Dear Akhlaq,
Death is a grim reminder of how stupendously short-sighted the mass is. Our rage, our resistance is all a mirage, ready to be jolted back into the reality of nothingness.
Your death has caused much anger. There have been tears, disbelief and resistance. Lynched mercilessly in the hands of a collective monster, you succumbed to suspicion.
The debate unfortunately was reduced to the choice of meat which facilitated your impending doom. Was it Beef? Was it Mutton? Did you just store it? Or did you consume it too? Did you slaughter the holy emblem of this nauseating nation? Or was it just an animal, unholy enough to consume?
These trepidations raided every household, screaming poignantly through the voices of the fourth pillar of our decorated, derogatory democracy.
There were also furious explosions on popular virtual platforms, frequented by the modern argumentative Indian, questioning the erosion of fundamental freedoms.
Scarily, these opinions turned into polarised clashes. You had the Haves and the Have-nots, terms immortalised by the man who realised that materialism not humans are the source of all evil.
The Haves paraded their majoritian generosity, their ability to be at peace amidst the arbitrary violence of the minority. Fanning the consciousness of the 'neglected numerous', the leaders of articulate verses, proclaimed their dedication to the cause.
The Have-nots were forever cashing on their numerical weakness. In a state, so suddenly enveloped by the smog of a singular ideology, suffocating the minds of political atheists, the minorities picked up the stink of a resurgence of betrayal. A reactionary defence led the Have-nots to climb up the other extreme of the ladder, dismantling the middle path, a forgotten vision of the man under the Bodhi tree.
In the myriad of political twists and turns, my dear wounded working class hero, your pitiful end got lost in intellectual interpretations and arm-chair discussions. Your gashes, which groan of injustice, have buried under the pricking priority for ideological clashes.
Your family has been offered a heavy compensation and your village is crowded with repetitive activists and journalists, your perpetrators although arrested have received resonated support to be treated as living martyrs for finishing the devil behind the blasphemous act.
I laugh at the exalted outcome of your murder, your wounds have wounded many hearts and the radical blood is trickling into the sea of unsettled emotions and unheard grievances.
Many say we are heading into a torrential rain, laced with the acidity of mistrust and it will wash away the inspiring, imaginative union of the Haves and the Have-nots. That terrorism and politics have no religion and is a lesion well learnt, is only a seemingly misguided conclusion.
Gruesome but eye-opening your torturous finale has been.
A mob, with blood-shot eyes and myopic souls are confidently crucifying the secular hope, and you Aklaq have left for good, shaming an entire population.
From,
neither a lover nor a hater.
