Tiffin Box

“Abbu khudaa hafiz”, said Munir as he left the house for his school.
“Just take care of yourself beta”, said Moin, as he closed the door of the shanty. Munir’s school was in a HINDU- dominated area called Vejalpur. The wounds of 2002 riots were still afresh in Moin’s mind, as he saw his 10-year-old Munir running with his school bag towards Ronak, his best friend who was waiting on the ‘border’ – the name given to the crossroads between Vejalpur and Juhapura. Juhapura – the muslim dominated ghetto of Ahmedabad, and probably the largest muslim ghetto in entire Asia. But for Munir, these facts didn’t matter; only his home did.
Six years had passed since Moin came to Juhapura; after losing his wife in the infamous Gujarat riots. Munir was too small to even know what riots meant. And no matter how old he grows, he still wouldn’t know the meaning. Not for Moin though… Moin epitomized hatred for Hindus. The riots took away his home, his business and his wife. The revenge factor, added to his dictionary by the so-called Muslim clerics, had seeped in deep.

“Abbu… I am back”, said Munir as he threw his bag and flung himself on Moin. “Mera Beta… Ok tell me, what did you learn today in the school?”
“Well, we learned about Indian constitution… All Indians are equal… and constitution gives equal rights and opportunities to all Indians irrespective of his caste or religion and”…
“BULLSHIT”, said Moin, as he shook off Moin’s arms from his shoulders “It’s all there in the text books only… Bloody double standards… Anyways, what else did you do…?”
“Abbu, I want a tiffin box”
“Tiffin box?? Why?? You already have one na?”
“No Abbu, I want one with a Spiderman sticker on it. Ronak has it too… Please Abbu!”
“But beta, you know our financial condition… And Ronak comes from a rich family… and why won’t he… He is a well earning HINDU afterall… It’s always we who suffer when a…”
“No-No Abbu I want a spiderman tiffin box”, Munir cut his father short.
“Ok, let me see… Give me some time.”
Munir always had fascination towards tiffin boxes. During his lunch break, he used to observe kids opening their tiffin boxes, and used to get amused of their reactions. For Munir, a tiffin box symbolized love of a mother – something he was always devoid of. All his dad could fill in the tiffin box was roasted grams; cheap and easily available. In fact, Munir’s classmates had nicknamed Munir as Gram-boy because of his tiffin box.
Two days after Munir’s demand, his father gifted him a bright red color Tiffin Box with a Spiderman on it. Munir’s joys knew no bounds. Not one, but his dad had got three such tiffin boxes, all red ones with a Spiderman on it. Listening to his dad talking to his friends, later did he realize that the other two tiffin boxes were meant for dad for some official purpose. He even overheard his father saying to another guy who too had a long beard, “The first one will be at LG Hospital and the second one at Maninagar Railway station.”
The next day Ahmedabad was rocked with two consecutive serial blasts – one at LG Hospital, and the other at a governmental school at Vejalpur, where a kid died and several got injured. An abandoned tiffin box at Maninagar Railway Station created lot of panic, only to the surprise of the police to find nothing but ROASTED GRAMS in it.



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My view :-->>>


I've seen a lot of people in my acquaintances who have openly expressed their non-secular nature and also gone on to abuse other religion... I know people are getting killed,... I know someday maybe even I may end up in the death-list. But does this justify the hate ? I, for one, have never seen the difference in the beutiful smile of a child, irrespective of religion. I had decided after the 2002 riots that I'll be and remain secular till the end of my life. Maybe i am incapable or even a coward to not hate,... But I find myself incapable to hate a human-being just because of his religion. Once again, I know that I cannot and will never be able to change the world,... But i can be a difference atleast.


Living in the city area of Ahmedabad, I've come to experience the perceptible fear hanging in air and the lack of information numbing human brains till the point of desperation. It was a point of utter chaos. Streets silent and painted lacked their point of existence during those times. I was not a child back then and my faculties were developed enough to allow me to think. I still see myself waving at Army trucks doing a flag march in the sensitive areas... I was in one. I was afraid,...


Its was a time of no hope. Seemed like our government and law & order, normally inefficient, had ceased to exist in all proximity... The worst of all was the reputed "Indian Media"... They showed inflammatory images again and again. Reports were constantly disturbing and depressing. It is sad that people still die in my country for apparently no reason whatsoever inspite of we being world's largest Parliamentry democracy...


It was a time when man ceased to be human,... There is much to say but i'll stop now. Its for you to decide whether you are going to remain an irrational extremist or a secular self-respecting individual person. And I am quite sure that any book of religion; whether the QUORAN, BIBLE or GITA, doesn't tolerate the killing... Not even for religion. Killing is comparatively quite easy,... I pray to god to help me conquer my hatred. I'll chose to be a human being rather than being a Hindu before I die... As that is what my religion teaches me. To love,...