Patriot to Traitor

Trust me, I have waited for inspiration,
Feeling like a traitor,
For not having praises to sing
Of our Nation’s glory.

When I was younger,
I remember it being so easy,
Unity in Diversity,
A cultural medley, melting pot and what not.
So why not now,
When I’m older?
Maybe because I’m better informed,
By the fraction of a smidge,
Of what goes on in the darkest alleyways,
Of our proud land,
Where fear and ignorance reign in equal parts.
“How dare you drink from our pot,
How dare you fall in love with our women,
How dare you desire education,
How dare you dream of basic rights
How dare, how dare!”

Then, I wonder,
Is it fair of me to ponder and permute,
Safely confined in my privilege,
Was it worse than turning a blind eye,
Was it worse than the hypocrisy,
Of wishing Happy Independence,
On those forced to buy a flag to prove their patriotism,
With the money saved for 2 kilograms of rice?

In this land, where heinous hate crimes,
Cease to shock my jaded eyes,
The rich grow richer,
The poor are caught in the chokehold of debt,
And the middle class is precariously perched,
On the brink of falling into poverty.
When farmers protesting for their livelihood,
Are run over by sons of men in power,
And people’s voices heeded to,
When elections are around the corner.

Who profits and who benefits,
When the communities that woke up,
Listening to the Azaan and Kirtan and Holy Mass,
Blessing the morning air,
Now regard each other with mutual suspicion,
Wary of the moment friends turn into foes,
And neighbours into traitors.
If we can’t laugh about our differences,
And comedians and artists labelled terrorists,
For their freedom of expression,
I wonder,
What praises shall I sing of our glorious land?

What turns a patriot into a traitor?
If it is by speaking up on the ways we have failed,
Then the greatest one yet must be,
The Father of Our Constitution,
Who dared to say,
“I have no homeland.
You say I have got a homeland,
But still I repeat, I am without it.
How can I call this land my homeland,
And this religion, my own,
Wherein we are treated worse
Than dogs and cats.”

There is a fear palpable in everything we do.
When patriotism is shoved down your throat,
And asked to be put on display.
What if the tiranga atop my house,
Floats away in the wind–
Shall I be called an anti-national,
Aren’t we dangerously straddling
The very thin line between,
Fervent devotion and crazy fanaticism?

Lekshmy S. Nair can be found on Instagram @shadows_and_smiles.

Featured image: Reuters