Black, White and Pink

Everyone has been writing on demonetization. There have been thousands of posts, articles, tweets, status updates over multitude of online and offline platforms on the same topic. I have developed a sudden liking to the topic now that it is slowly going out of fashion.

Introduction

What opinion I have on demonetization? None I want to propagate.
Do I belong to pro-Modi or anti-Modi group over the topic? Neither.
Do I care at all for the well being of our country? Of course, I do.
Then, how could I be without opinions and allegiances? Not sure.
Well... Is that all I wanted to talk about? Not exactly.
What I am going to do is to summarize all Pro/white and Anti/black theories I have ever heard so far, and then try to reach a conclusion.

A Lonely Pup Outside

 A small dog outside my window is moaning piteously. Sad and full of agony... It is as though it cannot make sense of the situation it finds it self in.

When I hear, I see a picture of happy little pup. Living with her family, cared for, loved, listened to and trusting. Then one fine day, she finds herself in streets. With no one caring, no one feeding, no one listening. Abandoned by those who she believed loved her.

Is she weeping for her family? Is she weeping because they abandoned her? Is she heartbroken that they broke her trust? Is she inconsolable over the cruelty of the world? Or is she asking 'why me? what did I do to deserve this?'

God. It is so distressing.


On happier times,
She would be playful, and would get naughty with her siblings
She would wage her tail lovingly and chase behind kids
She would look up at her family with shining eyes everytime they come before her
She would roll up in dust, bathing in sunline, blissful at the beauty of life.

Why should I let it be?

Why should I let it be?!

The rose...
Beautifully scarlet;
In each of its petals is a promise.
And rows and rows of them there are...
Promises.
So near, so approachable;
Very much pluckable.

It stands there winking,
Swaying with the wind.
As the little buds look up coyly
I envy its playful nods at them.

Ah... Enticing it is;
It's perfume a sweet snare;
Drawn I am to it, wherever I go.
My senses do not heed my conscience,
When I hear its call.

Many sighs, more tremors, and the pain
That I can't wish away;
Semi-sweet, still bitter;
Very much a part, still remote.

Rose. Is just another flower.
And 'the' rose is just another rose.
Its colour, its fragrance, its petals;
All elements of nature's design,
They sustain the game of life.

That's that.
To tell that to the insipid creature
That dwells inside me...
She will never listen.
Or will she?

Is it rose now?
  It was moon once;
     Sea, on a different day;
       Tree, for a month;
And for a fortnight long,
My wishes glided along that river
Its surface an eternal mirror,
           Insides a whirlwind

Let them be. I did. In the end.
In the end,
Who had lost, who won?
If one says there is no end,
wouldn't that mean no one lost?