Present Day Herbert It starts with us. It starts with us. You wake up from your deep slumber. You prefer sleep but can’t help it when a cacophonic rendition of the iconic song reverberates in the silent air.  The same song, again, triggering a memory you’d rather leave behind. You look around. Everyone ahead, behind and beside you is fast asleep, securely tucked inside the white sheets. Why are you the only one getting disturbed?  You press your hands to your ears and attempt to go back to sleep. But the music seeps into your conscience. After ten minutes of struggle to go back to the world you woke up from, you concede defeat, shove the sheet and the other paraphernalia aside from your body, and amble towards the solitary window in the room.  Darkness greets you as you open the window. The pre-dawn air caresses your face. You could have heard a pin drop somewhere on the premises but for the song. The lyrics sound louder, their pitch clearer from where you stand.  It starts with us We are the ones Who have to take the action To make peaceful, non-violent change Nobody is going to do it for us We are the only ones That can make the change It starts with us. It starts with us. At one point in time, you did agree with most of what you are hearing now. Now, you know better. Non-violence is bullshit. Not to say that violence is advisable, but at least it gives you notoriety, if nothing else. Non-violence gives you neither results nor prominence. You have witnessed it from close quarters.  Anyway, your ideals and thoughts are not the discussion points here. Who is this terrible singer disturbing your sleep at four in the morning? Even the roosters haven’t stirred, it seems.  You splash cold water on your face, tie the laces of your sneakers and bolt down the stairs. Are your shoes making too much noise on the wooden stairs? Well, you don’t care. No one in this world cares about you and your sleep.  Jasmine It starts with us. It starts with us. You know you are meant to be the greatest singer in the world someday; it is a matter of time. So what if no one else believes in the beauty of your dreams? You believe in yourself, and you are enough. You need consistent practice to hone your craft. But everyone around you covers their ears with their hands and rolls their eyes when you start singing. You had thought that this place at least would be different from home, where your disciplinarian father had removed all the music CDs from your room for disturbing the peace of the house and asked you to refrain from singing — forever. You didn’t listen to him then, and now find yourself sharing space with strangers in this two-storey building. Some of the other occupants are nice, but all of them have collectively decided to banish you from their presence unless you stop singing. Screw everyone. Nothing and no one comes between you and your dreams. You come out in the ground adjoining the building and sit down at the nearest place you find, shrugging off the foggy darkness shrouding your surroundings. Not a soul is to be seen anywhere. This is the time and place to put your vocal cords to practice.  The chirps of the birds encourage you to soar higher. Why not sing your favourite song today? It has been donkey’s years since you last sang it. But what you resist persists. The only way to let go of all resistance is acceptance. You start to chant, and then vociferate, your favourite song, the verses of which speak to your heart.  It starts with us We are the ones Who have to take the action To make peaceful, non-violent change Nobody is going to do it for us We are the only ones That can make the change It starts with us. It starts with us. Is that noise coming from the men’s room upstairs? The soft, nimble footsteps reaching your ears confirm your doubts. Has someone come to banish you from here too? No respect for talent, indeed.   You feel a shiver run down your spine as you continue to sing. If you weren’t scared then, why should you be afraid now? Herbert It starts with us. It starts with us. The words have taken hold of your mind by the time you climb down the last of the stairs and take a right turn towards the ground to locate the source of your interrupted sleep. Then draw your breath at the sight of the delicate lithe body perched comfortably on the white marble, looking defiant. Which part of the world does the girl belong to?  You carefully tread towards her, looking on fascinated with each step forward. Finally, you are in her line of sight, standing in front of her. Chubby cheeks, dimple chin, rosy lips, pearly white teeth within. Now, why do your musings seem familiar? Her dark skin goes perfectly with her short, curly, black hair, blending seamlessly with the atmosphere. She has a more beautiful face than voice, for sure. She looks young, cannot be more than sixteen-seventeen years. What is she doing at this godforsaken place?  You stare at her. Her shiny green eyes meet yours. There is a barely discernible pause before she looks through you and continues with her rendition. Your heart goes out to the lonely figure shouting at the top of her lungs. Her voice, while not melodious, is passionate. You instinctively know that music is the only elixir of her sad existence.  Does this song hold some significance for her? Unlike a few minutes ago, you don’t want her to stop singing anytime soon. Your anger gives way to wonder as you sit beside the figure, giving her silent company. As you listen from close quarters, the voice also sounds familiar.  The singer seems unfazed by the proximity and continues steadfast. It starts with us. It starts with us.  Jasmine It starts with us. It starts with us.  You get a sense of someone standing in front of you, staring with an open mouth. You can’t see whether it is a him or her, being blind since birth. You pause for a split second before carrying on adamantly. What is there to fear? If violence couldn’t stop you earlier, why should the threat of it stop you now? You feel the breeze blow on your face again, and then sense the warmth next to you. Whoever it is, is now sitting at your side. The air around you exudes familiarity.  Is it the same man? Your voice picks up pace, and you sing even louder to suppress the excitement in your gut. It starts with us. It starts with us.  Herbert It starts with us. It starts with us.  Could it be the same girl, you wonder, your ears tuned into the lyrics. Everything that has ever changed with society Has been done by people We always have to have faith in ourselves We can make the changes When we have in other people too So, understand that one person alone cannot do it. We all have to be together We have to take collective action It starts with us. It starts with us. Yes, it is the same voice. You close your eyes and recall being drawn to the same passionately resolute cacophony two years ago.  