By Muskan Tibrewala
My father taught me when I was four years old that we greet everyone with,
Ram Ram
My mother’s sweet voice, put me to sleep as a kid with the lullaby,
Ram Sita Ram, Sita Ram, Jai Jai Ram
My grandmother read the Ramayan to me when I was nine. Reciting the hanuman chalisa and lighting a diya every day, because she said it would help me do well in school.
rāma lakhan sītā sahita hridaya basahu sura bhūpa॥
As a teen, I sang bhajans in front of guests while my family watched me proudly,
tu antaryami, sabka swami,
he Ram, he Ram
When I was fifteen years old, I spent all thirteen days of my grandfather’s funeral writing Ram in red ink in empty cells in notebooks that would be buried with his body,
| Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram |
| Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram | Ram |
Attending a meeting on “Nafrat ke Khilaf” as a first-year college student, which recognized the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Babri Masjid demolition, I learnt for the first time what was being done in the name of my god,
“Ram ke Naam”
Reading, watching, learning, and developing conflicting feelings for what I grew with. Understanding what meant love and devotion to me, is now the weapon and marker of fascism and bigotry,
JAI SHRI RAM
Bio:
Muskan Tibrewala is a fifth-year law student at Jindal Global Law School.
***
Like Cafe Dissensus on Facebook. Follow Cafe Dissensus on Twitter.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday is the blog of Cafe Dissensus magazine, born in New York City and currently based in India. All materials on the site are protected under Creative Commons License.
***
Read the latest issue of Cafe Dissensus Magazine, “Pandemics/Epidemics and Literature”, edited by Nishi Pulugurtha, Kolkata, India.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 