“What’s wrong with the world?” She asked. Uh. Kids, they always ask the most profound question, but they never patiently wait for an answer.
I didn’t know where to start. And frankly, I just wanted her to finish her breakfast, so that I could get done with my chores at home.
Despite finishing each task in order, her question kept nagging me. Kids, hmmm… I wondered.
As I entered her room, I saw her drink milk from her sipper. Just as I started cleaning the room she distracted me with the same question. What can you and most importantly how does one explain something like this?
Then I wondered if wars etc., was something you’d tell a child. But I decided to go ahead with my lecture anyway.
“When people sympathise with you, because you belong to the same religion, that’s what’s wrong with the world. When there is “brotherhood” based solely on the God you worship, that’s what’s wrong with the world. When the life of a human depends on the religion they belong to, that’s what’s wrong with the world,” I didn’t stop there.
I kept talking and she looked at me with the genuine interest that only a child could gather. “Religion might be the one thing that binds most us, but we’ve also managed to make it the one that puts up walls. So, no I can’t tell you what’s wrong with the world, because there isn’t one thing that’s wrong! There are a hundred things!”
“But… but…” She faintly mumbled. As she rubbed her eyes, making no attempt to stifle a yawn, I felt very proud of myself. I might not be doing anything to make the world a better place, but hey! I’m talking about it. Isn’t that enough?
Anyway, I realised it was time for her afternoon nap and as I tucked her in her bed and began to walk away, she asked me again, “What’s wrong with the world?”
As I turned towards her, slightly annoyed, I saw pointing at something with her tiny finger.
“What is wrong with the world,” she asked again, this time pointing at the broken globe that lay on the floor.