Punjabi Poetry by Rajveer

My first Punjabi Poem Inspired by Waris Shah

Supn-ch Mere Waris Aya

Rukhi Sokhi Rooti L’Aya

Kenda Ranjhe, Tu Aadam Da Jaya

Heer Nu Kithe Tu Chad Aaya

O Labdi Tenu Chukh-Chubare

Tu Jogi Da Bhesh Vadaya

Ni Mil Jogi Tu Ranjhe Nu,

Ranjha Andar Heer Lukaya,

Eh Supn-ch Galla Kyo Karda Ve

Dekh Ni Ranjhe,

Aj Galli-ch Utthe Koi Nava Jogi Aaya

Game of Blogs – Midway Through The Heart!

Team – Qissa

[ READ THE PREVIOUS PART OF THE STORY HERE ]

Roohi went to school and Tara to her life that is office. Shekhar was left alone in the house to measure its length and width. Despite a hardcore routine today Shekhar wasn’t sitting in his study and struggling with thoughts and words. He sat in the balcony on a low wooden stool with a lighter and a packet of cheap cigarettes. Half the packet he had already smoked since morning and the prevailing dark patches between the first two fingers of his left hand were narrating the story of his love affair with cigarettes and thoughts!
At this age of his life he had begun to loose positivity of thought and often looked at the ideals he had followed all his life with doubt. He would have become a writer of many published books but what he was left with was a writer of one published novel and lots of rejected manuscripts. Whatever respect he had left for himself after so many failures was being slowly but steadily taken away by the jeers of Tara. Society was never a concern for him; it was something he wanted to transform by his writings. At times, he would wonder that perhaps he was born in a wrong age. He believed he belonged to the age of ideals and ideologies, not this age of consumerism and thoughtlessness.
Shekhar’s insistence on not having a cell phone for himself and still writing on white papers with an age old typewriter which at times he himself would repair by staining his khadi kurta and smearing his hands spoke a lot about Shekhar the Man. His current writings still dealt with the misery of peasants and the Naxal movement. His wrath for capitalists and profiteers held the thunder of angry clouds.  His first novel was a classical story, in which innocent love was caught in the brutal class war. He had to change the ending from sad and melancholy to something sweet and happy. Though the novel did well but it had a very bad impact on Shekhar’s sentiments. After the first 2 year contract was over he denied its republishing by citing a will of changing its end as he had originally written. No publisher wanted to change the End part since that had become the selling point of the novel. Shekhar turned adamant so he himself republished it but this edition doomed and so did his writing career. Only a few books got sold and most people didn’t like the current version.
Instead of drawing a more flexible writer in him, this incident turned him into a more rigid one. Most people become arrogant after their success but he had become arrogant and unyielding after his failure!
When the manuscript of that book was selected by the publisher they had requested a change in the ending of the story which he wasn’t willing but they had sent Tara from their Media team to convince him. Though, she was young and inexperienced but her persuasive power was already well observed by her superiors. It was a chance for her to prove herself and climb the ladder or go back to where she came. She succeeded in convincing him but she paid its cost by falling for him. In the process of convincing him for what the publisher wanted she fell in love with a person who didn’t even satisfy a single item from the list she had for her perfect man. Tara wasn’t very much interested in his writings but his writing career prospect. He had the flare of a soon- turning-into-a-literature-celebrity. Wife of a celebrated writer and a high profile media professional – an endearing thought for a woman who only knew one thing in life and that was Goal and Achievement, not mental peace or ecstasy in a simple life.
She had put her heart and soul for the success of his first novel. Consequently, she was very much disappointed when Shekhar had refused to renew the contract and put forth his condition. This happened just after their marriage and that was two years after the book launch. She again put forth her persuasive might to get him to sign the contract but she failed to do so. It was the first time when a bitter thought for Shekhar had crossed her heart. It was the first time she was compelled to look back at her decision of getting married to a man that belonged to a different world than Tara.
Time passed and so did the problems. Shekhar had begun writing new stories and soon Tara found herself pregnant. He could foresee the forth coming crisis so he started taking freelance work and that too in a way where he didn’t have to make compromises and question his own writing integrity. He even wrote articles for smalltime news papers but they soon stopped giving him work. When the whole country was ranting that Kashmir belonged to India he was writing in articles that either Kashmir should be left independent or a greater autonomy should be provided. When the Naxal movement was spreading like cancer in India and turning into a grave internal threat he was writing articles in their favor and blaming the government and capitalistic thinking for naxalism.

