Like a phoenix rising from it’s ashes

                                                                                                                                                August 15 , 2014

                                                                                                                                                   3.00 a.m

Dear diary ,

            Disturbing you at 3.00 a.m isn’t quite me , I know . But last night I had a dream, it felt so real that at first it did not seem a dream at all . I can still hear her, every word of her’s as though they have been etched forever . Its Independence day today and I had gone off  to sleep last night feeling particularly Indian. Not that the other days I don’t , yesterday was different.

As I slept ,a sense of uneasiness gripped me, I could feel someone  at my feet , she was crying . Frightened, I opened my eyes to see a  beautiful lady ,  ends of her garb torn and mud strewn all  over her . She was looking so forlorn and tears wouldn’t just stop flowing .

She was Mother India , she said . Oh ! diary , I never ever even in my wildest dreams did imagine  Mother India to look like the way she did . I sat up in bed and we started talking , if that meant she would get some respite, I was in. She grieved for her daughters who could not  go out being sure of returning home safe . For her daughters who could not wear clothes they wished to wear without inviting at least one comment a day. For her daughters who could not  fulfill their basic needs without being hunted for their flesh by human predators . What has she become ? she asked …. Her grief sure was infectious .

She felt ashamed that men who rejoiced in sadistic pleasures were being born everyday in the very land where her sons once fought with such staunch principles and values. Ashamed of the avarice and corruption that has conquered her land. Ashamed that some of her children were still feeding on rats to satisfy their hunger while some others see no other way but to end their poverty stricken lives. She felt bad that the world was so technologically advanced and there still wasn’t proper  sanitation for most of her children . She told me the few privileged people did not represent her but the ones struggling to make both ends meet did .She was angry at the hypocrisy and discrimination that prevailed . And the brain drain , what fault was her’s ? she asked .

She was growing old and on her 68th birthday she felt sorry for the great men who died for her . Her heart went out to the lives still being lost trying to protect her and the families shattered . For what ? she asked . One last drop of tear fell and she looked at me .

I realised that she had not yet given up hope . She still believed in the goodness that resisted all evil. And like a phoenix , she was waiting to arise …..

Dear diary , I love my country so much and all I want is bring that smile back on her face . Like Gandhiji once said

Let me be that change  I wish to see !!!! 

lots of love 

Shruti

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.  The prompt was 

It is the night of August 14th. You are sleeping peacefully until a lady, who identifies herself by the name of Mother India, wakes you up and starts talking. What does she talk to you?