Thursday, December 18, 2008
taking a cue from the man who would throw shoes
(i wrote this email to close friends, but i think it belongs here too.)
sometimes, what looks like a gun in his pocket is just that: a gun in his pocket and not a sign of he loves you so much.
the terrorist attack in mumbai, was just that. a terrorist attack in mumbai. my fried, addled, synapse losing brain says, no, this was not a clever ploy to undo some rambling neighbour's governement and thus deviously unleash the real baddies onto the great nuclear stuff out there. no, this was not a good versus evil morality play acted out as a real life supper theatre. no, this was not anything but what it was.
at least, if i mean to handle it that is the only way i can look at it. past all clever analysis and giving of millions of dollars to mopey governments, is this thing that happened.
to a place, a people, in a time. to my place, my people, in my time.
everyone keeps asking me if anyone i knew was out there, did i lose any of my friends. what can i say? i knew everyone out there, everyone was in a way mine. even the ones who were not perfect, not so innocent, not perhaps the best. my memories were out there, my trust was out there, the whole night i spent in the lobby of the taj was there, my fear of crowds at v.t. was there too, my whole country was out there. well in a way, madam/sir question asker, i was out there and yes, they did manage to get me.
i can't get the thought of this whole thing into a quiet comfortable place. i know something must be done. i know i have to be a part of that something. just still don't know what.
does that make me feel useless, helpless? at nearly fifty, after seeing all that one has seen, after being through life, love, death, common cold, no, there's no space for helpless. just a matter of time. then it will come.
my shoe will suggest itself to me.
every feeling i've ever felt for india, home, love, family go through me when i really look at the facts.
to truth, to the peace that only truth brings, to an idea called india, to being what we keep saying we are: human.
sometimes, what looks like a gun in his pocket is just that: a gun in his pocket and not a sign of he loves you so much.
the terrorist attack in mumbai, was just that. a terrorist attack in mumbai. my fried, addled, synapse losing brain says, no, this was not a clever ploy to undo some rambling neighbour's governement and thus deviously unleash the real baddies onto the great nuclear stuff out there. no, this was not a good versus evil morality play acted out as a real life supper theatre. no, this was not anything but what it was.
at least, if i mean to handle it that is the only way i can look at it. past all clever analysis and giving of millions of dollars to mopey governments, is this thing that happened.
to a place, a people, in a time. to my place, my people, in my time.
everyone keeps asking me if anyone i knew was out there, did i lose any of my friends. what can i say? i knew everyone out there, everyone was in a way mine. even the ones who were not perfect, not so innocent, not perhaps the best. my memories were out there, my trust was out there, the whole night i spent in the lobby of the taj was there, my fear of crowds at v.t. was there too, my whole country was out there. well in a way, madam/sir question asker, i was out there and yes, they did manage to get me.
i can't get the thought of this whole thing into a quiet comfortable place. i know something must be done. i know i have to be a part of that something. just still don't know what.
does that make me feel useless, helpless? at nearly fifty, after seeing all that one has seen, after being through life, love, death, common cold, no, there's no space for helpless. just a matter of time. then it will come.
my shoe will suggest itself to me.
every feeling i've ever felt for india, home, love, family go through me when i really look at the facts.
to truth, to the peace that only truth brings, to an idea called india, to being what we keep saying we are: human.
