Between Right and Wrong

As the national capital makes a mockery of the Indian legal system on Diwali with its shocking nonchalance to Supreme Court's cracker ban, it is time we address the elephant in the room: the utter negligence of most people towards sustainable environmental practices and their deep-rooted self-centeredness.

Source: Internet

"The city wakes up to a better air quality than 2016", the media reports. While this should be sufficient consolation for many, do we ask ourselves what is BETTER? Does better mean the picture on the right? Does better mean going down marginally by a few points on the air quality index yet remaining in the "severe" zone? Does better mean people will not suffer from respiratory problems and lung cancer on account of prolonged exposure to such air? Does better justify wrong only because it is done by many in the name of tradition? The English language does not allow for quantifying comparative adjectives, but fortunately Statistics does. The numbers are out there, for all to see. To see the grave danger we bring upon ourselves. Yet, we are busy endorsing irrelevant communal and religious arguments by illiterate celebrities and political leaders and crying our hearts out at the violation of "birth rights". We are busy overlooking facts and outdoing each other in the "best Diwali pic" race on Facebook. We are busy prioritizing own entertainment over bigger and critical concerns and conveniently putting the blame for all things bad on the next-door neighbour, the government, China and so on.

Growing up, bursting crackers on the night of Kali Pujo gave me joy like none other. The lights exuding all sorts of multicoloured hues, the night sky breaking into thousands of stars and the happinesses on the faces were unparalleled. The lungs gave out after a while, yet innocent pleasures went on unabashedly. So did things like littering on the road, on railway tracks and not caring about the environment in general. The first time I was asked not to throw empty tea cups on the road, I gladly obliged because it was important to the friend who had asked. It was purely based on emotions and not on own realisations. But maturity changes us no? Giving us the ability to introspect, to distinguish right from wrong? To think beyond ourselves? To "be the change you want to see in the world"? 

Yet, on days like today and most other days I am left wondering if compassion is just a word. If altruism exists only in Economics textbooks. And if self-righteousness has indeed driven us to the farthest corner of humanity.

Life and the Box of Crayons

For all the cumulonimbus moments life threw at me last week, it compensated with a silver linings playbook of realisations. Realisations that provided my aching body and soul with the comfort of a কোলবালিশ, tied my spirits to hot-air balloons and let it soar high up into the clouds. Realisations that made me giggle like a two-year old being chased across the room with a bucket placed over the head. Realisations that reaffirmed my belief that just a few people are capable of changing one's world in the most beautiful way.

So last week, a severe bout of food poisoning happened that left me three kilograms less within the first two days and induced an urge to throw up and poop every few minutes. The husband being away in the hometown, the burden of taking care came upon myself and needless to say, as health fell down and broke his crown, mood came tumbling after. To top it all, parents started freaking out, considered impromptu visits, sandwiched the brother, informed everyone who would care to listen, and made themselves sick from worrying. After three days of no change in condition and all sorts of "I-have-lived-alone-for-five-years-and-able-to-take-care-of-myself" arguments falling into deaf ears, I was threatened with dire consequences to visit a doctor. Meanwhile, the two besties decided to intervene and convinced me to stay with one of them for a night or two. The international one virtually hovered around day in and out, while the physical one mothered relentlessly. In the end, what was intended to be a day stay turned into a week, soul-sisters turned into mothers, family turned into backbone and the heart melted into puddles of joy.

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This is not the first time that life has bestowed upon me selfless care and love from the people around. People I call my own, my home. People I can count on one hand. I have known my two "sisters of spirit" for a very long time, from a time when sharing a section and being able to sit on the same bench were perhaps the biggest achievements of life. The memories we three share are endless, and documenting them would put Chitragupta's book of records to shame. Yet, there are events the mind remembers distinctly and fills the heart with unfathomable affection. Events when we have loved fiercely and fought vehemently. When we have been judged by the other disturbingly accurately. When tears have rolled down from all three sets of eyes for one broken heart. When love for food, Jacques Kallis, Roger Federer and jewellery shopping at Esplanade/Gariahat have been shared in a heartbeat. When the sisterhood became life's guardian angel and biggest strength. 

Speaking of which, brings me to the one who has been mistakenly born to a different set of parents, in a completely different culture and country, yet somehow managed to become the soulmate. The one who is my analogy for the saying "what we seek is seeking us". As she continues to ping me on Whatsapp at this very moment, I smile at the infectious energy she brings into my life with her mere existence. In the last six years, our talks have evolved from formal acknowledgements to discussing human excreta and bathroom habits, which I believe is the final test of security and comfort in a relationship and proof enough that it will last forever :D. We have taken time to love each other, laugh at the idiosyncrasies, and share every embarrassing detail of life. She is a thousand times better version of myself, my role model at being organised and disciplined. She scolds me unabashedly for skipping a conference session or for not drinking enough water when sick, yet defends me with all her might as and when the situation demands. She is a roller-coaster, crazy and garrulous just like me. Yet she fits in my life like that one piece of missing puzzle. I could go on and on, but I refrain. Not because I have nothing more to write about her, but because she knows :)

These people are as much family as the one whom I call my anchor. The only person except myself who amuses me to no extent with his weirdnesses. The one who gives me thousand instances for wanting to kill him. The one who speaks sarcasm as the first language. The one who criticizes favourite actors knowing it bugs me to no extent. The one who makes the blood boil with snide remarks about almost everything and then tries stupid tricks to pacify. The one who makes "grudge" sounds in the dark just to scare. Yet, the one who gives thousand-and-one reasons for loving him. The one who stays up all night over phone while I wait alone at a deserted platform amidst drunkards thousands of miles away. The one who holds my head down as I throw up in the toilet after a crazy drinking night. The one who refuses to be vocal about emotions, yet whose voice echoes care and concern when there is no water supply in the flat. The one, who is like none other.

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Some people change one's world in the most beautiful way. People who I call my box of crayons and happily-ever-afters :)

Denial

A class 12 student goes missing from a locality in Greater Noida and is found dead a day later from drug overdose, and community residents barge into the flat of his Nigerian neighbours accusing them of cannibalism and drug dealing. An angry mob of six hundred locals come out on the roads to protest against the death and severely injure five innocent Nigerian students. Random attacks take place in the heart of the city, racial abuses hurled, men and women ogled at supermarkets, and we the citizens discuss instead the xenophobia that exists everywhere in the world except the perfect country we live in.

I wonder at what point in time we would get over the ultra-nationalistic bullshit and accept the double standards and deep-rooted stereotypes we have towards the skin colour. Travel to major tourist spots in India is never complete without noticing the extreme preferential treatments white tourists receive. They are admired wherever they go, stopped on the road to take pictures with, idolised even. But, ugly name-calling and prejudices towards black students and immigrants doesn't even raise enough eyebrows. When Indian techies are shot in the U.S. or Indian students are attacked in Australia, we are appalled by the hate crimes and discuss at length how we are racially victimised in these foreign countries. Yet when we do the same, beat up innocent students on account of their skin colour and baseless accusations, the Government condemns it as an isolated incident that has nothing to do with racism. Talk about the country becoming intolerant, and you are ridiculed. Talk about jingoism, and you are an anti-national. Talk in favour of the religious minorities or criticise the rise of Hindutva, and you are called a pseudo-intellectual. Apparently, the new wave the country is riding high on is called "being in denial forever"!