The Not-So-Fine Line

They've told us time and again that the line between a terrorist and a freedom fighter is thin, and the labels depend upon perception alone.

It is not my brief to venture into technicalities on such a subject, for no doubt, scholars may have done much splendid work in the field. In my mind, 'terrorist' and 'freedom fighter' are contradictory ideas. Simply because, a terrorist does not fight for anyone's freedom.

Is it for the freedom of his people that he fights? The people are the ones who suffer most, for he is one of them.

Is it for his cause that he spills his blood? The cause only becomes illegitimate for it is marred by violence in its means.

Is it for his rights that he terrorizes? He only takes away the rights of others, taking away his own and another's right to life.

Is it for God that the terrorist becomes a terrorist? God gives an individual life and never the right to take it away.

A terrorist may be fighting for a selfish cruel instinct but he is not fighting for freedom. A freedom fighter's is a real battle. A terrorist's is one that nobody wins.

The City of the Lake

I have seen the city of the lake and it is beautiful.

Sunbeams rain reflection upon the surface of the hazel brown water and gleam upon it like firestars in the day. At night, it is the more artificial gems that shine upon a still black plain that the lake creates - pearls scattered on velvet. The hills surround you at every point. They are green in abundance and their foliage dances to the mountain winds sweeping through clouds made of pure wool and gossamer. The sky is always a sharp and stark blue, clear in its colour and crisp in its texture.

Market places are few, but relative to the size of the city, several. Colourful stalls stand short and at shoulder with each other, filled to their gills with woollen, wax and plastic treasures. Candles on a dozen shelves every half meter tell fascinating narratives of grandeur. Figures in black stand in worship, white waves intertwine in elaboration, colours mingle in harmony, treats of pink sprinkled with illuminable delights, ferns and dried floral glory embedded into permanence, sugar encrusted aroma of translucence, glazed fruit, creatures of the forest, characters of a fantasy. Wood broods in its majesty elsewhere, ornamented with metal that is restrained in its yellow blaze.

One turns to the lake again - it is a festival of sails and boats where dragons and swans of exquisite gloss spin and trail making ripples and oars create small splashes that shine like diamonds from where you're looking.

A temple red, exuberant in its music, ringing and streams of small golden lights is near a Gurudwara of pristine white and tunes. The mosque, under renovation is architectural beauty embodied in marble and stone and the minarets are many. The church is resplendant in the hint of a glorious past - gray cool stone and red calming peaks that are led to from a blue metal arch.

The hills around are dotted with habitation in the style of literary towns of the fantasy canon. Red roofs and colours from the entire palette of nature - faint greens, gentle pinks, sparkling whites, candy yellows, sky blues, peaches and oranges, flora and fauna, fragrant mauves and wood.

The market places are alive with the scents of spices and sizzling smoke. Here something steams and is being fried - sauces, chillies, sweet syrups and cream are heady.

The city of the lake is a feast for the senses and the panoramic gaze will settle on nothing - there's a glint of colour after every scene.