In the last few months, social media has seemed an unsafe place. Because I have friends all over the world, I see their beliefs on my timeline. Each day I spend not having reacted to some of the views posted on there, I feel like I’ve aced some sort of test. While I’ve limited my…
Editing has exhausted me this entire week. Add to the fact that I was unwell and still don’t feel a hundred per cent and there’s this tendency to droop and focus on gloom and doom. My social media feed full of news of carnage, aggressive conversations without nuance or patience, and stories about leaders, who…
As a young girl in India, I learned to hate Pakistan. I was told the history of this country with my own, how we were once one nation, and now bitter enemies.
I saw the Karghil war. On TV, yes, but its horrors did not go away.
I saw each terrorist attack on India, there were many, and was told Pakistan was behind each of them.
But today, when I see the seige on Pakistan’s children, those lives gone before they could properly begin, I cannot remember that they are from a country I was taught to hate.
For years I’ve been on to the politicians of both countries: they flamed up hostilities between the two nations whenever thing got hairy within either country.
And today I stand with those mothers in Peshawar, whose children wouldn’t come back.
I’m not a mother, but I’m a daughter, and I’ve seen mothers.
I cannot begin to imagine those households where children would return from school in coffins.
So those of you who tell me Pakistan deserved it, that they had supported terrorists once, that they’re villains who murdered Hindus in Kashmir, I have no time for you. Those who tell me that Muslims and Islam are the problem, I have no time for you either.
I hang my head in shame, because I’m part of a world where children are murdered to raise funds, where some people can find it in them to feel good about what happened to those children and their families.
For three and a half long hours, he tried to take his Selfies, with a focus to rival a fishing stork. Only he didn’t remain still except to pose. He kept skipping and scampering across the sand and splashing into the water, busier than a seagull, and possibly livelier.
I’m cruel. I guess so is my family.
For all that time, we snickered and smiled, and I took pictures.
Here, I bring you the man on his quest for the Perfect Selfie. (I hope he got it, because he did jump and preen and posture long enough to make himself dizzy with heatstroke.)