Burnt Dough

One Day: Two Views

I will never forget the day my brothers died for a cause. I had two uncles on the Sabarmati Express in compartment number 2. They were on their way back from Ayodhya when their train was set on fire by the zealous Muslims. All they wanted was for our temple to be rebuilt on its rightful ground. This is our country after all. India is supposed to be a Hindu State. Since the brutal slaying of 60 people that day on the train, violence has spread throughout Gujarat. My Hindu brothers are hungry for revenge. At night, I hear stories of people avenging those who died that day on the train. Stores are being robbed, riots are taking place, and buildings owned by the enemies are being burnt.

I will never forget my walk to work on March 1st. I smell of fresh bread filled the air. It made me so hungry I started to salivate. Then the smell of sweet bread quickly turned to burnt dough. A smell that made you want to run the other way. I looked at the morning sky, instead of being lit up with colors form the rising sun it was filled with dark and grey clouds. In the distance I saw 14 of my brothers dancing around a bakery. Chanting, singing, Hindutva, and rejoicing in the flames.