BEHIND THE SCENES

When it comes to war, each person roots for different sides as though they’re their favorite cricket teams. Some look at the history; the originator, the aggressor. Some look at the bigger picture; the countries or alliances benefited. Some also look at the power struggles and support either the expected winner or the ‘underdog’. And then there are some who look at the religions of the warring factions and decide upon the one with a darker overtone as the unequivocal perpetrator.

But who does the majority of us support?

The majority of us supports neither side, just commiserates their misfortune, passes a remark or two with indifference and gives up thinking about them as a lost cause, all the while thanking our stars that we were not born in the ever-warring conflict zone. The majority of us pities the poor people born into that world, for ‘collateral damage’ is inevitable in war.

The question is what if we were born into that world?

The question is, how many of you stop for a moment to consider the “collateral damage” – the civilian life, livelihoods, peace and stability? How many for a moment, step out of this humongous cloud of hatred and rejection that is bound together by a history of foolish pride, stubborn politics of retaliation and wrong decisions? How many of you ever think about the ‘Humans of Israel-Palestine‘?

Oh no, this is not really about the Israel Palestine issue. It is about how, by supporting neither sides, we are still supporting the war. This is not an attempt to criticize or propose a solution. It’s a cold hard recipe of bitter ugly truths. It is a mirror to our actions; a harsh reminder of what we may be doing. And all the while, it’s reverberating the voice of the people spouting those truths, splaying their misery unto the world and crying for a reprieve. Indeed, it’s about those people suffering behind the scenes.

 

Broken orbs, ruby red, as fresh as the midnight air,

Splatter onto me today, I shrug them off and stare afar

A little jarred, with eyes scared, a little cold, a little hard,

My bones benumbed, cling on, chilled to the core,

The anger should have melted them by now,

Burnt them to a blackened barbequed crisp, but

I guess my heart has frozen like lead; strangled

My neck like an albatross, and I fear

If a little more sorrow is pelted on it, it’ll break

Apart, like the crystal glass that showed me once,

A little girl, a life away from grenades and gunpowder,

But shows me now the lifeless face of my mother;

I shudder, and open my eyes to the moon-white, as

The crystal ball shatters into a million orbs, ruby red,

As fresh as the midnight air, and I?

With a grim smile, I shrug them off…

– By Akanksha Gupta

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