Why do they hate us? Oh, that is a one-sided question. Ask again: why do we hate? Because hatred is the boiling concoction we turn to when love gets lukewarm on cold nights. Because hatred is an icy salve, such instant relief when vapours of stale love make summer noons unbearable. We don't always pour hatred on the ones we love; we invent animosity with other things to intensify the love for our loves. Look eye in eye with hatred. Understand it; gulp it down; digest it and let it ignite even the coldest veins first. Then, there is a chance we might get closer to love without wanting to hate. Like Ashoka, the king who went so far in search for hatred that he saw the real face of it and said: "You are not what I thought. You are not the warm feel of blood on a victor's hands. You are not the pleasure of tearing apart a woman by her legs. You are not the supreme joy of witnessing a mound of severed heads. You are a stench, a monster, a hideous deception. I shall kill you inside of me first. And then I shall kill you outside of me as far as my hands and progeny and stories can reach."

That is the only way to kill hatred: to uproot it from the garden of one's loves, to kidnap it, sieve it, drain it from that place in the heart where you guard your loves.