Unstable Equilibrium

“The devil may smile with an angels face

A cat may be stolen of its grace

They say it's just a matter of time and place”

-          - Sorry Go 'Round, Carnival of Rust, Poets of the Fall

A steaming cup sits by his side

as showers of the first rain pour down the sky

Eyes focused on two blue lines

mind too distant, to notice all other shrines

Unaware of life that lies before

for yet he lives, in tales and lore

‘No response is a response,’ he recalls

but cannot help but hope

The thundering sky too gives little solace

for there’s no worse hell than a hopeful place

And the mind tortures with things that never were

for the root of all anxiety, lies within his own heart

The most frustrating times, are not ones of loss

but that when he ponders, if to give up the fight

Rise and fall and rise and fall and one day he breaks

and one bad day to lunacy is all it takes

And one good day, was his only fantasy

instead he met the love of Midori Kobayashi

But how long does one go on, before completely breaking apart?

and how many doves man rip apart, before you call him man?

For sometimes it’s not your fault, and some people just don’t care

and you can shower them with petals or hit them with pellets

but there’s nothing you can do to make them care back

And nothing you can do for them to see how much that kills you

So you contemplate that last thread of hope

You wonder whether to take the next leap or no

You plan your next move, you consider the next sacrifice

You measure if the pain is worth the high

For there’s no truth, unless you put yourself on the line

And there’s no you, once you do too many times

Love is not a battle you get to pick

You only choose how much you’re willing to fight

And so many words lie within, you’re afraid you’ll overwhelm her

but the only words that ever hurt, are the ones she never heard

And breaths go on and the clock ticks

and the rain pours on and the cup steams no more

Vishal Gupta

7^th June 2018

Hijab

A few months ago on a road trip through the harrowed northern parts of my country, I came across a scene worth telling. It was a through a village situated in a high mountain pass of Kashmir on October 1^st, 2017. The day also marked the 10^th day of Muharram when Muslims of the valley held processions to mourn for the sacrifices of Imam Hussein.

Passing through one such procession in one of the hundreds of uncared villages in the country, our car had to pass through the procession coming from the other side. Unlike city roads, the mountain passes are narrow and without detours. So the procession could not have blocked the roads for the day. They just walked in a big herd with the military walking with them every few paces. As is the custom, the people were mourning and hitting themselves on the chest to pay their respects. One thing I noticed was that they weren’t hitting themselves with swords or chains as is often seen in movies and poorer parts of my city. In fact I saw no trace of any obscure violence – either self-inflicted or otherwise. They just mourned and walked.

As they saw the big car approaching on the outskirts of their village roads, the people on the edges started asking the others to move aside and soon they were able to make a path for the car. Of course everyone wasn’t as accommodating and at times and at times had to be shoved aside by the armymen. I did think for a moment that the army might have been too harsh on them. But then, what else is the option when words do not help? Slowly our car was able to cross the procession and move to the other side when I saw what prompted me to write this article.

A lone girl, could not have been more than six, ran alone trying to reach the procession. She must have been late for it. As she saw the car full of strangers approaching, she hid her face with her Hijab. That’s when it struck me. Every woman is the procession was fully clad in a burqa with only their eyes or faces visible. A sentiment so ingrained in them that even a six-year old girl took care to not allow strange men in a metal box to glimpse her face. Some argue that it is a mark of oppression of women. Where they are not even allowed to show their faces in society. I agree to that. But one can also not ignore the fact that one’s choice to be dressed in a manner they deem fit is what is freedom of expression is. And as a free country we owe it to our citizens to allow them to dress as they deem fit. There was an unmistakable expression on that little girl’s face saying that she felt more comfortable with her Hijab hiding her face. And I bet her mother and her mother before that grew up with the same sentiment. Perhaps we owe it to the minorities of our country to let them be.

But I am unable to buy this argument. This is the same argument that has kept the eastern shores of my country – where I hail from – behind the times. Sometimes leaving people be is not such a great idea. Sometimes they need to be pushed forward to embrace the changed world. Left to traditions, the human race has accomplished little but wars. And so the struggle continues before my eyes. Where men unmistakably dressed in colors depicting the sovereignty of my country push a procession of people dressed in black. But one must ask – to what end?