I was hibernating, in the cocoon of my basement. Sitting in the midst of books, papers, stapler, pen and everything else that would portray me as the desperate Grad student attempting to write a paper when in reality all she can think about is how amazing a plate of warm Bhel-puri and cool lemonade with black salt would be. Don’t even ask me what the connection is or how I went from sanctions in Darfur to Bhel in Ghatkopar.
So many things have happened between now and then. The season is desperately trying new fads to keep up with the latest in fashion statement – Global Warming. India dropped to ridiculously low standards in cricket, journalism and celebrity fawning. Angelina Jolie has just saved another kid from the throes of poverty to drown him in ridiculous amount of wealth, cameras and everything else.A reporter was kidnapped in Gaza and feared dead for a while. But somewhere, some place things remain constant. People still die, some still live in fear and some in abject poverty. Some in courage, some in love, some in sadness. Some turn their heads for fear of knowing, some wallow in the bliss of ignorance and some others rooted in spot to their fast dying principles.
The rain fell in torrents, flooding the little street by my house, making the tiny stream behind my home to become a gushing brook. There was water everywhere and occasionally the thunder rippled in loud booms across the sky as one MAN sat above watching his handiwork. Who: One supreme being. Why: Unknown In Virginia, in the embrace of the Shenandoah valley it rained too. Blood from the lives lost, tears flowed like streams across the valley silenced by the deafening sounds of a bullet that ripped through the heart of an idyllic valley. Who: Someone mad and misguided and in control of some power. Why: Unknown. On the oil mixed sands of an ancient city, it rained through. Amidst the thundering sounds of misguided men blowing themselves up died 130 odd people. Who: Men seeking power in dying for their faith. Why: Unknown.
Were the 32 lives more important. Why does what we care for have to be orchestrated so much by what we see and hear. The 130 odd people became nothing more than a tally for a cause and destiny unknown. These 32 people will be praised, mourned and the relatives empathized with about their loss. Were their lives in anyway more important or more valued than the woman who went to buy vegetables, or the girl who went for walk. Didn’t we create that too with our vivid imaginations, falsifications and a misguided value. Why not give that the same attention. Why not give Darfur where US imposes mindless sanctions be given attention. Why not the suicide of farmers in India because of one sided World bank policies be given attention.
I am saddened by the loss. As a student I don’t want tog o in fear everyday to school. I can see how something as horrifying as this can affect people, a campus and a community. I am not complaining about the attention. It requires this attention if anything has to change. The fear is that it might not. Like all these other things, it might become mind numbing and just another spot on a time line of events. It might not bring a change anywhere. I don’t want to think that way, but then sometimes I don’t have a justification for thinking otherwise.