Dear India,

Growing up, I have hated you, or rather the idea of you. I know that hate is a strong word, but due to the stories I had heard of the partition by my grandparents and the memoirs of the 1965 and the 1971 wars my Nanu Baba has shared with me over the dinner table, I could not fight the hatred that settled in my mind for you. For me, you were the enemy. The enemy that, for the past 70 or so years, has not allowed our army to rest. The enemy who took away so much, it could have been compensated.

But, when I grew up, at least old enough to look past the differences, and to overcome the dark history we have shared, and focus on the similarities, somehow the hatred dissolved. Or rather buried itself somewhere inside of me. With the hope of on being good side in the apparent era of 'love' and 'peace,' I forced myself to believe that aman ki asha was a real thing. Even when my heart was not content, I believed it was true.

However, in recent times, the deeply buried hatred dug itself out. The disgust I have felt for the way you habitually turn hypocritical found its way up again. I may not believe in war, I may not believe in violence but I believe that you are really the enemy. Always have been and there is no such thing as aman ki asha, at least not until the kashmir issue is left unresolved. And I would truly be a fool to think otherwise.

Signing off.