The Kashmir issue has become a routine affair for the Indian household-we see it all the time-in the papers,the news,magazines...and yet we are immune to it.Our troops sacrifice their lives and civilians are killed.This is appalling but what is even more so is our indifference to it.
I do not intend this blog to be a sermon on patriotism but to narrate my chance meeting with a kid I met once.A kid who saw his father,mother and two sisters murdered by militants right in front of his eyes.His entire family wiped out in a matter of few minutes.All this at a tender age of eight.Four years later he stands before me narrating the horror without shedding a tear.Life has made him tough.But,it comes back to him in his dreams..he wakes up..terrified..frightened..shrouded in darkness..yearning for the warmth of his mother's arms.He sweats all over waiting for the night to end hoping when he wakes up in the morning that somehow ..somehow he can be with his parents again.
He now lives an orphanage with kids like him..victims of terrorism. Others have resorted to drugs to soothe their wounds..but not he.He wants to lead a respectable life..make his parents proud.He has no one to guide him..only his sense of righteousness.I feel humbled when I listen to him.
I realise that even from tragedies such as his..rise stories of courage and grit.Stories that may not make it to the front pages but continue to thrive in their own quiet yet magical way.