“The men who fought for India’s freedom changed history, forging a country out of a dream.” - Ipsta Chakravarty (2007)

The un-avuncular uncle, the anti-Gandhi,

No care of prison, no care of consequence,

the hands that threw the grenade for the minister,

fight against peace for peace in the Future,

a love for his country’s Independence.

Why must you kill?

Why such passion, what will you find?

Did not Gandhi tell us,

“An eye for an eye,

will make the whole world blind”?

It is Tuesday, the Hindu day of libation,

The rugged-white colonist jeep,

a lone vestigial, parked beneath the banyen.

The hands that threw the grenade for the minister,

lined with the cicatrix of wound,

bring the love and food for the grandchildren.

A silent remnant of national pride,

Tells nothing of the pain that brought us peace.

Mother India’s kismet child.