Once up on a time, not so long ago, there lived a people. The people hads lots in common – they ate the same kind of food, wore the same kind of clothes, stayed next to each other – celebrated eachother’s happiness and mourned each others’ sorrows. They sowed their crops at the same time, and they harvested their bounty at the same time. They sang when it rained. They cried when it didn’t. Nothing extraordinary – just ordinary every day people. They wanted to earn a good living, live in contetment with their families in their own basti. Nothing more, nothing less.
And one day someone – told them all this that is common between you doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you speak the same language or hear the same music. It doesn’t matter if you are friends or sweethearts. it doesnt matter whether you have stayed next to each other for generations. What matters is the difference. the differnce is only one. You are a Hindu, he is a Muslim. (or was it the other way around)
Then the people were divided. I don’t know why every idiot on the right keeps saying the land was divided – it was worse a people were divided.
The bus made me sad – becasue it is 50 years of family, friends, foes staying apart. it is 50 years of missed cultural development. It is 50 years of waste – collosal waste.
I hope that the baby with the multiple holes in its heart gets cured. somehow she symbolises the situation