It Ain't Over Yet

Many a times, I find myself wondering about things of daily life, often put on air but barely comprehended by the common herd. I pause and ponder and then I’m lost in an own world of mine. I glide from one thought to another, swiftly; most times entangling myself by reaching back where I had started. When I no longer feel arriving at a satisfying conclusion, I give up and leave the things to be.



There’s this sort of cold war that has been going on between the countries India and Pakistan, for decades. So many peace proposals, cease fires and friendly games and yet the relationship between the countries remains far from satisfactory. My books say that the last fought war took place fifteen years ago. I feel differently, though.



Every other day newspapers and news channels bring forth reports of killings going on the borders. The reaction of people varies. If the sacrificed one is one of our soldiers, the patriotic politicians, sitting in air-conditioned chambers give away their feedback; most of which are idiotic while the remaining useless.



The largest social networking site hasn’t remained unaffected by all of this. Another battle is fought here through likes and comments. The pages are filled with obscenity; one side abusing the other. What a waste of data charges, I say.



Once in a while the sum of money, offered to the martyr’s family by the government, is refused in lieu of seeking vengeance. Eventually, some Pakistani soldiers die in turn. Thus vengeance is served. Nationwide, people sigh in relief and go about their usual business. But the battle remains far from over. The cycle continues as it has for past sixty six years. They kill some, we kill a few more. And it goes on and on.



On the contrary, what I see is the innocent lives lost. On both sides. What differentiates our soldiers from theirs besides the uniforms? Both, ours and theirs, are trained for the same sole purpose: serve your country and lay down your life for it. Then how can some of us brutally justify the killings of those unsullied soldiers, who were just following orders as ours do.



Just because those soldiers breathe on a different land from ours doesn’t give you a right to hate them. When a Pakistani soldier dies, he would similarly be mourned. He would also have a family, been a father, a brother, a son or a husband. His family could also have a similar feel for vengeance towards us as we have towards them.



And consequently the fire is fueled- the fire burning for decades, feeding on innocent lives; its flame reaches higher and higher, swallowing all within its reach.



It has to be extinguished, this fire, and it has to be done soon. The time is high upon us. For this fire will die one day, like its every kin, but not before it has consumed all. And ashes will be all that is left behind.