Why I won't protest

Illustration: Labani Jangi

A long time back, my son asked me if I would be joining the protests against CAA and NRC and all that. And if I didn't, did it mean I didn’t care for the nation? So I mulled over that, the complex politics of it all,  and then this is what I told him - 

I'm too old to protest, I said,

my voice is too weak to carry far,

there is water in my knees, my dear,

and I confess, there's jelly in my spine. 

.

But in my sixty years of anger, 

I've seen unforgettable sights - 

I've seen Marx hide under the table,

I've seen peace treaties signed by Joan of Arc.

.

I have seen rebels quote Che Guevara 

as they downed expensive wine,

I have seen Doon School besties smile,

and sell their country as they dined.

.

I have seen charming gentlemen say -

let those lands be taken, they are just wood & snow,

I've seen a tea seller find power, only

to forget every man carries his blood.

.

My flesh is made of this soil,

my tears are the storms in the streets, 

my heart lies buried under Jama Masjid, 

pieces of my soul in the Gandhi Maidan.

.

This country has carved wounds 

which doggedly refuse to heal,

I hide my love, for I am told -

"Love this country - but the way we insist."

.

My dear, you ask why I won't protest, 

why these placards are a burden I can’t fake?

I have bequeathed a nation of wounds,

how can I protest against what I’ve given to you?

Illustration: Labani Jangi

A couple of other poems on the tragedies we all face in our lives -

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