Years ago, a distant relative died in his childhood after suffering from major burns in an accident in the kitchen. I’m not too sure about the place of accident being the kitchen, neither am i too sure of his age, the city he lived in or, for that matter, anything else. There is only one bit that no fading memory can take away from me. So many times people who die leave something behind them. Some of these things are of value to others in the form of memories, teachings, and materials, too. Nothing, however, is more stirring than the unfulfilled wishes that trail about and trouble us forever after someone is gone, irrespective of whether we have known the dead personally. All I remember about the kid is that his was a terrible desperation for eating ice-cream — the decision to fulfil which was worthy of a fight between his parents — in the last moments of his short life. Oh, what was his name?
I have not seen one such family that after benefitting from reservation based on caste had stood up and decided for the next generation to pass up the privilege. So let’s not talk about equality again.