Some workers were setting up home appliances outside a shop. As the sun heated everything with its blistering rays and created the atmosphere of an oven, sweat rolled off their foreheads like liquid beads, darkening their clothing.

Ravi's dad, Jijroliya, was seated in the office room of his shop. It's my shop, he would say, there should always be italics whenever he says I, me, or mine. He's egoist than thou, remember?

In the meantime, Ravi arrived at the premises of the shop. He parked his bike near footpath and rushed inside. Jijroliya comfortably leaned back the chair with one hand behind his head and feet up on the table. He was chewing the fat on the phone with one of his pals.

Ravi came in—wearing a nervous smile on his lips—and stood at the threshold of the door. The way he stood before his dad, for a stranger, it would appear as if he's one of the employees. Although in the future, he will be the sole owner.

Ravi preferred to wait until his dad finish talking, which took about twenty minutes. Dad, I'm getting late for college! Jijroliya placed his cellphone on the table and glanced at his son scornfully. "What do you want?"

"I want some money for petrol refilling," Ravi replied, almost inaudible.

"Last time, when did you refill it?" While skimming over some official files, he asked this question. There was a sternness in his voice that made Ravi's legs wobbled. The guy becomes timorous as a mouse while talking with his dad.

"About half a week ago, I think so." Ravi guessed, which was undoubtedly an ugly lie.

What Jijroliya hated the most was Ravi's spendthrift nature. Since childhood, he has been teaching a lesson to his son that he often quotes, "you should work like an ass if you want to earn the cash." The idea was to transform Ravi into a penny-pincher. Therefore, he came up with a deal: You help the laborers setting up appliances outside the shop, and get the cash.

What the... I'll be the freaking owner of your shop in the future, and you want me to do this lousy task? Get a life, Dad; I'm not going to do it.

Of course, Ravi could think like this only in his mind. At first, he felt a spasm of anger boiling him. Maybe this time, he will give his dad a piece of his mind. You suck, Dad, you may be a successful businessman but not a great father. Is there any father who treats his only son as a laborer? No? Meet my Dad.

Ravi's glare didn't pacify but grew stronger. "What I suppose to do, Dad?"

Damn! Such a scaredy-cat.

A little later, a sales executive stepped into the scene: to introduce his products for an exhibition. Some home appliances caught Jijroliya's attention, and he brought it. As everything was said and done, he thought to gossip with the sales executive (or rather, let's say bully him). You see, Jijroliya has one quirk in him. Whenever he used to come across with a new bloke, he always bugs the person's brain with questions: "Where are you from?"

"I'm from Punjab," the sales executive said with the humility that brought regards to his geekiness.

"Oh no, bad, because your marketing skills are just like a Rajasthani. That's a real shame for you."

"What you mean by that, sir?"

Jijrolya ignored his answer, rubbing his brow. Rajasthan is a state of India, primarily, well-known for its ancient heritage and business-minded people. Jijroliya has this ethnic pride in him that those who belong to Rajasthan are better businessmen than others. He asked another question. "Do you know the net worth of your boss?"

The sales executive wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulder. "Um, maybe quite the same as yours."

"Nope, there's a hhhuuuggggeee difference. I've studied up to 4th grade. But your boss has a bachelor's degree. So who's has the upper hand?" Jijroliya's challenging tone got crystal clear as he stretched out "huge."

Inspiring enough, Jijroliya had left his home at the age of sixteen and came to Mumbai. He struggled a lot, worked his fingers to the bone, and set up the vast business empire. Now he owned: seventeen shops and one mall in his native place. But in the meantime, he grew haughty and hardly respected anyone regarding success.

On the other hand, the sales executive felt embarrassed. He wanted to argue, but at the same time, he was trained to maintain customer relationships. He let a giggle escape through his lips at that challenge. Not desiring to create any grudge. Jijroliya continued, "Even chartered accountants ask for a job in my shops like beggars." A grin plastered on his face, and ego inflated his heart and mind.

Some laborers praised Jijroliya for his self-admiration, just to create a good impression of them as devoted workers. Shaking his head in embarrassment, the sales executive left, maybe to never have a business with Jijroliya. Who would like to have such an egoist person as a business partner?

As Ravi was about to leave either, Jijroliya told one of the laborers to check his son's pockets—if he hasn't stolen any money from the cash counter. Jijroliya's attitude gave rise to a question in Ravi's mind: How can he do this? What kind of dad is he?

Such bizarre reciprocation never ceases to give pricks in the heart of Ravi. He felt blood thudding crazily in his temples. His eyes moistened, but it helped to mitigate the rage.

******

A group of people crossed the threshold of college. Total five in numbers, they were wearing traditional shirts and jeans. The chief person among them was a politician; his name was Bhau—it meant "brother." Everyone greeted him with reverence, and feared him, because of his political connection. His round shape face always distinguished him as a bully.

The bullies gathered in a queue at the office. One of the Bhau's associate gestured him to look at the two boys, standing ahead of them and were talking in their native language of Uttar Pradesh, Bhojpuri. Sporting a grudge on his face, Bhau decided to harass these two boys since they were from Uttar Pradesh.

