Abate!

After the storm abated he would return home to the mainstream locality that he stubbornly refused to leave for safety.

Coming within a whisker of death, seeing the heap of pictures burn down to ashes, he wonder if his life's work was finished, being escorted under armed guard to safety and, finally, contemplating a permanent shift to a locality with more Muslims, Indianness was being crushed.
Except, his heart aches; it hasn't stopped aching since then. The question, "Who gave, who took," has become a cruel taunt.

The silence in the room was so deafening. With slender frame shaking like a leaf in a storm and scorching brine finally escaping his eyes, he asked a group that had turned to stone, "Who gave them the right to take away my life — the dignity with which I walked the streets, my mother whose lap I passed my childhood of innocence, will I be able to call her mother again?"

I was dead and I was a victim on the move. Every moment of life is weighed down by the Jinx. It is not easy to explain - because it's like one fine day this queasy feeling in your stomach which tells you that there is something wrong and a recurring feeling that you are unable to break the creation of jinx with many of the ideas that you have.

It is not due to the lack of valid reasons but more so because of a complete detachment with the reality which conficts your fear. Impeccable logic to trap the countless fears... ain`t it?

Relief alone is not enough, there has to be a transformation in lives as well. this is when I live again