Tempest

Tuesday 29 July 2008

The new trend: Apathy

The death toll of the recent bomb attacks in Ahmedabad is now 45.

People called their friends and relatives to check how they were doing and continued living their busy lives. The media wrote a few aricles detailing the areas of the bombings, the toll figures and a few impressive statements from political leaders against such violence. People opened their newspapers the next day and grunted, some discussed it over morning chai and ranted, then threw the papers aside and resumed their routines. Life must go on. The day after, the papers and news channels did a few routines about how brave the shopkeepers are that they continued to go to work and how important it is for the economy to continue running as normal. Nobody thinks a protest against these attacks is necessary. Nobody thinks it is important to to shut down shops to impress upon the government that we want forces mobilised to find out who is behind this and we want them punished. Life must just go on.

We have become strong. We have learnt to compartmentalise our emotions and set them aside and continue living. Emotions aren't important anymore. Empathy and consideration are a weakness today. A girl in our neighbourhood gets raped. How does it matter? We read news like that in the newspaper all the time. Its normal. People get mobbed. 'Oh! that's so terrible, but they didn't die did they?' And if they did, 'well people die all the time!'

Friends meet. 'my mom is really unwell...her cancer is getting worse.' A gushing response, 'Oh thats so sad, you must be very brave'. We just don't care anymore. We don't want to get involved in anything. We don't want to get our hands dirty. It reflects in our reactions, our actions, our sentiments. Everything is intellectual. We discuss the causes and effects of cancer, we discuss with great importance the causes and effects of terrorism but we wouldn't give a damn if some big bully beats up a scrawny kid in an alley right in front of us. 'Its not our problem...lets just get out of here.'

We've learned to turn a blind eye to most happenings in an extremely clever manner. We hide behind our intellect. It's easy. Show your concern through a few high flying words, eat a little bhel puri, get a few accepting nods from peers and get out of there. You've done your bit of appearing concerned in a social gathering.

An employee discusses with fellow colleagues a very unjust practice of the upper management. All are in agreement that it is unfair. When the employee sends out a letter the next day for all to sign, not more than 5% do. 'If it doesn't directly affect us, why bother? I'd rather not get into trouble!' Sounds like a minor pin prick in the larger picture, but this is a reflection of who we are as a race.

We just don't care anymore. The instinct to really do something about anything has almost disappeared. It's been a long while since I saw someone doing something as simple as helping another at a tube station, giving up their seat for an older person, carrying a suitcase up the stairs for a young girl, going out of their way to help friends without feeling that it's a big deal.

Today, we are all achievers in our own ways. We have good jobs, lead busy lives and follow modern trends of success. We are proud of ourselves and who we have become. We don't notice it when we talk rudely to a waitor, we don't notice it when we belittle a friend who knows less than us on a particular subject, we don't notice it when we walk a little too quickly for our grand parents, we don't notice it when we break something our parents have preserved for years and simply offer to replace it with the tons of money we earn without even a sincere apology. We don't notice it when we carelessly litter in public places. We don't notice it when we use foul language in front of children with impressionable ages, we don't notice the world anymore. Yet, we are proud of ourselves. We are proud that we live in apathy.

I wonder what it will really take to shake us up? I wonder what would tug at our heart strings? I wonder what would squeeze a little bit of blood into our dry hearts...

"It's no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
- Jiddu Krishnamurti

Posted by Pavitra :: 03:59 :: 11 comments

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Friday 18 July 2008

Remember?

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. There is no resemblance to charactors dead or alive. This story has been inspired from vivid memories of a novel I once read, but do not remember the name of now.

Do you remember, dear, the days so long ago when we were at school and the chemistry lab where you and I worked over messy experiments and grew to know each other? Your family had just moved to our town; I learned that your father came from a distinguished family and was a business magnate. You only knew that I was a dressmaker's son.

But I was taken into your crowd because I was the football captain and head of class. When I told my mother that you were going to the school dance with me, her tired eyes clouded. She knew that my waking thoughts were only of you, but she also knew that the gulf between our families could not be easily bridged. Yet she did not tell me that, she said only that she wished I had a new and classy suit to wear. I assured her that my grey one would be fine.

Outsider. When I arrived at your house to take you to the dance, you came down in a pale blue dress, your face was like a flower, pink roses in your cheeks, and there were golden sparkles in your hair. You gazed up at me with a smile unmindful of my cheap suit. You must have seen something in my eyes which a man reserves for sacred moments.

