Life is a Struggle

Every day I wake up with a sore eye to see sun unfolding yet another day for me. I know its another beautiful day, I will learn something new, everybody will add a new experience to their memories today.

But when I see people getting out of their places, I see them fighting to keep it going on, with a sarcastic laughter to satisfy their souls, thirsty for happiness in its true sense. I open up the newspaper and see the sad plight of Kashmiris on the front page.

We call Kashmir as a part of India, a peaceful country, the biggest democratic constituency, The people’s country; where innumerable people die every day. I see pictures of tears on the disheartened faces of women and children lying in the valley waiting for their men or their Death; whichever comes earlier. I bleed with them. I feel homeless whenever I see houses of the God’s home being blown off ruthlessly. I cry for them because for most of my life, I have pledged them as my brothers and sisters, as my family every morning.

When I turn the pages of the newspaper, my heart is filled with vengeance. I see my country being bled by corruption. I see the disastrous image of India put forth by Common Wealth Games. Rs.77000, 00, 00,000 flowed down the lanes of gullies in these seven years since India had bid for CWG 2010 in 2003 and where these gullies did end up to; maybe a few luxurious mansions in Dubai and Japan, maybe stripper parties in many Delhi hotel rooms, maybe many Swiss bank accounts yet to be uncovered by the intelligence, maybe they are long gone deep in the pockets of the Satan. And what could this silly Rs. 77000 crores could do; Maybe it could have helped some of the homeless dwellers( who were driven out of Delhi during CWG) find homes, a place they could return late at night for a peaceful sleep; maybe it could have come down to Bandra, Panvel or some other cities and do some good to the innumerable slum rehabilitation and infrastructure projects lying around being delayed since decades under the butt of some more devils( Corrupt officials); maybe it could have gone to a few farmers and stopped them from suicide or saved them from starving to death; maybe it could have connected a few villages to the rest of the country who are still fighting for their basic necessities when India wants to fight for being tagged as the “ Developed country”; maybe it could have done some good to the poor, starved, and the unfortunates but who cares for them until the Satan enjoys the Power to run the “ GOLDEN BIRD”.

I get sick and turn another page; I see the rampage of increasing prices of the cereals and vegetables. It does take my attention and all my curiosity. I studied that India is an agricultural country with 70% of its population working their days and nights farming all the delicacies. What I fail to understand is that if we have 70% of population, i.e. 79, 79, 75,452 people to be exact according to 2008 census in agriculture and still we can’t suffice our agricultural needs, India has to be a fat nation indeed.

I turn pages and see families brutally murdered, mothers and sisters raped, children starved, students killing themselves, men burned, soldiers shot dead and This is India, the country I am proud of; The country that the Englishmen and Portuguese sailors died to reach.

I can’t take anymore and decide to throw the newspaper away in the stack of innumerable pages of crime and shame and no more I see the sun unfolding another beautiful day. Today again thousands of people would see light no more and again thousands would be reading about them, restless and helpless.

Now, I get out of my place, I see the mirror, I see myself fighting to keep it going on, with a sarcastic smile to satisfy my soul.