For all its present crudity my race had many saving graces in its past. By ‘my race’ I don’t mean the Aryans or Dravidians or the countless other classification systems by which my people choose to slaughter themselves.
I do not choose geography as the criteria to identify myself. As some of the ancient travelers did, I am not me because I live on one side of the Indus.
Nor am I Dravidian because of the color of my skin, or because I live south of the Vindhyas.
My identity is not subject to the racial notions that the western conquerors wanted to thrust upon me.
I am not defined by the language I was born into. Language is conferred by the accident of birth, but the speech of my mind exceeds man made languages.
My identity is not encoded in the genes that make up my physical self. Nor am I the mental being made up of time-born conceptions, ideas, opinions and all the impedes the self.
I define my identity by my deepest beliefs, by values that don’t change with the notional values of society.
As hero or villain. As the victor or the vanquished. As delight or anguish. Through all runs a single strain, an eternal music of silence that supports the cacophony.
I am my deepest self. And you too dear soul, you too.