Motherland

Patriotism is almost romantic. At least how it is deemed to be, in our part of the country. Patriotism is green and white here, crescent and star, on the cricket ground, against blue shirts, especially against blue shirts. Until recently that's pretty much all it was. But now things have seemed to change. Poverty, inflation and most of all what is famously a hoax government playing clown in the parliament, that is what has actually pushed the people of this country to understand and show actual patriotism. Coming out on the streets, chanting anti government slogans, that was taking us beyond the usual virtual slurs we threw on social media. This was uniting us, the people, against them, the corrupted, usurpers of the Land of the Pure (as what our country's name is supposed to mean), the most undemocratic democracy in the world.

As Empath cried on the prayer mat that night in early June, the start of summer vacations, she frivolously prayed for the lower middle and lower classes. The price hikes had been terrible since the last 50 days, there were heart wrenching posts on the social media about young fathers thinking about suicide as their means of income were insufficient to support their families and the deficit would kill them either literally, or only in intervals by pushing them below the poverty line. Patriotism curled itself up like a semi hard ball that she was trying to gulp down while sitting on the dinner table with her family listening to the nine o'clock news. It took a good two more hours to wind up the dishes and table and go to her room, make ablution and get time right before midnight to pour out her heart to her Creator while prostrating. It was only then finally that, that imaginary ball went from semi hard, to semi soft, to smaller and finally through her throat out her eyes, salty and hot, earnest and genuine, she felt the pain of the people, actually felt, not just to say, but actually to mean, as if it was her literally standing on the border of a bridge to jump to her death, as many young men weighed the possibility of that night. Patriotism took a new turn, it was no longer associated with the country's victory, but it was now associated with the hope to remove the corrupted and the need of survival…survival of Empath from the pain that slices her every single time she really listens to anyone's sob story. She knew she needed to learn how to cope with it, at this rate, she would only drain herself emotionally. To top it, what would she explain to the world, or to any sane headed therapist too, who would not be able to believe even slightly when she would narrate that she can actually feel what others feel, if she concentrated hard enough. It was more natural and easier when it was pain. Happiness that others felt, she felt, but it wasn't painful. However, if anyone underwent pain, that was a whole different story, she could feel, and the more she cared for someone, the more its presence was daunting. Which is why she secretly called herself the Empath; because superheroes exist only in Marvel or X Men movies or novels and she was no human-turned-into-vampire. Reality was much different, even stranger. People only fantasised superbeings, they actually accepted normal, and Empath knew since long she was not normal, sometimes extraordinary, other times, just plainly abnormal!