When Roohi was born he was somehow able to make ends meet but then things had changed. The rain of freelance work turned into a drizzle and then into a trickle. Soon, Tara took the reigns in her hands and earned enough to give her family a good life. The more she would grow in her career the less love she would find in her heart for the imperfect husband. Initially her frustration was limited to the complaints but then, it slowly but steadily began turning into disrespect. His love for Tara was still what it had been at the time when they had married. He knew the desperation of Tara with which she wanted to be free from him and his world but the love for his daughter Roohi turned him unjust and shameless. He was even ready to listen to the worst things from her.

Though, Roohi was not old enough to understand the intricacies of relationships she had understood the dysfunctional relationship of her parents.

In the balcony, when Shekhar lit the last cigarette from the packet, he longed for the death of not his physical self but his metaphysical self. His loyalty for his ideals or principles gave him nothing but a life of humiliation. Simplicity of his life and thoughts was not admired but questioned and mortified. Now he wished to throw that simplicity out of the balcony into the heap of garbage round the corner.

“Me and My Team are participating in 'Games of Blogs' at Blogadda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us”

[READ THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY HERE ]

My Diary ...A Poem

My First Poetry Recitation Video ...

Life, Struggle & Hope

To me, life has been an incessant struggle since I could recall it. And now, this very clamber sometimes takes me to a spot in thoughts where very effort feels waste on my life. Every mouth raises question and ask for justification, they see me walking on the edge of sword and future appears as bleak as dark of the moonless night. Broken dreams lay eyes on me in expectation, sometimes demanding to fix them or carry along in the name of hopes. Perhaps, these dreams of the moonless light made me see my future without sun, without morning, always struggling to keep the head above water. I remember I have kept myself from drowning since long but now I wish to say enough is enough, let’s accept the reality and call it a day, let go these hopes and drown effortlessly in peace. Nevertheless everyone wants peace in their life and what is wrong in it?

Somewhere I have read that love is a blissful peace and believing in it, I went after it. What I found is pain, struggle and crashed hopes, which warns me not to move ahead as more pain and clamber waits ahead. It is a tunnel in which one can see a distant light but can’t reach it. If the whole life turns into an endless struggle then what is the point in having such life? Why would one survive so long in this struggle to meet death in the end?

I know no one would agree with me, but that’s not the point. The point is to think over this, to think over the reason of survival in this life long struggle. Sometimes I ask myself, what this hope is and the very answer I could find is that Hope is a spell, or a thought or a feeling which has no existence yet strong enough to torture a human soul to its end.

Most would call me an utmost pessimist soul. However, as a matter of fact I am not. Had I been then I would have not chosen to hang on to illusion called hope. From where I see, I find no human a perfect pessimist, doesn't matter how pessimist they sound, they always hang by a positive notion called hope.

Sometimes I hate this hope. It is a sort of poison that neither let you die nor let you live peacefully. Now I ask you to wonder, had hope not been part of human nature what would have become of us?

Love is Sufi

“To be with her is meeting oneself,

To forget her is forgetting oneself,

To think her is thinking God,
To see her is seeing eternity,

To heed her is heeding God,

To believe her is believing in God,

To forgive her is being forgiven by God,

To Love her is being in Love with God…”

Am I really thinking of her, Or God? Well, now it doesn’t matter. Like every believer in Him, I also wish unite with ultimate. Doesn’t matter in whom I see him: myself or in her or in anything else. I wonder if these lines were said in Punjabi by great Sufi Poet & Saint Waaris Shah then the mere sound of it would have rendered the ultimate bliss to most souls. I struggle to define the boundaries of tale Heer-Ranjha. I wonder if that great tale was about two lovers or more than that. Perhaps, it’s about God in the form of humanly love or a way to see God more close to oneself. Such tales contain the treasure of spiritual wisdom and one can learn so much from them. And the things which I believe I have learnt from those greatest tales are ultimate selfless devotion and freedom.