Some background: there was a conflict between Marathi people (Indians who live in Eastern India) and individuals who live in Northern India. Marathi people have been grumbling about the unrestricted migration of North Indians to their land because it has led to unemployment. In recent years there was a riot between Marathi and non-Marathi people. Especially one who belongs to Uttar Pradesh, a state of India. It was similar to racism, which has been going in the Western countries.

While standing in the line, Bhau gave a hard slap one of the boy's nape. That boy groaned in pain. He turned around, his eyes caught fear to see Bhau and his associates were laughing at him. The boy still managed to snap back, "Brother. Why did you hit me? That hurt."

Bhau and his buddies acted neutrally on this. After a minute, Bhau again slapped another boy's head, this time much harder. That boy cried out in pain and fell, holding his head. In retaliation, the first boy slightly pushed Bhau and snarled, "Hey! Why you're hitting us for no reason."

But the poor guy didn't know Bhau took a great offense in this slight push. Straight away, he punched hard on that boy's face, which made the boy collapse like a palace of the card. Bhau didn't stop here. He grabbed the boy's collar and wiggled him. "You shithead, how dare you to push me!?"

One of the Bhau's associates spotted some money in a front pocket of that boy. He snatched it away from him. That boy helplessly begged for his money, crying and pleading again and again. "Please give me back my money. I earned it after hard work to sustain my family."

"You should think about it before pushing Bhau," one of Bhau's associates said.

And then Bhau took the money and plunged it into his jeans' pocket. He bellowed: "You blasted North Indians! Now you're studying in my city. After some time, you'll bring your family here and build a slum, because of nasty North Indians like you. Marathi people are jobless."

Bhau pushed those two boys and made a move to leave. Both boys grabbed the arm of Bhau and pleaded him to return the money. Everyone was looking at it, but no one dared to take a step against it or raise their voice.

One professor, however, came out to see what's going on. His temper blew like Vesuvius. He didn't feel scared to rebuke Bhau and his companions. "Bhau! How dare you to molest these innocent boys?"

"I was just kidding. The guy didn't get my joke," Bhau said, gesturing the first boy.

"So you joke like this, hitting someone so harshly?" the professor pointed fingerprints of that hard slap, which was visible on that guy's cheek.

"Come on, professor! Why are you supporting these people? These people don't deserve to live in Mumbai."

"I would say first qualify yourself to live in Mumbai. Give him his money back and go away," said the professor.

Bhau took out the money from his pocket and gave it to that boy and brushed off from there.

*****

When Ravi and Sid came to know this incident that happened in their college, they were feeling pity for those two Northern India boys, but all's well that ends well. The professor turned out to be the savior.

Both of them were on a daily stroll, the perfect time for Sid to kick start his wheel of introspection because, as on now, he was under the impression that only religions are the cause of disturbance in the society. But this ethnic grudge gave him new perceptive to reconsider his thought. Since childhood, we have been taught to have unity among diversity. However, not all the masses apply this code of conduct in their life.

White against black, black against white, nation against nations, religion against religion. Why are not these various phenomena not eradicated from the society? Do religions only cause violence? Or is it the only issue we fight? Confusion made a temporary house in Sid's mind—

"That, Bhau, is such a brute. Why Marathi people have a grudge on North Indians." Ravi broke Sid's introspection.

Sid quickly glared at him. "Everyone is proud of their ethnicity."

"My dad." Ravi heaved a sigh. "He was bullying a sales executive. Because he was a Punjabi."

"Exactly!" Sid burst out, "but you know this doesn't happen only in India, practically whole world is facing such problems. I was reading an article. Still, in America, blacks are discriminated. In France no one knows English, they won't talk to you if you don't know French. They consider English as an inferior language."

"Yes! That's true." Ravi nodded, and then a suggestion popped up in his mind, "I think schools should imbibe nationalism in children. Not Marathi, Punjabi, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, or—"

"However, that's just shifting from one ignorance to another," Sid refuted.

"How come that be?" Ravi's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know. I used to think it's only religions that divide people. But that's just one part of the reality. Did you know World War one and two? It just struck me religions weren't the driving factor for those wars."

Ravi stared at his best friend, who submerged in the introspection.

Why this bodily misidentification? Why are we obsessed with our external identities? When someone dies, one merely becomes a body. No one calls a corpse—a Muslim body, a Hindu body, an Indian body, an American body, it just becomes a dead body. But then why we have to face discrimination just because of our color, ethnicity, nationality, or even religion while we're alive?

There has to be something beyond our bodily designation—something that makes us equal. Not just on a superficial level, like claiming that "we're all equal," but something that is real and leads to universal oneness. What could it be? Sid could only introspect.

*****

A/N: I hope you like this chapter and the message behind it. Sid got a new direction for his spiritual quest. At least now he considers the fact that all conflicts in the based on identification with one's body. Nothing wrong with having pride for something, but mixing ego in the pride is disastrous. Big egos have little ears. Please, share, comment, and vote.