As his 8 year old son played in the park, he sat himself down on a bench, close enough to know about his sons whereabouts and yet at an enough distance to not be intrusive.
He leaned his head back trying to enjoy the chirping of the birds mixed with the happy noises made by the kids playing in the park, his big dark sunglasses covering almost half his face.
“Excuse Me, Bhaisaab!!!! Is that your son in the white t-shirt?”, came a voice from behind him.
“Yes”, he replied without even looking behind.
“And do you even notice who he is playing with?”, the voice spoke up again.
This time he tried to turn behind, “His friend from the park? Why?”, he enquired, a bit confused.
“You seem like a nice educated man and that Tikka on your forehead tells me you are a God loving person who values our culture and traditions, and yet you ask WHY?”, the unknown voice continued.
This time he frowned, “I am sorry but I really don’t know what you are trying to say!”, he said.
“Don’t you see who your son is playing with?? The other boy has a black thread around his arm. Don’t you think your son should be playing with someone who is the same as him”, the voice said, both, the decibel level and the disdain increasing.
He smiled as he turned back in the direction of the kids playing.
“I am not sure what you mean, Sir, but as much as I can see, they both look the same to me”, he said calmly.
He kept looking in the direction of his son playing, for a few moments, then got up, unfolded his stick and moved towards the children slowly and carefully tapping his stick on the ground ahead as he adjusted his sunglasses with his other hand.
“Daddy, who was that man talking to you?”, the voice of his son fell on his ears.
He patted his son on his head, “I don’t know, son, but he keeps coming every five years telling me the same thing”
“Okay, Daddy”, his son said, as he held one of his hands, “Can I invite my friend over to our house for lunch?”
He smiled again as he held out his free hand in the direction of the other boy, “Sure, I think your Mom would like that too”, he said.
They walked away together, he being guided by the innocent love of the two kids on the right path to his home.
“Perhaps being blind towards hate is the best way to learn how to love”, he thought to himself.
Disclaimer: This post does not go out to all those who try to divide us on the lines of religion, caste or race, you will not change. This post goes out to all of us who listen to those hatemongers, it is we who need to become blind… To hate.
The Desi Cracked Pot 