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Excerpt from the book I'm writing:
One day we went to help in a nearby field, I noticed a deep trench dug in the ground. Asked my companion and I pointed to the sky, and made a hand plane and the other pump. "Hindus," he said with astonishing calm. And at dinner I found out that Indian aircraft, having violated the sky Pakistan had dropped a few bombs in the fields. He did not kill or hurt anyone, but a house had been damaged and were still arranging, and tenants who had been thrown to the ground, frightened shrapnel and built the trench.
And I thought about what our friend told us commander, that the Pakistanis were his people, both as to the other side of the border, and never attack or bombed population, but the Indians felt at home outside and did not care to do so in either of the two sides.
Years ago, during the Yugoslav wars, I thought of those words, when my younger sister asked me, upon hearing the news from Sarajevo ...
- How is it that some guys who have been brothers, who speak the same language, playing with the same selection, bomb and kill in this way so barbaric? -
And is that Serbs never considered as part of the Bosnians themselves, but to their land, the taxes collected. For them it was part of Greater Serbia.
That is extreme nationalism.
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