Most lay claim about being in love but have never seen one who was stung and poisoned by the unrequited form of it. It is a simplest form of love yet comprises complexity of the entire universe. By nature humans are not selfless creature, however to meet the ultimate one has to become selfless. This seems like a test devised on a very simple principle of leaving ones basic nature, as though shading every piece of cloth and presenting oneself completely naked to the whole wide world. When one does achieve such state he enters into the realm of freedom where even the God itself can’t keep you in the boundaries of universe, if any, let alone this mortal world. You become the center of existence and everything starts revolving around you, like a dervish swirls in his own trance.

Somewhere I think the way we humans seek an honest believing selfless companion for oneself, similarly the God also seeks such companion. When we choose a companion we become careful and sometimes put that likely companion for test and hope they come out clean and worthy. Perhaps we have learnt this very routine from God itself since he also chooses his companions that way.

Doesn’t matter what we achieve God or lover, the thing we find at the end of this road is ultimate bliss and perhaps that’s what is God is: an ultimate bliss beyond which no desire shall remain, a freedom which allows oneself to jump off the edge life without fear, a peace far peaceful than the death, a pain as blissful as the dream of a new born child.

“Love lies in the letting go,

Devotion lies in the selfless hope,

Freedom lies in what you thought,

Pain lies in the heart of all,

And, God lives where there is all…”

Dance Floor ...

On the dance floor shrouded in disco lights most faces carry expression as per their insight of love and life.  Assorted moves for same beat and assorted expressions for every syllable. Watching people dancing under such lights is at times close to darkness gives a rare insight about others, but sometimes it also arise a strange and peculiar expressive thought in you which is somewhere close to reality in taste. I generally find myself in oblivion when I dance but when I stop and look around I see myself a lonely person in the crazy world. And, I don’t hold on to it much, since I know it’s my insight of love and life.

Today, again I stopped at such dancing floor and my oblivion had left me awake in the middle of 200 people. I saw sweat doused clothes clung to bodies proactively staging a view or idea of their structure. Their moves were haywire: blending with beats for some time and then again finding the way to get detached from the music. Without respite I watched her dancing tirelessly.

At first, I only watched her from a corner sipping cold drink, contemplating her moves trying to translate them into the insight she carries on Love and Life. A free spirit who was completely in sync with music, at times her hairs came over to veil her face as though she desired so and then divulge to show the world what she believes in. But she moved so swiftly to next step that contemplation had left me vexed. I should have not sought the contemplation, but a man like me who has nothing else to see but she, couldn’t limit this vexed translation.

I, myself isn’t a bad dancer, but yes my insight about love and life is such that most people wouldn't attempt a thought to agree with me. Later when I could no more bear to watch her due to some strange reason went to the dance floor and began dancing. However, I watched her dancing and moving around the floor, from the corner of my eyes. And then, a moment came when I couldn't dance any longer. I went to a corner carrying dashed view of myself, intending to leave music and floor to those who were worthy for it. But then, something happened, my relentless eyes had not left her; they kept her under the vision. Suddenly, around me things began fleeing, and there on dance floor she was left alone away from the realization that the floor had been abandoned by everyone and a man from the far darkness closing on to her slowly and steadily. While she was rejoicing her idea of life in the dance, he was afflicted by the emotion he had derived from the idea of life he knew.

He watched her swaying around the music; her hair had shielded her face and soul from polluting. He stopped right in front of her swaying body and waited for her to open those mighty eyes. No, he wasn't impatient rather composed and aware of the fact that this moment can’t be clutched. There she opened her eyes and the man drew out his hands to hold her sweat soaked face in his palms.