Then your mother came in, and I was aware not so much of disapproval but of tolerance. There was a subtle difference in her attitude towards me and the others in your crowd. In her presence I was awkward and inarticulate. That night we danced together till the last song and there gold specs in your eyes even when it was time to say goodbye. Do you remember that last dance?

Do you remember the little cafe near the beach. It used to be the place where us middle class kids would hang out. But that year your group decided to do some slumming and you hung out with me till late in the evenings and walked along the beach with your slippers in your hand and moonlight glinting off your hair. I would give you my coat to wear when it got cold. Do you remember feeling warm and smiling up at me?

Then one evening, you were leaving the next day to go to college and I got a parttime job here since I couldn't afford to go. You stood facing me and asked when I would see you next.
"I've got a job starting next week," I said. It isn't much at first but there's a chance to work my way up. And I'll make good. I've got to."

"You will," you said. "I know that." You moved closer. "Jack," you said softly, "I want you to come for my college dance with me next year. Will you come?" "Yes," I promised.
I reached down and took your hands. You raised your face and put your arms around me and your lips, which I had never touched, lightly brushed against my cheek. The stars came down and enveloped us and you said, "I shall always remember tonight."

Straight to college. I wrote to you often but you wrote back once saying your mom had told her not to write to me regularly. After that I wrote only twice a week. At the end of July, your sister told your parents you were mooning around and did not play tennis or attend music classes because you wanted to 'write a letter to me'. After that our correspondence became a rare and much awaited for event. Those were the longest months.

I came for your college dance. I rented a suit for it as I had nothing suitable for the evening. Even the cheapest hotel was too expensive for me, so I walked the streets until I found a boarding-house which I could afford. At dinner you introduced me to your friends, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. I became aware that my dinner jacket was old fashioned; that grey shoes were not proper with evening clothes. Somehow I suffered the hour through. We then walked to the gymnasium where the dance was held while other took cabs. During the first dance I noticed that all the other girls wore flowers. I hadn't bought any for you, I hadn't known I was expected to.
"I'm sorry about the flowers," I said. You looked at me with a hint of tears in your eyes. "The flowers don't matter," you said.

At the end of the evening, you said, "Oh Jack, I wanted you to have a good time tonight...but you didn't." "No," I said, "it was a mistake having me here. I just don't belong." I put my hands on your shoulders and said, "If in years to come you should think of me, will you remember that I love you very much?"
And you closed your eyes, swaying towards me, and said, "Oh Jack, don't say that!" I thought you meant I shouldn't say I loved you and so we said goodbye. That sunday, I wrote you a restrained letter thanking you for the wonderful time I had. You never replied. One week followed another and I only had memories of you.

Do you remember dear? The years have gone by...30 in all and tomorrow we shall celebrate our twenty fifth wedding anniversary for one fine day I bumped into you again on the street and I knew you loved me. You told me yourself.

You are worried now about your daughter, as your mother was once worried about you. She is 20 years old and thinks she is in love. I am asking you to let the young man have a chance. You can decide about him after you read this clumsy attempt to recreate our own romance. It is my anniversary present to you.

Perhaps we can ask him to our dinner at the country club. He will probably be ill at ease with a famous biographer, a government official and other distinguished guests. He will probably wear hired evening clothes and may not know what to talk about.

But a long time ago, you invited a poor boy to a college dance. Do you remember?

Do you remember that he loved you? He still does.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 01:39 :: 22 comments

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Wednesday 16 July 2008

Guiding principle

You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it.
That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies.
That is why you must sing and dance, and write poems and suffer and understand.
For all that is life.

- Jiddu Krishnamurti

Posted by Pavitra :: 06:22 :: 1 comments

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Tuesday 15 July 2008

Waiting for you to come...

...days become birds, flock together in a crowded haze and then fly away.

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Posted by Pavitra :: 10:57 :: 2 comments

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Wednesday 9 July 2008

Discovery

Its a moment of pure epiphany,
when the true meaning of 'blessed' is discovered.
When in rage you render a string of litany,
and yet a tenderness in embrace is uncovered.
You believed you're as hard to understand as botany,
when he unravels you with ease and your faith is recovered.
Gratitude professed in a monotony,
And you know its meant to be, this love uncompared.

Posted by Pavitra :: 09:22 :: 6 comments

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