Irony

By Pooja Pasricha

Born into the priviledged lineage of the keepers of dharma.

The learned ones,

the consecrated ones,

ordained by God himself,

created in his very image.

To uphold societal sanctity,

preserve morality.

Custodian of the purity of the kosher soul.

She was the epitome of human supremacy.

Elite aristocracy wrapped in casteism.

That haughty arrogance.

The hubris.

Her first born,

the carrier,

of the inheritance.

Of the chaste genes.

He was the guardian of the Vedas, Puranas.

He was the embodiment of the holy scriptures.

He was,

defiant and common,

a pagan to her dogmas.

He believed,

he knew of men,

with the goodness of God.

Embraced those that were shunned.

He could not deny another human,

dignity.

Ousted and disinherited by his own .

He knew of no greater blessing.

Like blanched tomatoes, that's how his mother's skin looks like now.

Delicate, brittle like rice paper.

He is afraid to touch her.

She is fragile, just like her ego once.

Her bones, hollowed and porous.

A hug would break her.

She had become untouchable.

By Pooja Pasricha