I saw it all, but then something happened: I felt her lips on my lips, her tongue tangled with my tongue, her eyes were again closed but mine still open watching her and feeling every bit of her inside me.

Railway Tracks

Clamor of wheels on railway lines could be so peaceful to once heart I had never realized it until then. It was a cold hazy morning of late December and I entered the train to begin my journey.

Yes, I had a ticket and there was some destination spelt on it, perhaps it’s the last station of that train itself. Though the watch indicated early morning hour but outside it seemed as though the cold barren night was still young enough to hold its territory for little longer. It was a very small train station and the only place that had some visibility was right outside the station-master office where a yellow bulb dangling in hope of surviving another cruel dark cold night. When I arrived I asked the station master, “Is train on time?” who stood with a long and heavy torch in his right hand outside his office and waiting for the train to arrive.

“Yes, the train is on time.” he answered, without looking at me.

“Hey, show me your ticket.” When I began to walk away he called. I was little annoyed by his cry. It seemed insulting and accusing. With sneer, I gave him the ticket to his satisfaction.

After a quick glance he returned it saying, “Go to the far right corner of the platform, your bogie will arrive there.”

By bowing head a little in acknowledgement and gratitude I walked away with my bag in the direction he pointed out. The last thing I remember was a fresh smile on his sleepy face.

When train came to halt I pushed the door open and entered into bogie. Darkness engulfed all the compartments behind the curtains and lonely forsaken corridor had a couple of lights showing way to passengers who were getting in and out. I knew my berth number from the ticket- it was side-lower. After placing bag under the berth I sat down in darkness at the allocated berth and began desperately waiting for train to leave the station. Yes, there was something I was running from or perhaps wanted to leave everything where it belonged to.

Soon the clanking sound mingled with my thoughts as though it belonged to me. Or perhaps, I was trying to hide myself from those thoughts behind that mechanical sound. Nevertheless, it helped to end the commotion of thoughts and fetched me far into conscious-less slumber.

My consciousness was brought back by strange warmth on my cold feet. I opened eyes, and found a woman wrapped in shawl sitting next to my feet and sipping tea. For a moment, I felt Sneha was sat there who had warmed my cold feet and reassured that everything was all right, nothing had changed; we are still together like we had been for 7 years. Compartment was bright with light, the mild sun has enshrouded that part of the earth and night was eventually conquered by its courage. Quickly I fetched my legs back and sat down upright.  She smiled at me, as if inquiring about something and I smiled back to reassure that she could sit there as long as she wishes to.

Soon I bought a cup of tea from tea seller and turned toward the window. My eyes fell on parallel railway tracks. They appeared as though they too were proceeding, trying to keep up the company with train that was all alone and flowing endlessly in a direction it doesn’t know itself, to meet the end. They said nothing, urged nothing, only wished to be with train no matter what would be the situation or destination. An altruistic act of living ones destiny and moving along to an unknown destination for the sake of loved one. At certain points these parallel tracks entangle complexly or twist un-resolvedly so that the train could be directed for its destination which it itself isn’t aware of.

Couldn’t help but I presume that those tracks were my company – a company for a company less traveler who had been destined to travel lonely through his life. Its silent undemanding company felt like a favor to me, and I myself, nothing but a beggar, readily accepted it whole heartedly. Said nothing, asked nothing, but still travelled with each other. Thinking of her being at my side in my good and bad, she never demanded anything more than my honest silence. It was our language of communication. Through my eyes she always understood everything, even things which I couldn’t bring in to my eyes. She was sole witness of everything I have been. A blessing she was, everyone seeks in his life, a kind companionship everyone wishes for.

These parallel railway tracks proved same to me in that journey and then a point has reached where I have to say goodbye to them. Yes, a goodbye, but then also they said nothing or even tried to stop me from parting. I was filled with sadness and yes they too, had they have heart. Perhaps they have a little honest heart too.

