Dear India,
You are my blanket. My place of warmth, my safety bubble, my familiar cosy corner. I wish to wrap myself in your comfort, to find solace in my vulnerability. But this particular blanket, India, is special. It doesn't just keep me warm, but wraps everyone in its embrace. It doesn't see caste, colour, ethnicity, size, belief or wealth. It doesn't sense gender, age, profession or power. It doesn't discriminate against religions, languages, rituals or backgrounds. We are all welcome in its bosom.
I am far, far away from my blanket right now. I miss its tender hug, its intimacy, its asylum. I miss the people, the smell of spices, the shifting landscapes and the swirling flavours. However far my leg treads away from my blanket, it will always have my heart.
And when the night is dark and cold, when the monsters under the bed try to snatch our cover, we will all hold onto it until our final breath. We will hold onto its last fibre, its last thread and the final stitch. The monsters may scare us, belittle us or make us scream, but our conviction will not waver. And in the end, the night will pass, the cold will vanish, and the people will wake up alive and refreshed, while the monsters perish in the scathing light of day.
We will protect our blanket and our blanket will protect us.
With limitless love,
Jamila
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