The war – ii

I’m twenty-one.
I’m too young to remember the Kargil war,
But old enough to know the definition
Of violence.
Old enough to know that there’s a country, and a religion,
That we are supposed to hate.

I met Ali on Facebook.
We bonded over the fact that our cats are the same colour,
Over our shared love of food,
And over our mutual hatred of the fact
That our countries will never allow us
To visit each other.

He sends me pictures of the streets of Lahore,
I show him Dilli, the city that has my heart.
And believe me, on some strange nights,
They look the same.

I met Auwn in a different country,
For we could have never met in India or Pakistan.
I met Auwn in Nepal.
And I met Rehana.
We spoke the same language,
Knew the lyrics to the same Bollywood songs,
Had the same Coke Studio episodes
On our YouTube playlists.
We lived in two countries,
That were once one.

So when on television channels,
They ask us to hate the lives that are lived
On the other the side of the border,
It confuses me.
They are the same as us.
They didn’t draw the Radcliffe line,
Neither did we.
No one asked us which side of the border
We wanted to live on.

They say there’s a war going on,
And we have to pick a side.
They do not ask us if we want to fight.

– D