Two Years Ago Herbert You have come to the peaceful, non-violent rally to support your black friends. Eventually, all of you are separated in the maddening crowd. As you mull turning back, a voice emanating from the centre of the crowd arrests you. It starts with us. It starts with us. You don’t have a particular taste for music, and yet are drawn to the voice like iron to magnet. Others in the crowd are crooning with her, the noise around you reaches a crescendo. “She cannot see, but she sings so well,” somebody in the crowd says to someone. You don’t agree with the singing well part. But there is something about the singer. Her belief in every word of what she croons is contagious. It starts with us. It starts with us.  You don’t realise at what exact moment you, too, join the chorus, having a sudden urge to stand side-by-side with the singer and lend her support. For now, nothing else on earth is of greater significance to you than ‘Black Lives Matter.’  You slice through the crowd in the rally to reach her.  Behind you, someone fires a gun.  “Nooo,” you yell and lunge forward, covering the singer’s body with yours as you feel a bullet pierce your spine and cut through your heart.      You don’t even get a proper glimpse of her face as your world goes blank. The verse reverberates in your head even as you meet your death.  It starts with us. It starts with us.  Jasmine You are contributing to the cause you believe in, using the same talent that you want to leverage to make your living. Life couldn’t have been better, so you think.  You go to the rally with your friends. They shout, and you sing.  It starts with us. It starts with us. Soon, you feel a throng of people envelop you, intent on matching your pace and voice. Excited and intimidated at the same time, you carry on.  We all have to be together We have to take collective action It starts with us. It starts with us. As you sing, you suddenly sense someone standing a bit too close to you. Should you pause and ask the person to move back?  Snap. You hear a gunshot even as a man jumps over you. You feel the bullet piercing his chest and enter yours even as he pulls you down to the ground with him.  You implore yourself to continue singing as the world around you starts spinning. It starts with us. It starts with us. Present Day Jasmine It starts with us. It starts with us. You exhort louder, feeling his acute presence. What is he doing in the cemetery?  Is there a dead man walking around the graveyard? Must be. Living beings come to this isolated edifice in the forest only to deposit the dead. If you are fortunate, you get a decent burial, like the person on whose grave you are sitting at present. If you are like most of the inhabitants here, your unidentified body lies inside the building till someone comes forward to claim it. Those living souls who dare to step foot at this place always come during the day. At this hour, no human will step an inch near this haunted graveyard. Lying with the other girls and ladies in the women’s wing on the ground floor, you are privy to the excited whispers about the ‘men’s room upstairs.’ No one knows how many of the opposite sex lay dead there. Some of your peers wish for a secret rendezvous someday. You never envisaged yourself to be the pioneer on this front. But in a way, you are now, that too with the same person who had once attempted to save your life.  Your mind is running rampant. You want to pause, talk to him and listen to what he has to say about that episode at the rally. But you cannot stop singing until the world acknowledges you as a great singer.  So what if your world has changed? You can be the greatest singer in the land of the dead.  And you need to achieve your ambition fast; your parents will come to cremate you in another three days, and you don’t know how the world will change for you after that.  “The ventilator is of no use now. She is gone forever,” a doctor at the hospital had pronounced three days ago. You were listening to every word till they pulled the plug, and your mind went blank. Then you wake up and find yourself in this cemetery. When and where did you die? Was it on that fateful day on the peaceful rally for Black Lives Matter? Or was it at the public hospital when they stopped the ventilator that kept you breathing?      Well, the past doesn’t matter now. Your goals and ambitions for the future do.  Your aspirations aside, someone needs to stand up for the cause. Very few humans have a spine. Unless they unite, there will be more dead than living beings on the planet. Until then, it is up to the dead to protect the living. Putting your feelings aside for the sake of your duty, you continue singing. The only time that we lose Is when we quit We can’t afford to quit But we also can’t afford to wait The time is now. It starts with us. It starts with us. Herbert It starts with us. It starts with us. You have mixed feelings; glad to have finally put a face to the voice that keeps pounding your head, but also sad that the one for whom you had laid down your life didn’t survive. It is a dead girl who sings beside you.  You have so many questions. What is her name? Why should she still remain blind after death? Why had she come to the rally that day? What did she think of the shooting incident and its aftermath?  But you don’t want her to stop singing.  Well, it is not necessary for a man to have answers to all questions. Then you remember that, technically, you are no longer a man but a ghost.  You had been sleeping for long. Ever since your world went blank in that Black Lives Matter rally. Your head still kept reverberating with the rendition of It Starts with Us that you heard in the rally, even as you listened to your parents plead to the doctors at the expensive private hospital to make you wake up. “The ventilator has outlived its purpose. He is dead now,” you heard the doctors say three days ago, followed by utter silence. Even the song stopped playing in your head after that time. Until you woke up today to the same song. When did you die? Was it at the rally earlier, or was it at the hospital much later? Can one die twice? Your mind has questions galore but very few answers. Does it even matter? The voice intersects your thoughts.       So, we have to really believe in ourselves We don’t have to be invited We have to invite ourselves, say: “I am going to be part of the movement I am the movement. It starts with us. It starts with us. Myself, my brothers and my sisters All of us Acting together We are the movement.” And we have to remember that. It starts with us. It starts with us. You continue to listen in companionable silence as the cacophonous voice sounds melodious to your ears.  Author’s Note: Lyrics Credit: It Starts with Us by Sheila E, released in August 2017.  As a writer, you have taken the creative liberty to connect the song with the Black Lives Matter Life in the story.    Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!