However, my journey didn’t end there. I travelled on my feet from that tiny old train station toward the end of the land to touch mighty ocean which in itself absorb everything. But, I wasn’t sure if it would be able to absorb my turmoil into her. Stood at the shore I watched the horizon where the mighty ocean was taking in the hot Sun in her, assuring that she would also take my turmoil and settle it somewhere at the unknown depth. I opened the brass container looked inside. It contained her ashes and now the time had come when those ashes had to leave me and meet the unknown depth and unthinkable peace. I inclined mouth of the brass container and allowed her ashes to fall and meet the ocean. With it, the unstoppable tears which I have carried with me in that journey also cascaded and I felt as though life within me has begun leaving me and at any moment ground beneath my feet was ready to disappear. 

An Old Boot Polisher

People say when life changes it does it in a moment - and ‘a second’ that is smallest measure of time is still long enough in front of that moment. Ryan had wished to change his life forever, he had gone through hundreds of job interviews but none turned into a job. It had been 3 years since he had completed his studies and looking for a job. He had started losing hope in his life. However, there lay an interview call in his hands from the city of hopes and opportunities. Only a day before, he had traveled to Mumbai, lodged in a cheap lodge and the only source of light in his gloomy room was a blub illumining yellow. Next day in the morning, he took a cold water bath and readied himself for interview. While walking out with a folder in hands that had his resume, listed all his academic qualifications which had been termed gateway to livelihood.

He reached the train station to catch a train to suburb and after spending almost half an hour in queue he purchased a ticket that cost him Rs. 10. He hadn’t had tea that morning.  His wallet was only left with Rs. 10 note for return ticket and a picture of his parents. His wallet also had a picture of Jesus pinned to cross, bleeding to death for the sake of believers but he had torn it into pieces and thrown into the direction he didn’t look. Perhaps, that morning, with that picture he had also torn his only relationship with God. Suddenly, with that act he had entered into the realm of faithless ones.

After crossing a couple of overhead pedestrian bridges, he reached the platform he had to catch train from. Reaching right platform called forth a surge of achievement in his heart. He had never seen this many people together. Everywhere there were people running, crossing, walking, talking, jolting without apologizing, trying to make their way from hopelessly crowded places, jumping into the trains already carrying passengers twice or thrice the capacity, holding on to handle bar like in the act of circus. To Ryan, it was a world where not living but survival was the utmost priority, and only achievement.

Standing at platform, he looked around and saw people with office bags, wore cleanly creased clothes, having impatient eyes, often looking at the big digital watch hanging from the roof for time and scheduled trains. Though, they stood at platform but their mind and thoughts were somewhere else. All seemed disinterested in the present world they were in and had hopes of finding a new world kept them going forward. Ryan heard loud tapping sound appearing at regular intervals, he looked around and saw Boot-polishers scattered all over the platform and tapping the wooden base with shoe brush from which they polish the black and brown boots of their customers. They were trying to seek attention of all the potential customers. Most boot-polishers also had their customers and polishing boots with full vigor. They are one of the fastest boot-polisher in the world. To them every second means money especially in the rush hours of morning.

He saw an old boot-polisher, tapping the wooden base while looking at him. When their eyes met, he called Ryan. Ryan refused by the mere look in his eyes but Old boot-polisher insisted. He smiled his old smile and pointed at the awfully shabby boots of Ryan.

“These shoes are not going to have you have the job you are going for, young man.” said old boot-polisher.

Ryan was left awestruck by this revelation. Though, he knew the condition of his shoes very well, they needed a replacement.

“How do you know, I am going for job interview.”

“I have been doing the job of boot-polishing since 30 years at this very platform. I can tell by mere look of a traveler what is he up for.”

Old boot-polisher urged Ryan to have his shoes fixed and polished before catching the train. But, again Ryan refused him. He again urged Ryan. This instance, Ryan went close to him where the old boot-polisher was seated, “I don’t have any money to have the shoes fixed and polished.” told in low voice.

Old boot-polisher told him not to worry about paying for his services. If you get the job then you can come back and pay me for the services along with sweets and if you don’t then also come back I will again polish your shoes for your next job interview.

“Why are you being so generous for a stranger like me, Old man?”

