For the last few years I’ve been hearing of one of our political readers who hardly rests and is always is in a hurry. I do understand that as that was once how I lived. In fact, for years on end, my time spent in the shower could have got me a mention in the Guinness world records, as the shortest time taken to bathe. I step into bathtub, and with same movement switch on the shower, steady my feet and reach for the soap. Everything else, the scrubbing and toweling are all done with the same quickness and ambidextrous movements.

The Whatsapp message that came to me was from a phone number of an Indian in America, it said, ‘Terror has no religion’. However it was not making a statement, it was mocking a particular religious community, with statistics and data that had sarcasm dripping from the pen of the writer.

After sending it to a group which had a sizable number of members from the same community he’d attacked, he then sent another message saying, ‘Sorry wrong group!’

Clever tactic by someone who wanted to get a point across, then say, ‘I didn’t mean it for you!’

 ‘Twas two years ago, three friends and I drove to Goa, and stopped at a well-known restaurant for lunch. It was an open-air eatery and as we sat we could see car loads of families coming with hungry passengers looking famished and tired. The fathers seated themselves at the head of the table and drank their beer while the mothers ordered.

Suddenly I felt a hush. I had my back to the car park and asked my friends what was happening. "It's a car full of young girls!" said one of my friends. Every man in the room had his eyes fixed lustily outside as I saw the girls entering: They were children! Just about fifteen to seventeen years old. They came in eyes down and felt themselves ravaged by the lecherous looks they were getting. Even as I looked up at them a thought came to me; they're like my own daughters! They are my children!

The rain fell in gentle drops onto the waiting leaves that seemed to be smiling as they raised their branches heavenward and received their watery blessing. The birds sang happily, and lazily flew from tree to tree enjoying the droplets and playing a game with the lenient raindrops.

She sat at the window crying.

He walked to her. “Is there something amiss?” he asked.

With patriotism being questioned, sedition being defined and slogans being the criteria for motherland loyalty, we may have a confused people in the country: My daughter, who stands at attention when the national anthem is played even on TV for the cricket team, stopped me at the door while I was leaving, “You can’t dress like this dad! Very unpatriotic!” she exclaimed pulling the tie of my neck, making me wince with pain.