Because I’m not human

We came on foot, we came on boats, shouting slogans of Azadi.

We stood on roof tops and sat on walls under the burning midday sun,

Listening to the words that we had longed to hear for so long.

Words that had been scripted through the lonely fears of our hearts.

Words that were spoken now with the clarity of courage.

Words that were spoken now with the suppressed strength of pent up anger.

Words that were spoken now with the certainty of belonging to the soil 

Which had become one with the dust of our ancestors.

We stood there in the waves of heat

Feeling the surge and press  of countless bodies around us.

Bodies meshed through the odour of sweat 

And the shared fear of a common persecution.

And hanging from the roof tops,

And tied to the poles,

And clutched in hands slippery with sweat,

And wrapped round the pillars,

And spreading into our blood,

Were three strips of colour with a wheel of spokes,

Sewn together into the shape of our being.

Woven into the folds of our future and the creases of our past. 

Stitched to the seams of the earth, the water, the air and the sky 

That belonged to us and to which we belonged. 

And we stood there from noon to evening,

We the people of India.

Raising our clenched fists like signposts to the future.

Chanting slogans like a new anthem.

Kin to each other through the ties of community.

Born to live and die 

In a nation that was ours to hold on to

And ours to belong to.

Dr Parinitha is a professor of English in Mangalore University. She penned the poem soon after participating in the historic protest against CAA, NPR and NRC at Shah Garden, Adyar, Mangaluru on 15th January, 2020.

Also Read: 

‘The more you try to divide us, the stronger and united we’ll be’: Record turnout in Mangaluru’s anti-NRC protest

Anti-NRC protest in Mangaluru brings ‘media bias’ to the fore

Make a note!

I am an Indian

I own my name with a title

That’s embedded even before my birth and

Still rooted in my soil that always mixes with my flesh and blood

My father, his father and all my forefathers,

Got churned in this soil although their souls are in the purgatory

I grew... and the peepal plant I saw in my childhood also grew with me

Stones and grasses I walked on became a walkway

The sky and earth I used to play and sleep amid

The sea with sounding waves, and hills and mountains with echoes

Are the same

Watching the pigeons and other birds sitting over the roof of my home;

I feel no difference

Then why I need to show my blood is red

And that’s still flowing in my body?

I am still alive... but,

Oblivious why my passport is still feeling birth pangs of my title

At this point in time!