Maut, Jeene ke liye zaroori hai yeh!

Osama's death has emerged to be a scavenging truth, addressing questions on the nature of his death. Whether or not, the character of a human being decides the brutality of his death, or allows others a "piece of his flesh" is a great debate. When you read articles about the astounding loyalty his multiple wives have shown towards him, both before and after his death, try and follow the age old activity of putting yourself in their shoes. I'm not trying to assert a highly absurd assumption here, but have myself received abundant clarity over what family can mean to anyone. Shield or not, the wife at the compound could very well be a committed partner in marriage, which by the way, is better, if not worse, than being in love with an asshole.

One could talk about religion in the same tone. I'm going to sound factually obscure but for more than half of the Jihad-driven population, turning against an Indian who has been inflicting "pain" on a Kashmiri Muslim in PoK, qualifies for hatred. If one separates the word "religious duty" from the meaning of Jihad, then they could very well fit into, not eating non-veg on a Tuesday, not sleeping on a bed after a death in a family, not allowing women in a crematorium and other such, irrational actions prompted by religion , and religion alone. It was Jihad which led Maulana Masood Azhar's brother to hijack IC 814. His brain might have found adequate logic in hoping for a family re union. This emotion overtook three-fourth of his sensibility. The remaining quarter saw Jihad coming to his rescue. Incorrectly driven, but mostly in emotion.

Obviously, I'm not defending the terrorists. And I'm no Zakir Naik sitting on National Television backing inglorious crimes in the name of religion. I am not waiting for Kasab to come and tell me why he did what he did.

However, I do believe that the emotional construct of all human beings, criminals, terrorists and the innocent, is alike. While some are vigorously tampered with, others resort to more humane ways of channelising them via suitable and more importantly, non-violent mediums.

The effect is never the same. A cellphone flung in aggression and a building brought down to crumble. The cause, however, remains the same.

How I long to say Nana

I just read a diary full of overwhelming poesy that my mom has been penning down in memory of my grandfather/her father. It was so beautifully compiled, and each poem was so simple in sentence and rhyme. I could picture the last time I saw Nana walk through the Aangan and rush out with his RWA files in his hand for the his quintessential routine meetings. Everyday, my Nani would wait for lunch and would have to inevitably reach him on his mobile. She'd say to him over the phone - Hun bas karo te ghar aa jao. I miss my Nana and his going away has made me fear death. I still continue to engage in daily arguments and unnecessary tantrums with family and close friends, never giving the fact that neither parties have any clue about how long we're together for. I love my family. And just like yours, they know me better than everyone else. Little things like prayers, confessions and gestures are meaningful. One mustn't wait for bad times to make you realise the worth of a particular relationship. This philosophical tone is not suiting me and is certainly not impressing you. So I'm going pause before I begin to hinge on something even more annoying.