The Red Pill

I wore this mask of illusion with pride, 

Illusion about human rights, and our intrinsic values. 

Illusions about how we are better than them because our culture is ancient

and our heritage has stood the test of time. 

Illusions reinforced by adages repeated over and over like fascist chants—

”Saare jahaan se accha..”, “naari tu naarayanii”.

Illusions about how Sita is as venerable as Ram, 

and how Draupadi’s pride was protected in front of a crowd, 

and why Radha’s name precedes Krishna’s.

I was told to sing songs about our democracy,

and about the number of engineers we duly manufacture.

And how can we forget our space program? 

One day it rained heavily and my mask fell off, 

I fell into an abyss—which you can call “the absurd”. 

I saw us for who we are. 

I saw because I sought to see. 

I saw lies and lies repeated over and over, although in reality—

Sita was exiled. 

Draupadi was sold.

Radha was only a glorified mistress. 

And our rockets go to space while a poor engineer on my street cries. 

I saw how our doors were never opened for the rays of truth to permeate our minds.

Why are there no proper libraries in my cities and villages? 

Why are all my movies and songs about love? 

Why did my textbooks reek of misinformation and propaganda? 

Why was I never introduced to Hegel and Chomsky, and Camus and Kant? 

Why was I told to dislike philosophy and western ideas? 

Why was I told to not ask why? 

While cows meander merrily through our streets, 

millions of women WhatsApp their locations.

While we shout slogans of conformity, 

Millions of acute knives are thrust deeper into our individualities. 

While we gloat about our scientific ingenuity, 

they publicly unclothe our intellectuals and doctors with fiction and fear. 

As the world shrinks and boundaries blur, 

the sun will go down on their kingdom of deception, 

clouds of distrust will growl, 

a chill of truth will slither through our beings,

and it will rain again.