Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Ones in the middle unmoved

I’m a cry baby. You wouldn’t think looking at me, and it’s not entirely hormonal, but I sob for no joy. I then reason with myself that it’s good for the eyes. That they’ll now shine clean like green leaves after a downpour.

Rain = tears. I = cry baby.

So, that I cried when the Saturday blasts happened is no big a deal, because I cry at the drop of a hat anyway, right. And here I’m definitely excused, discounted even. People were being killed five minutes from where I spend the major part of my day. That for me would validate a chin trembling outburst.

But then what? -- Nothing. Cried, dried, saw the news, huddled and made idle talk about how pointless it all is, and why these terrorists types can’t play a sport or get a freaking dart board/ punching bag/ something to channelise gung ho fundamentalism they keep yapping about on edits and shows. Aren’t there less harmless vents? Why, how and since w h e n is a death statistic an achievement? What happened to us? How is one more limb lost, and 80 injured reason to uncork whatever tharra it is these people drink – because if they don’t touch liquor but seeing blood ooze is okay, that’s hideously perverse.

I kept thinking my Sunday was no different from how it would’ve been normally, but just a teeny bit of wonder if normalcy was tried too hard for. Yea, so I went for a pedicure, and looked all over for dog food with a specific ingredient. I read my book, and listened to my God Must Be A Boogieman on loop for the longest time, but fact is I was home before dark. Like I had to be when I was little because there were kidnappers and “bad men” out there. All latent insecurities returned. Six thirty in the evening used to do that to me -- the homing pigeon syndrome.

And that caused some anger. Why the fuck should I have to think twice about staying out late, imagining that maybe extending my one day off for a little bit longer may not be the most sensible thing to do. That I might regret it; still worse, I could be dead and technically be unable to regret it. And that would teach me to throw caution to the winds. Why can’t I go out to dinner and a movie and hobnob with other vella cronies? Why now should I alter my essence and be CAREFUL about window shopping in CP? What is the point of a leisure stroll if I’m going to have to have my guard up? And really, how long is one going to remain alert for? Next week they’ll ease of the ID checking and quit prodding that huge dental molar mirror device those parking guys use to inspect underneath your car. It’ll be back to square one till the next set goes off. And the fact that one has to think on the lines of bach gaye, just isn’t consolation enough.

No horoscope prepares you for unnerving silence on Saturday night roads. They tell you to wear crimson, that your lucky number is nine, and to be careful with money matters. But no heads-up for anything life-threatening, not one squeak about watching out for some good ol neighbourhood gore. Never a mention of fuming dustbins, or that you might have network problems in contacting loved ones to see if all flesh and bones are intact.

And very soon, it’ll all blow over. We’ll stop feeling. It won’t make a difference till someone you know actually cops it. And if the person copped isn’t someone you know too well, it’ll just add colour to some Barista conversation. It’ll never really matter. All the resentment and disgust is neatly boxed. Channels are changed, humanitarian stories glossed over, very sad- very sad bol ke, it’s all over.

I don’t have an alternative, or a suggestion, or even an original opinion, and maybe that’s just what’s so frustrating – that within minutes of the explosions, when some one sweet person sharing a distressed wavelength sees your swollen eyes, comes up to you, instinctively holds you tight, and asks if all is well, the choked replies and runny noses tell a pretty helpless tale.

5 comments:

bluespriite said...

There must be something we can do... other than be 'vigilant citizens'? I guess the biggest fear is, truly, the fear of not caring.

Han said...

At the risk of sounding like a Republican, the only thing we can do is carry on with our lives as if nothing happened. Anything else and "the terrorists win". Governments and people which succumb to fear give the terrorists the idea that their strategy will work.

As far as grief is concerned, it is only natural that it fades. Life must carry on. We should feel for the survivors of a tragedy, and not the dead, who have escaped.

Brown Girls said...

I know exactly what you're saying.

Brown Girls said...

..and you say it so much better than I would have. I'll direct people here when I want to vent out similar frustrations.

El said...

its not so bad..they did detect the other two didn't they?