Last night’s Delhi riots have triggered a lot of people. My 82 year old dad spoke at length today about 16 August 1946 in Calcutta when thousands lost their lives due to communal violence. He was 8 and had been instructed to stay at home and take care of his younger siblings. Curiosity got the better of him and he climbed on the table to look out the window. He witnessed the mob chase down one of his neighbour uncles and hack him to pieces. Not something a child of 8 should see, but the memories were still so clear as dad described the horror. The loss of a neighbour who ruffled his hair and retrieved his cricket ball. An inoccent hardworking man. With a family who waited for him. With a little boy who never forgot him even after 74 years. (Who shared his story with his daughter who could do nothing, but cry and pray for the loss of inoccent lives down the passage of time.)

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