I was sitting in a café in New York today, watching the world walk past my table. This was unlike other eateries—people came here alone, not with their families.
Next to me was a white American who had initially jumped two steps when my wife nearly took his Coke from the counter, but now he kept quiet, and we kept quiet too.
At the next table, a mother was trying to get her toddler son to eat, but she kept her face down, telling the world it was her private problem.
A girl sat with her laptop, and I wondered as she tapped words onto her screen, whether in a major mix-up she might not accidentally eat her words instead of the hamburger she’d ordered.
The air was alive—nay, dead—with accents, colours, and smells. Different people, different cultures, all in the same space.
All silent.
And then it struck me—so many people in one small place, all eating the same food, sipping the same coffee, breathing the same air… yet there was no connection. No conversation between tables, no smiles exchanged, not even a polite nod.
Just numbers. Numbers without oneness.
And suddenly I realised—this isn’t just a café scene. This is today’s world.
Crowds, but no community.
Divided by our differences.
But before you sigh and point to the White House or Delhi’s Parliament, let me take you back a few years to my own company, and a manager I had—a Goan gentleman—who you’d think, being a churchgoing man, would preach love and togetherness. Instead, even inside church, he was relentless in his dislike for Mangaloreans. “The Mangies,” he would tell me with disdain, as if the very word was a curse.
And this wasn’t politics. This was just… us.
The truth is, the divisions politicians exploit aren’t created in Parliament—they’re created in our homes, our churches, our workplaces, our jokes, even our matrimony ads. “No, she’s too dark.” “We want a taller boy.” North against South. City against village.
So when we point our fingers at politicians for dividing us, let’s be honest—they don’t conjure these cracks from thin air.
They simply take the prejudices we’ve been polishing for decades, wrap them neatly in a campaign, and hand them right back.
They don’t create division—they monetise it.
It’s like giving someone a box of matches and then blaming them when they start a fire. The dry wood—our biases, our snobbery, our “us versus them” mindset—is already stacked high. Politicians just strike the match.
So, before we demand unity from a leader, let us take an oath to demand it from ourselves. Yes, heal our divides, scrape them out of our own talk, our thoughts, and our actions.
Because until we do, not just politicians—but anyone—can play with your mind and mine.
And that’s my café conclusion: unity doesn’t start in Parliament. It starts with you and me…!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
