THE SINGLE RED SOCK

Even the very thought of writing this topic is increasing my heart palpitations. I had actually written couple of lines, then realised there is no point naming people in power or countries, for the mindless violence inflicted on civilians displayed on news everyday seems to be a constant feature with most nations.

The terms genocide, bloodbath usually was synonymous with Hitler for a very long time, but today if I look around, I am falling short of fingers on my hand and toes on my feet, of the number of people in power today who do not blink an eye in perpetrating violence on innocent civilians in their own country. 

My scattered, incongruous mind, the mere mention of falling short of fingers and toes reminds me of my childhood at home, when doing Mathematics, if I couldn't do additions or subtractions with fingers, I would use my toes if the numbers were double digit numbers. The habit carried itself accidentally at school also, where my red socks' covered toes in black shoes substituted as digits in Mathematics class. The very thought transports me back in time as memories of my school, small town where I grew come flooding and bring a smile on my face. 

Strange are the ways of the human mind, here I have sat down intending  to write about a thought which has been wearing me down from long, yet here, I have travelled back to a happy memory of childhood. Maybe my mind is incapacitated to handle the mention of gruesome killings all around in the name of power and prefers to embalm with soothing childhood memories which smoothen out the wrinkles of  bereavement.

But, what about the pain of those innocent children in those countries  caught in  the crossfire? They do not have a enjoyable childhood to clothe their sufferings. Day after day their tiny eyes are an innocent witness to the unending hostilities.

Nonetheless, my school's red sock always had a match even when sweaty or soaked, washed or dried, folded neatly in the cupboard or worn by me. But how many children in those war torn nations, or in nations suffering from inflictions  have only a single sock left? The other blood red sock hopelessly lies buried under the debris  bearing a shrapnel wound, the missing toes eager to perform calculations.