Who are we fighting, really?

White, black, brown, dusky, bronze-coloured--yes, those are skin tones. Only skin tones. Nothing more than a mere colour.
Yet, they dictate our opinions. They dictate our behaviour. They dictate our motives. 
A turban wrapped around a man's head, a cross hanging from a woman's neck, red threads adorning a boy's wrist, a head scarf wrapped around a girl's head--put on any of those and get ready to be labelled as anything else but a human. 
Today, if you make two individuals stand side by side and ask them,"How are you different from each other?", you are most
likely to get a reply involving comparison on the basis of physical appearance, colour, religion and nationality. Nothing too significant-it seems. But then, these little points of comparison take on us individuals as the basis to get into fights and wars. How trivial it seems when a little kid uses slangs to insult his/her healthy or darker friend or when he/she crushes their friend's beliefs through a joke. And we dismiss these happenings as a child's play...until, these same individuals as grown ups build up plans dictated by these same ideals and which have catastrophic effects.
We wonder all the time, why do we have wars? Why did we have wars? Why are people still so intent on fighting? Why does the slightest provocation get us out with weapons in our hands and deadly motives in our heart? When we kill, can't we see that it could have been our brother/ sister/mother/father instead, if only they'd been born in a different place! Of course we don't. We are blinded by false beliefs and baseless hatred.  Adorning that tough rugged look on our faces and fury in our eyes, what do we want to prove? Our cannibalism, our courage, or righteousness?
I believe that each one of us comprehends other people's ability to react in exactly the same way as he/she comprehends it himself/herself. Given a situation, I would never, or could never react the same way and hence these questions. I fail to comprehend why people want all of the things I've questioned above. I fail to understand who and what they are fighting against! Do you have an answer?
   

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To seek or not to seek

As the wintry chill swum across the village and engulfed its inhabitants in yet another wave of iciness, our grandma beckoned us to come sit around her in the verandah where she had lighted up the fire. The seven of us raced to reach her first, and be the lucky one to sit nearest to her and to the fire. This had been our evening tradition during all the winter vacations, for as long as I could remember. We surrounded our grandma like the planets surround the sun. She used to be the centre of our universe for the two hours that used to follow. Childhood tales, legendary stories, amusing and terrifying anecdotes followed by morals and bits of advices-these were the bits that effectively filled those two hour long sessions. That evening, however, was extraordinary. The teachings imparted that day would continue to guide me through all difficult moments in life. It was that evening when I was introduced to the concept of individualism. That evening was indeed magical-in the lessons impart
Read more

Till the end of time

Rabia sat on a rock, facing the Arabian Sea, with the Marine drive promenade behind her. She picked up a string of marigold flowers strung together to form a garland and began to pluck its petals distractedly. Meanwhile, the sun was setting into the Arabian Sea. She liked the silence at this hour. Nobody had turned up at the beach again today. While she sat on the rock listening to the sea waves and watching the birds fly back to their nests, she remembered that she had to go back home, too. Rahman would come home soon and she had to make chicken for dinner, since it was Friday. She had only started to get up, when an unfamiliar hand touched her shoulder. She turned back to look at a man. His face looked familiar but she could not remember why. Rabia woke up from sleep in haste. The man in her dreams was the one that she'd seen in a Spanish webseries the previous day. A pang of guilt engulfed her. It was a sin to even think of haram things. She decided to pray two nafl rakats
Read more

Reminiscences

The images of my childhood are blurred portraits. Blurred, but not inferior. They are grand and royal and beautiful. They serve as a vessel to all the happy events and the cherishable memories. The music that used to play in my brother's room, the smell of phenyl from when the floors were mopped, the sound of the fan turning at maximum speed during summers, mother's morning call on Eid and midnight hugs on my birthday--they are retained in my memory like the back of my hand; and are evoked at the sligthest mention, smell or sound of it. They are retained in my memory, not in details, but in emotions. Recently, I visited an amusement park from one of those memories and it had suddenly shrunk in size from what I could recall through my childhood memories. And so had that hospital that I used to visit as a child for my vaccines. It made me realise that all our memories are prone to subjectivity. It is always emphasised how childhood days are the best ones-full of hope, devoid of
Read more