Sometimes in the dark of the night, I visit my conscience to see if it is still breathing,

for its dying a slow death

Every day.

When I pay for a meal in a fancy place,

an amount which is perhaps the monthly income of the guard who holds the door open,

And quickly I shrug away that thought.

It dies a little

When I buy vegetables from the vendor,

And his son “chhotu” smilingly weighs the potatoes. Chhotu, a small child, who should be studying at school. I look the other way.

It dies a little.

When I am decked up in a designer dress…

A dress that cost a bomb, And I see a woman at the crossing in tatters, trying unsuccessfully to save her dignity,

And I immediately roll up my window.

It dies a little.

When I buy expensive gifts for my children.

I see half clad children with empty stomach and hungry eyes selling things at the red light. I try to save my conscience by buying some.

Yet, it dies a little.

When my sick maid sends her daughter to work, making her bunk school. I know I should tell her to go back. But, I look at the loaded sink and dirty dishes.And I tell myself that it’s just for a couple of days.

It dies a little.

When I give my son the freedom to come home late from a party. And yet, when my daughter asks, I tell her it is not safe. I raise my voice when she questions “why?”

It dies a little.

When I hear about a rape or a murder of a child, I feel sad. Yet, a little thankful that it’s not my child. I can not look at myself in the mirror.

It dies a little.

When people fight over caste creed and religion. I feel hurt and helpless. I tell myself that my country is going to the dogs. I blame the corrupt politicians. Absolving myself of all responsibilities.

It dies a little.

When my city is choked. Breathing is dangerous in the smog ridden Cities.

I take my car to work daily. Not taking the metro…not trying car pool. One car won’t make a difference, I think.

It dies a little.

So when in the dark of the night I visit my conscience And find it still breathing.

I am surprised for, with my own hands…

Daily, bit by bit, I bury it.