Dissent is an imperative part of democracy – but is democracy found in the red of blazing effigies, and words dripped in alleged sedition? Films reach beyond illiteracy – so is celluloid stuck together the voice in which songs for rights should be sung? Songs about places like Aligarh, songs about people like Trump, songs about love labeled unnatural.
Revolution, when it creeps between the judge’s hammer, changes lives by bending laws – but does this revolution come from you and me? Is this revolution born of those starry nights by empty coffee cups where even between a thousand bodies you felt lonely, cold, empty, numb, unsettled, restless?
Restless: is that what you feel when the colors of your flag are twisted in through malicious kaleidoscopes into patterns that claim to falsely represent your country? Or have your colors been diluted too far in home soil – beyond redemption?
Earthquakes on surface create craters. Do our veins cover our fault lines?
February to fault lines, then.
February to Unrest – from outside, and within.
Yours, Madame Meow