Skip to main content

A Tribute to the Jawans

February 14.


On the day when couples around the world celebrated being together with their loved one, so many wives lost their husbands.



Grief. Pain. Tears. Shattered dreams.


This is what every grief-stricken family of the victims involved in this year's shocking Pulwama terror attack is left with.


The severity of this year's Pulwama terror attack has shook the country.

India is sleeping. While the entire country's citizens have united against the face of terror and bloodshed, the so-called 'leaders' of the nation have long dozed off. The bravehearts have long protected us in adverse conditions leaving their family behind while we have enjoyed our lives in luxury. Even when these courageous jawans need a final farewell, none of the 'authorities' prioritize the need of the hour.

Probably India is the only country where its Prime Minister would travel abroad and schedule an international campaign ad shoot for himself during a national crisis of terrorism.

A pure act of betrayal towards the citizens, most importantly, our jawans. The same bravehearts that had tended to their motherland, pledging every drop of blood and sweat for the nation and its people have landed up at the end of the priority list of the nation. What a shame.

Terrorism has been a word that has been resounding in several Kashmiri households for decades. Instead of the joyous childhood every child ought to have, these innocent children have been exploited by using them as shields in violent protests, using them to launch suicide bombs and engaging them in terrorism.

Kashmiri parents whose children are forced to be under such influence for the sake of money have been paralyzed with fear for years. Many exploited children either follow the path of such terrorists to become one or end up toiling away in their homes, with no money to sustain and no future to look forward to.

All that Jammu and Kashmir needs the most is - peace, kindness and love.

Let us pray for hope and strength for these helpless families to overcome what they are going through, do the best we can do for them and hope that the next generation does not face such cruelty.


Peace.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Reminiscing

(Photo by Nong Vang on Unsplash ) It was a still, quiet night. The air seemed untouched by the maddening chaos in my mind. I glanced at the night sky, and spotted a star glimmering in the distance. The unusually gripping sight brushed me back to a fragment of my past, a chapter sealed long before. A whiff of my past my naive self still lived in. A life I had long left. I used to enjoy observing the tiny flickers of light, while my heart filled with hope for tomorrow. They looked like little flames whose glowing tips waltzed in the gentle evening wind. Those quiet, fulfilling moments spent squinting at tiny specks of light, while savouring the crisp air with traces of floral detergent from the clothesline, were one of a kind. Something no productivity chart would ever be able to explain. It was something I was not yet accustomed to; living a new life with new people, making new memories. Those little joys and fears that would excite my younger self. It's moments like these, moments...

My Quiet Hours Doodling

(Doodle by author) Those strokes hold some power over my soul. Every stroke of black ink on the paper carries my flow of zen. I feel my zen flowing through the bold lines of ink, as it seeps into the thin paper and leaves an imprint on the next page, like a faint footprint of time on a page left unwritten, a sliver of the blank pages of the future. I feel my throbbing anger, roaming curiosity and emotion trapped within drain from my veins and flow out like ink. It calms the raging storm within, liberates the compressed frustration, when emotion and doubt cloud my sight, when I cannot quite find answers to questions within. I let it take form. I let my mind and soul wander on paper, and they imprint traces of great wars fought in turmoil. I let the strokes clash into one another; some overshadow others, some lie far apart. Yet, the raw self cannot bear rules. I let the imperfections rule the paper, and that is what makes me raw, real and human. In the end, the wild strokes embrace and I...

A Letter to Thatha

The little specks of pearl in the sky Glowing and fuming, With the vapours of our memories.  In my swollen, glistening eyes, I saw the flare of your pyre in the stars, Like a spangle caught in my tears, The light of our love stretches its arms. I never knew a pain greater,  When my fingertips caressed your cold, grey folds of skin I never knew I could feel so broken inside, With scalding memories and a heart wanting justice. With last words untold, goodbyes unsaid. I never thought the day would come,  When I came home to your warm smile and open arms, But would instead be greeted by your empty chair. I never thought I would shudder and hide at your sight, Until you lay in the icy coffin like a child, Oblivious to our cries and wails. I never knew I would so badly yearn, To hear you call me one more time. I watched you become a child again. I never minded your faltering memory, Your greying eyes that often stared out in the open, I was content, With your pupils carrying a ...