-read and connected. We are to share the right information across the right set of people, not stay mum through the actions unjustifying the glory of India, report and highlight some incredible support from incredible hearts walking the roads of kindness and not hate- we have always liked showcasing our patriotism and this is the chance, here are the ways and there’s the hope.

Our soldiers need our love- let’s be the oxygen to their flaring colors of victory and sunshine- they’re asking for it.

I’ll attempt it. Will you too? Please.

Belonging

Tumbling away into the night full of stars, the guide waving from far,
Like a frozen misty morning ready to own your scars.
Beneath the questions, the answers, the protests, the pauses,
Did you believe there nurtured the anchor in the closet?
Oh, but your world is too filled with too many of you.
Too bad, I have always belonged here, and will always do.

Neither your unspoken glances nor the mirage of acceptance,
Not the shells you laid to make me walk the rocks of assurance.
I stood through the fire, the wind, the water, the space,
The Earth only classified as humans, never normal or gay.
You exist in boundaries and creeps, like no rules are meant to be defied,
Then again, love has no language- It’s just LOVE certified.

I am a beginner and a foreigner, I am accepted and discarded,
I believe in humanity which lays to rest across the noises.
Not your woven sweater of warmth you’d look for on a wintery evening,
But maybe the pile of wood, ever ready to be lit, for dreams and making.
A dreamer, a doer, an erupting ball never shallow,
If you’ve seen me smile, do not mistaken my tornado.

I will let the stars light by, and well if the morning sun pleases,
Here’s to my cross-dressing, the short hair, my choice of men, women or none- it eases.
You know when you are unwelcoming and all stares- I thought I’d make do with them all, pretending to be unaware,
And just be- with this revolving mystery of “Do I” or “Do I not” really DESERVE to be?

I am a human of varied emotions, a body with multiple reflections,
The pain, the shame, the acknowledgement, the despair,
Like my yearning soul who’s constantly looking for air,
And a catapult ready to shoot for the stars- as the vast sky may revere.
It doesn’t matter as long as I believe in my colors,
Blue, Violet, Red, Green- I essentially constitute the SPECTRUM, fair?.

My stories aren’t about how I don’t see myself a fit anymore,
My living dazzles around all that I’ve got to become, now and more.
I am a Diva to my dreams, a Dude to my moves,
I ain’t breathing shame in those locked spaces anymore.
My little song of freedom to this winsome, wholesome rhythm of hope,Goddamn, I have always belonged here, and will always do.

Maybe we should chat?

                                                               Courtsey: Google

Listen- I was thinking maybe we should chat.

You are under no obligation to say “Yes” but it’d be really interesting to get into your head and discover for myself these fatal, out-of-the-world, devastating- (metaphorical & literal)- ideas. I’m sure your brain operates vastly different from the most of us and that’s what really shapes you as the kind of being you are.

So, tell me- What is it that you notice first?

I’m not too sure but do you go to sleep with similar kind of thoughts or you’re thinking about it all day long or you’re just too inadequately supplied with the basic living essentials that you feel this is your gateway to being noticed?

Uhm, What is your daily routine otherwise, i.e. when you’re not at this mission? Or is this something that is not strategized and it happens, like one of our random dinner plans or a school bunk?
I want to know about your childhood- and your siblings, and parents- were you too pampered as a kid or they abandoned you for reasons unknown?

Was there a lot of pent up anguish, hatred, disgrace and detest that you were waiting to erupt at the next available opportunity or this was just one of the items in your to-do list that’s now checked?
Did nobody come speak to you when your synergy of shame or no shame overruled your essence of humanity and you were dragged into your first act, by choice or involuntarily?

Also, how was it? How did it feel? Powerful, Non-rattled, I-Am-The-Ruler-Of-This-Kingdom, Strong, Happy, Regular, Boring or Nothing? Nothing at all?

Instagram these days are filled with Sarcasm & Redefining Humor posts and I’m suddenly reminded of this one which has a giant pile of notes with a question popping-up to say, “Would you slap your parents if you could win five million dollars in exchange?” You get the drill now, don’t you? So, would you perform your activity if we were to pay you every time for it? On that note, it could become a legit profession and imagine you living the burden of its pride every passing microsecond- Is it cool enough or embarrassing or nothing again?

I don’t know if you’d be able to relate but most of us have dreamt to be where we are today or are “in-making”- Lawyers, Pilots, Engineers, Doctors, Writers, Sports-people, Drivers, Storytellers, Actors, and a zillion other professions which exist, popular, non-popular, famous, unheard of- all kinds of them. I don’t quite think we have it placed in our little notebook what you practice- What do you suggest how do we term it? Or you’re non-opinionated about it, again?

The other day, we tried telling 21-year-old Meera to not step out late at night in shorts- we thought there’s a pattern.
But then, 35 years old Jameela was just out last afternoon to buy grocery, that too draped fully in a Burkha- Good job, you broke the pattern. And how- Neither was 6 months old Shiny spared nor was 10 years old Aamir.

As much as we’d hate to believe it, this is growing more and more common in the households, churches, streets, villages, board rooms, vanity vans, slums, vegetable markets, fields- And we have no safe spaces to hide ourselves anymore.

I hope I have not angered you by asking too many questions and I’m not sure if it could agitate you further by what I’m going to say next, I’m sorry I’d have to say it anyway- I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU.

I ask questions because maybe you never bothered to ask yourself these, enough number of times. And while pleading, counselling, fearing, screaming, punishing might/might not effectively clean your mind or soul, I hope listening does.

So, with your consent, whenever you’d want to talk, I am listening.

And if you are hesitant about how to start, here, let me break the ice for you- “I am a rapist and I need help.”