Vikram Patel, Swastik Mehta, Heeralal Shah, Iqbal Mehmood, Aslam Khan. The names in themselves hold no significance for me. They are part of the statistics splashed in newspapers across the country the morning after the communal violence in Gujarat. Hundreds of innocent people are being killed in the name of religion. Hindus blame the Muslims; Muslims, the Hindus. The opposition parties point to the irresponsibility of the government. And in this war of words, the common man is butchered. How do we determine our religion? Who tells us we are Hindu or Muslim? Who influences us into reading the Gita or the Koran? Our parents? Society? Or we ourselves? The Constitution has given me the right to practise the religion of my choice. Why should any saffron-clad fanatic tell me what I should chant? Why should I be labelled a kafir if I choose to adopt Christianity even though I am born in a Muslim family? What right does any self-styled moral police have to interfere with my choice of religious practice? Bombay burnt as an aftermath of the Babri Masjid debacle. Gujarat is witnessing gory scenes of communal unrest as a result of that burden which we have been carrying in our collective memories for the past 10 years. Countless families have been orphaned, national wealth worth millions of rupees has been destroyed, the lives of innumerable people have been cut short... Yet the war rages on. Is the construction of a building, or the prevention of it, at Ayodhya worth such massacres? Aren't the lives of those being slaughtered in this race for communal superiority worth anything? I have grown up in a family that kneels in the church, bows its head at the masjid and folds its hands in prayer at the temple. And I say the sanctity of each of these places is determined by the purity of one's heart, not by the suffix to one's name. I wear a cross, a taaweez, and a red tikka. If these symbols determine the religion one believes in, go ahead and tell me who I am -- Hindu, Christian, or Muslim? The army has been deployed to control the situation in the Mahatma's land of ahimsa. No one is willing to offer his right cheek. Bullets, breaking glass and burning buildings usher in the mourning morning. Listen sharp. A child is praying amidst the charred ruins over there. Does it really matter to you if he is calling out to Ram or Allah? Mansi Bhatia's prayers are with all the victims of communal violence. Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture!   Write a Diary!
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