I had only contempt for him. An Amul baby, all the way. I made fun of him At newsrooms and in debates.
One such day, I was at my best Finding faults and laughing my heart out At the expense of that Amul baby.
All of a sudden A voice from nowhere Pulled me down to earth, And said thus.
You made fun of me, didn’t you? You called me an Amul baby That baby who gave its toothless smile And made baby noises to its grandma, Did you hear the sound of bullets That punctured its soul? When it ran, calling out to its father, Did you find blood splattering on its little dress, From a body that was blown to smithereens Like a chain of firecrackers?
That voice was Dripping water on me, Blown, burnt and scattered as I was.
My blistered contempt Has a lingering slight irritation now.