“World is not a fair place, since it’s not run by saintly people. Let me give you a lesson I have learnt in my life – One has to look someone to become someone and shoes are the most important aspect of one’s life since they keep men running and have him stand like a rock in the difficult times. That’s the reason shoes are considered part of one’s personality.”

Eventually, Ryan have had his shoes fixed and polished, and caught the train after promising old boot-polisher to return. However, that morning he wasn’t sure of his life, had doubts and in some corner in his heart he was at the brink of sinking.

In the evening, Ryan returned with an appointment letter in his hands. He looked around but couldn’t find the old boot-polisher. He waited for some time and returned to his lodge.

Next morning, he again found himself at the same platform; it was going to be his first day at job. He wanted to thank Old boot-polisher for the hope he brought in him. Ryan measured both the ends of platform but again couldn’t find the old boot-polisher. Since he was getting late he caught the train and went to work.

In the evening when Ryan stepped down from the train he again went to the spot he had his shoes polished from Old man. He was angry on himself for not being able to find Old boot-polisher. Determined to meet the old boot-polisher, Ryan spent the entire night there at the platform. First thing in the morning, he wished to meet him. He slept by the closed nearby book shop. When morning arrived, the book shop owner came to open the shop and found Ryan sleeping there.

“Young man, wake up, why have you slept by my closed shop, don’t you have place to spend night?”

“I am sorry for your inconvenience. I have a place to go but I am waiting for the Old boot-polisher who sits by your shop and does his business.” 

“For an old boot-polisher you have spent your entire night sleeping here, why do you want to meet this dead old boot-polisher?”

“Excuse me, did you say dead?”

“Yes, he died a day before, had some sort of seizer. Couldn’t get help in time.”

“Was he sick?”

“Very much, at times I offered him money to go and see the doctor, but he always refused. What an old obstinate man.”

Ryan’s eyes ceased blinking, for a moment his surrounding turned noiseless. He heard nothing, saw nothing, only the smiling face of old man flashing in his sight. He put right hand in his pocket, took out the money he intended to pay the old boot-polisher and looked at it as if he never deserved it; he owed it to a man whom he could never ever payback.

The END

Letter to Her

Dearest My Perfect Half,

My heart goes for you. I feel emptiness inside and every moment as I try to accept it as my destiny. I always believed that I have not loved you but that’s not the truth. Truth is, unknowingly, I have loved you, and I loved your company more than most of the things I have ever loved in my life. I miss your company, I miss the name you gave me and the voice and fondness in which you would call those names. How have we been brought to this point in life, I know very well. And, now when I look back I believe I should have listened to the voice I often used to hear. A voice with no noise, only true messages.

I don’t know if you are aware that I am a lost soul who once belonged to different worlds. Love was never easy for me to accept, what I have accepted in life was sorrow. Sorrow is what I always believed would be my companion. At times, I believed, being with sorrow is the part of happiness I can lay my claim over. Now when I recall, I feel your company as though a sweet dream which I have seen many times with open eyes.  They were the times I like to recall, to tell myself that you are the lucky one whom someone had loved truly. I had the strength though I behaved coward. The truth in my feelings was perhaps not that great and that’s the reason tears had also left me alone. Despite of my wish I can’t shed a tear and unburden myself from the burden I feel upon my heart every moment.

At times I used to allege that love is a punishment for a special crime one must have committed mistakenly. Perhaps I was true in my saying and it’s my punishment to be in love.  My sorrow bleeds and asks for a comfort that comes from you, and I, like a tyrant dismisses such plea ruthlessly to let it bleed further. More the pain grows in me more the love I feel for you.

Now I proclaim that I was never besieged by your beauty, was never fallen for the color of your skin, was never amused by your smile, was never taken aback by your lovely way of walking, was never spell bound by your magical eyes. However, the love in you for me had brought me on my knees. Yes, now I know what have I been looking for all my life when it is gone and destiny is again sealed for not to open its door again for me.

With Love,

Who Can't be anyone's

Who Divided India ...

