“Thank you India”

In Parsiana (August 2004) I read an advertisement from the Parsi and Irani Zoroastrians who are proud to be Indians, stating: "Thank you India for over 1,000 years of freedom.”

I find we Parsis/Iranis are divided into two main groups. One group believes that this country has nothing much to offer and that they should make their lives elsewhere — if for nothing else, then for cleaner streets, unadulterated food, ownership of better equipment/property, a supposedly subtle accent, and ultimately for a better future for their children, even if it means being second class citizens for the rest of their lives, because racial discrimination, even if not open and gross, does peep through the chinks of an obviously tolerant society. Then there is the other group which equally strongly believes that this is the country where we were born, where we should give our best, and where we should die, however dirty the grave, however polluted the air. Where no one will dare to point a finger and say you don’t belong here.

Going places and seeing the world is fine, but when it comes to belonging, I am proud to belong here — to this ancient country, whose history, whose immense wealth of traditions, values, religion and culture cannot be matched. I do not go into raptures over the antiseptic world outside. I for one would always long for the smells and sounds, for the peace and madness, the dirt and squalor, the kindness and gentleness, the poverty and dignity, the unity in diversity that is India.

Your advertisement awoke in me the old ‘I belong here’ feelings which had been dormant for a while, so I looked through my file and brought out this poem I had written some years ago, when communal riots colored our streets, and a torn and bleeding country held on with dignity while its people healed. I would like to share this poem with your readers:

When we touched your shores many years ago,

Fleeing from our own;

You opened out your heart to us

We walked in - tired and wind-blown.

Our milk-and-sugar promise

You accepted with trust

It has now become a legend —

Printed indelibly in the dust.

We mingled with your myriads

We were never second place

You never questioned anything

We reveled in your grace.

We kept our color and our name

You never cramped our style;

You proudly watched us rise and grow

As we labored every mile.

You gave us much — but most of all

You gave freedom to our soul—

A bleeding, persecuted people —

With love — you made us whole.

Today, as your gods do vie

And your streets are red with blood

We share your pain, your agony

We share the squalor and the mud.

This epistle of gratitude

At your feet we lay:

We want to ease your agony

Your love, with love repay.

THRITY E. BHARUCHA