I am a Stranger

I Am a Stranger



The last born child of the year passed by, leaving me confused.

I journeyed in the car which bore the mark of a nation. I sat on the shoulder of the youth and enjoyed the song of freedom, liberty and independence that erupted from his ear-phone. I walked with the hunger-stricken, grubby kid who was selling flags painted with the colour of the rain-washed field and of the dying sun. I stood on the highest roof and saw the flag of a nation violently shaken by the wind. I saw it plunging into darkness when the sun fell. It was faintly visible in the scanty moonlight; it didn’t look too well. I danced on stage with a pretty girl in red-green saree. It was thrilling to see thousands of people celebrating and dancing with me. I noticed the nation-lover who was one of the roadsters; a little smarter though. I saw him being pushed up by the people; aye… he did speak for the people.

But, none felt my presence, none saw me. I was the phantom of the opera. Every song, every dance, every speech was dedicated to me without knowing who I was or am. And it deeply irritated me. How long can I accept songs of praises, dances of bravery and speeches of freedom for things that I have never done or won’t ever do?

I then decided to blow away the fog of ignorance from their minds by revealing myself. How?

That word or rather question bugged me for nearly a week and then an answer struck me. I found out an inexperienced writer. ‘Inexperienced’ because people with no experience accept new thoughts without foreseeing the peril ahead. The first day I made a home for myself in his heart when he saw a bleeding art of victory day. The second day I pumped my description into his blood. The third day, he discussed it with his teacher and friends. It took him three more days to gather himself. On the seventh day he sat down to write. Everything I said or am going to say is through him. Poor fellow! He shouldn’t be blamed for my strange revelation and the strangeness in me. Sometimes the most natural things seem most unreal. And that’s what I am, ‘strange, misinterpreted and manipulated.’

They call me ‘PATRIOTISM’. They blame me for hacking and chopping the world’s land. They blame me for guarding those chopped pieces with boundaries, iron-locks and loud toys. They blame me for stabbing their brothers. They blame me for raping their mothers, daughters and sisters.

When they become criminals I become their refuge. They hide in my shadow. And there are some fools who call this slashing, slicing, stabbing, slaying, shooting, raping ‘PATRIOTISM’ and celebrate in memory of such butcheries. This foolery when done to the utmost enrages me. My anger rises like the mighty tide. Alas! I am moved to anger the slowest, calmed quickest. The great One made me that way. I lose my anger when I consider that they don’t know me. Can anybody know you more than yourself? How can they know me better than myself?

I am not hatred, revenge and refusal. I am love, forgiveness and acceptance.

I don’t bear grudge against mine enemies. I heap so much love for them that they forget their enmity. And even if they stab me, they do so with utter anguish in their hearts. To avenge my mother’s death, I don’t murder another mother; nor do I kill the murderer. Call me treacherous but that would just lose me another mother and a brother. I choose to gain a family instead. I don’t refuse what others say but I say what I feel and I am always accepted.

Are you so different? Some may still be wondering. Yes, I am. I am neither a person nor an object. I am a thought; and an idea often misunderstood. I don’t piss, quarrel, fight and bite like a cur to mark my territory. I rather prefer to be like a flower, imparting fragrance and mark boundaries. I am the love which makes you lie on your mother’s lap. And I never pull you away from there. I am the lost memories of bygone days when you played under the thick and untidy banyan. I am your love for yourself and all that is yours. I am the urge in you that asks you to do things great and make the rest of the world marvel at your culture, tradition, belief, people, family, teachers, companions and you. But I never ask you to destroy. I ask you to build.

In destruction – there’s no virtue for one can never build exactly what he destroyed. Even the Almighty kept alive the proud angel he once created; in it there’s lesson for those who see.

I don’t dwell in the hearts of the group of people called politicians. They are to the world like a pack wolves to a sack of meat. Riches and power is all they know and care about. They implement ‘me’ to divide the people of the world. Unable and scared to fight for their dreams of bigger chunks of meat, greater masses of riches and higher posts of power, they gather men and women, infuse the ‘false me’ in them and send them to battle. But they themselves remain behind.

Once upon a time there was Mr. A the Great who slaughtered millions of men and let millions of his army die, just for his dream to see the end of the world. Couldn’t he just take his travel kit, a few companions and embark on a journey to reach the end of the world?

Whether General N or Mr. B, they were all the same. I wasn’t in them. Nor will I ever be in those who follow them. Neither they nor do the others who till now celebrate their foolishness, know me.

I don’t keep a standing army to march into wars when small arguments arise. Nor do I keep a case of bang-bang toys to help establish my fault. What are battalions? They are slaves when there’s no war and instruments of misery when there’s war. They fight for freedom from their enemies when they are very much enslaved by their power-hungry, egoistic leaders to whom they are like a butcher’s knife.

Who was born with a territory-certificate?

None so far. Why can’t everybody be truly free and feel the world their home? I will be in those free people. But surely I do not advocate the idea to force people out of their homes and claim it yours on the fact that every men and women are born to the world and not to a piece of land alone.

I am not the tool to bring peace after a war. I am the synonym of peace itself. I can only be put into use when around the globe people know me as I truly am. But until then, nobody shall my beautiful raiment see nor my cheerful presence feel. I will just be a thought floating in some and the cause of celebration, commemoration and tears for the rest.

Don’t doubt my existence as I describe myself. I very much exist. I drift in the heart of the youngster who says ‘no’ to drugs and improves his home. I dwell in the girl who is proud of herself and her root and make it shine. I am in the man who is honest with his works and bring development to his home. I live with people who decline pornography, and try to improve their society. I stand with the men who speak the truth. I sit on the shoulder of the mother who trusts her children. I’m in the child who loves his parents. I am with those who mark friendly boundaries. I am with those who know the secret, “a friend if you be, a friend you’ll see.”

I in my true self will be called a fool’s dream. Nay, I am not a dream. I am the future. Standing on the highest roof, I did see the dawn arrive and bath the red perforated green flag with the jovial light in a new way of its own.