The War Outside, The Questions Within

~ MMC 2.0

Even when war makes no sense, a mother’s voice is enough.

“There’s a war happening,” says Mummy.

I stop chewing my banana. A war? Here? In our quiet little town, where the biggest battles are over who gets the crispiest dosa? That doesn’t make sense.

Mummy was talking to Daddy about it while he read the newspaper. I wasn’t supposed to be listening, but I always did. Grown-up conversations were far more interesting than what they chose to tell me.

There are so many things I don’t understand, but that’s why Mummy exists. She always has answers. And the best part? She never gets tired of explaining, no matter how many times I ask the same thing.

So, I tug at her sari. Too many questions crowd my head, but the most important one comes out first.

“Are we going to die?”

Mummy sighs but smiles. “No, silly. We’re safe.”

I’m not fully convinced, but I decide to believe her. Mummy knows everything.

That evening, Daddy comes home early. That never happens. Mummy says we have to eat quickly because there might be a power cut.

Something is definitely going on.

We finish dinner, and suddenly, the night explodes with sirens.

It starts as a distant wail, stretching across the town like a long, trembling breath. Then another joins in. And another. Until the air itself is howling. The lights flicker and vanish. The darkness isn’t regular night-time darkness. It’s thick. Heavy. Like someone has thrown a giant black cloth over the whole town.

Mummy says we have to step outside. That’s the rule.

This makes absolutely no sense.

“Shouldn’t we stay inside? If something is falling from the sky, isn’t a roof a good thing to have?”

Mummy shakes her head. “It’s safer outside.”

Safer outside? Where there’s nothing between us and whatever is up there? That doesn’t sound safe to me.

I stall in the verandah, leaning against our X-shaped pillar, tracing the cool, mosaic surface with my fingers. This place is familiar, solid. This is where we always stand when Mummy brings out her camera. If anyone asks for directions to our house, we just say: Look for the one with the X-shaped pillars.

That’s where I want to be. Not out there in the dark.

But Mummy calls me again, so I shuffle reluctantly to the roadside.

Neighbours are already gathered, whispering, eyes turned upward. Then… whoosh!

A plane. A deep, growling roar swells in the sky, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. The sound is so big, it feels like it’s inside my chest, shaking my ribs. I grip Mummy’s fingers tighter. My stomach twists… like when I swing too high on the swing in Kottayam and suddenly regret it.

I sneak a glance at Mummy’s face. Calm. Daddy’s, too.

That’s how I decide we’re not in real danger.

The sirens fade. The plane is gone. The town stays dark, just murmured conversations floating in the air.

For the past few days, all the car headlights have been painted with black patches. Some cars have a thick strip across the top; others, like Daddy’s, just have a black dot in the centre.

This has been bothering me.

I finally ask, “Why does Daddy’s car have only a black dot, but the taxi cars near Laxman Theatre have the whole top part blacked out?”

Daddy says the black dot is enough.

I’m unconvinced.

So I try Mummy. “Wouldn’t it look better if we did the whole top part?”

She laughs. “Then Daddy wouldn’t be able to see at night.”

Oh. That makes sense. The headlights of Daddy’s Standard 10 are already too small.

I nod solemnly. The sirens might be loud, the war might be confusing, but as long as Mummy keeps answering my questions, I think I’ll be okay.

14 thoughts on “The War Outside, The Questions Within”

  1. Wow, MMC! This is great — so intriguing and also compelling and poignant. It’s important that you told it from the child’s POV and you DID, you kept that so consistent. It kept me engaged with your narrative!

    When I was little I questioned my mother about the footage we were seeing about the Vietnam war. I had similar questions. “It’s very far away,” would be her answer. And I would always say, “But what if it comes here?” Children are wiser than we give them credit for.

    Excellent post!

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. That means so much to me, Camilla, thank you! I’m really glad the child’s POV came through consistently; it felt important to stay true to that perspective.

      Your memory about questioning your mother during the Vietnam War is deeply resonant. Children do have an incredible way of cutting through the noise and asking the most profound questions. That innocent yet unshakable curiosity is something we often overlook as adults.

      Really appreciate your thoughtful comment! 🙏

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  2. You have more exposure than an average person. And a good memory to go with it. And of course the innocent curiosity of the child about going out of the house and painting the top of the car black. Good read MMC.

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    1. Thank you so much! I suppose a mix of experience, memory, and a bit of that lingering childhood curiosity makes for interesting storytelling. Glad you enjoyed the read… it means a lot coming from you! 🙏

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  3. That’s a splendid recollection. The child in you is out with his guileless way of looking at life and events! Superbly well written….. Keep it going.

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    1. Truly appreciate your kind words! It’s a joy to revisit life with that childlike wonder, and even better when it resonates with readers like you. 🙏

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  4. This is a beautifully written and deeply moving piece. The child’s perspective adds a layer of innocence that makes the reality of war even more striking. The contrast between the confusion of the young narrator and the quiet reassurance of the mother is so powerful—showing how, even in times of fear and uncertainty, a parent’s presence can be an anchor. The imagery is vivid, especially the description of the sirens and the heavy darkness. This piece captures not just the chaos of war, but also the warmth of trust and love in a family. Absolutely gripping!

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    1. Thank you so much, Harris, for your thoughtful and heartfelt words! I’m grateful that the story resonated with you. Writing from a child’s perspective was my way of capturing both the innocence and the unfiltered reality of such moments, and I’m glad you felt that contrast. Your insight into the parent’s role as an anchor, even in chaos, is exactly what I hoped to convey. I appreciate you taking the time to share your reflections, it means a lot!🙏

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  5. Great job of putting us right inside a child’s experience of wartime reality! In my view, successful descriptions of our own and others’ realities are central to human evolution at this time. Keep up the good work!

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    1. Thank you, Ana. 🙏
      I’ve always felt that the child’s perspective and point of view is more vivid and expressive. The child within us always accepts the deepest of emotions without reservations. 🙏

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