Lok Sabha elections are close and everyone is talking about which party will form the government. Political corridors are abuzz with the schemes and plans for getting into majority forming government. Earlier, there were NDA and UPA, but now one more front has come in light – the third front.

Is it wise to have a third front?

Already, have they not divided us enough?

Are we not weak enough?

In what ways, it is good for a country as complex as India?

From where I see and most political pundits see, the upcoming government would be one of the weakest in the history of Independent India. And, this election is only good for those who have always dreamt of inducing some weight in every decision taken by government. The political history of India has never had a chance of attaining glory and how that could be? Even, in the times before independence it was motivated by the division of caste, religion, and regions. Political leaders have always looked to leverage these divisions and never wished to unite people and they succeeded in performing so. Most political parties are trying to lure the Muslim community, by calling them minority and promising to shower privileges.

Are Muslims really minority in a country where the population of Muslims larger than Pakistan, which is a sovereign Muslim country?

India has the largest population of Muslims in South Asia and I am failing to understand that on what basis they call Muslims a minority. As far as my knowledge goes their population is larger than any other religious people in India, except Hindus. Christians are far less in population as compared to Muslims and on that very ground they should be tagged as minority and given (or promised) far more privileges than Muslims. But that is not happening and the only motive behind this duplicity is the vote bank.

Political leaders very well understand the fact that without the Muslim support no government can see a sunset in Delhi. And, that’s the reason why they have been playing the cards of Muslim Minority. It is the politics of division not joining together. No Political leader is working for the amelioration of India. Since independence, had they all been working for amelioration of India and uniting people of this large democracy, the face of this country would have been far gorgeous.

No one is worst in India than the people of Political class. Take example of UP politics, it is entirely based on caste and religion. There are so many pockets where no leader with liberal thinking could win an election except he talks on behalf of any particular religion or caste. Leaders, those who made their political career based on caste or religion are still walking on that lane, they are reluctant to change the lane and enter into main stream and still they dream about becoming head of the state lead the country, is it possible?

Politics in Jammu & Kashmir is based on separatism and religion. Any naive can say that whatever is happening in Andhra Pradesh is nothing to do with people sentiments but politics of separatism for personal gains. Leaders of this country wear glasses of religion not nationalism. They see everything from the religious sentiment point of view and if that’s so important, and the two major religion of this very country can’t live in unity and harmony then it is not at all foolish to say that this country again needs a partition. And, not just once but several times. First, in the name of religion, second, in the name of Caste, third, in the name of region, and fourth, in the name of difference in culture.

65 years of independence and we are still struggling to find land for our feet, isn't it shameful? Yes, It can be termed as shameful at international forum but who cares, after all personal gain takes precedence over anything or everything that has anything to do with the country. No riots ever in this country were set out by the general public. There have been set of people who had political agendas and were instigated by political or religious parties and despite the very strong judicial system of India hardly any schemer, political leader or religious leader have been punished. The public is the victim of these rights and the very word victim is losing is association with sympathy or empathy since, now such riots and destruction has become thing of daily life and hardly anyone has time to think over such issues.

The very middle-class is the worst victim; since they are the people who are doing hard work, day in day out and earn money so that tomorrow government would lay its dirty hands on their hard earn money in the name of hundreds of taxes. No Religion, no class, no caste comes to pay taxes. It is the very middle-class of this country who has nothing to do with religion or division, who just want to survive and wishes to create better future for upcoming generation pays heavy taxes and work like asses. No government comes with any scheme for such hardworking class of people, who are the bread-earner if not the grower of this country. In the name of subsidy whatever they get, the very selfish, corrupt and immoral government takes away far more than that.

In this very country the silent bread-earners are not well taken care of, but the very lousy, immoral, corrupt and conservative people are given all sort of privileges, perhaps because they have big mouth to eat and to cry out. And, that is the reason most middle-class people nurture a dream of going abroad to never come back. The best example is IT professionals. The impotent political class has no ideology it is based upon, what it has is a hunger for wealth and personal gain. If British had coined the policy of divide and rule then the present political class has mastered it.

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