The Bat and the Manjaa

(Warning - slightly distressing image below)

The other day, as I sat bent over my drawing, I got a frantic call from my mother. She was downstairs trying to stop our fellow colony residents from burning dried leaves under healthy trees (just one of the many tree-loving things she does). ‘Come down at once!’ she said, ‘There is a bat and it is injured.’ Injured, it appeared, by the manjaa thread used for flying kites.

Words like that seem to pierce my soul and fill a strange kind of fear in me. I suddenly become highly receptive, imagining and feeling all sorts of things that might have happened to the poor creature. Armed with a pair of scissors, a clean rag and some water, I rushed down to find the bat lying face down with a badly broken wing. It seems it had been caught in the manjaa hanging from the trees, struggled to get out and become even more entangled. The watchman saw it hanging and tried to get it down, the result of which was it crashing to the ground. It lay there, not moving, a crowd of children around it, but everyone too afraid (perhaps, thankfully) to touch it.

I’m not a vet and we couldn’t have done much. I gave it some water that it frantically tried to drink, and then tried to cut away the manjaa and clean the wound. It was a bad wound with the wing torn and part of the bone sticking out. As I tried cutting the thread away, gingerly so that it would hurt least, it struck me how strong it was. It was almost like wire and the wing was so tightly wrapped up in it, it was impossible to get it out. We decided to bring it upstairs at home to get away from the crowd; the poor thing must have been terrified. As I carried it in my arms, held up by rags and my dupatta, it felt so much like a baby, but one that was far beyond me in the way it was silently suffering. I think that was when it died. Because when we opened the door and lay it down, it wouldn’t move. It didn’t respond to anything. 

Maybe it was trauma of being handled, or the impact of falling from such a height, or that the intensity of the wound had finally triumphed. We will never know. But I do know that a strong piece of string, hanging in a tree and obstructing animals’ natural movement, did not belong there. And even after that, as I tried to get it out of the dead bat’s mangled wound (it just seemed something that needed to be done), it wouldn’t come out.

That manjaa has left a permanent wound on my mind. I think kite flying is a beautiful sport. But I think we have to be more responsible with what we leave behind after we’re done with it. It seems too sad and horrible that a simple thread left innocently behind should be the cause of so much suffering, not just for animals but also other people. No sport is worth that kind of pain.

Desensitised

The girl who lost her father in 26/11 says “Keeping him alive isn’t doing anything… if it made us safer, I would say keep him alive!” I wonder if she ever thinks of the same thing in reverse. She goes on to say to others like her with a loss, “Someday we will get justice, and if not we will have to fight!”
“Why wait?’ says the former police officer sitting next to her, “Why not fight now?’ She falters but fires back, “Because I still have faith that the government will act. The moment we lose that faith, we will fight”

And if they fight, my friends, they will fight with anger and hate, the anger and hate that slowly seep in and have been doing for some time now. The anger and hate that do not dissolve in understanding. It will see no sense, it will be insane. Because we are ignoring the ideological aspects of the fight. Nobody is discussing that.

The anchoress asks repeatedly, “But how will hanging him help? Terrorists have an agenda and individuals won’t make a difference to it.” I admire her. My heart goes out to the way she tries to bring up and let people see the issue of capital punishment. But the question wavers in the air and then just gets lost in the hate, no answers given.

There are fears expressed. Valid, all of them. We got used to corruption, and it is now part of our lives. We got used to poverty, we barely notice it now. Will we soon get used to terrorism too? Make our lives uglier day by day and get immune to it, immune and unfeeling?
We make a noise, yes. “Happy Birthday, Kasab, have a blast!” was on the web a mere half hour after the blasts. And fact is, it wasn’t even his birthday. A rumour tweeted by some celebrity. A sick hoax or a gruesome joke, it proves how easily we shift focus. It shows how cynical we are, not even a moment of shock or sadness before we could make fun of it, before we even knew all the facts of the blast. “Hang him!” we screech at our loudest. We hurl curses at politicians, we revel in cynicism and contempt.
Drama, really, isn’t it?



How many of us, who haven’t lost anybody to the attack really feel the loss? How much of our ‘anger’ is real, and how much just seasoned reaction? All we do is place blame. Because it’s the easiest thing to do.

South Mumbai, who made a lot of noise the last time around, proved their indifference by their abysmal voter turnout. How many of us know what our local police station does to protect us? How many of us know the nearest blood bank? How many of us know basic first aid?

Even more importantly, how many of us have mature solutions to the problem. Do we know why terrorism exists? What’s the root of it that needs to be weeded out? Ways to stop it before an attack? Practical solutions that can and should be implemented? Except the chant of “Hang him!” what have we got?
We’re in this together. The people who help the most in such situations are ordinary citizens. They carry the injured, they spread messages, they help out. That’s not ideal, but that has helped us.

The former police officer makes very clear points about our response… police beats, he says, are simple ways to feed intelligence… but police personnel are busy escorting politicians, when they should be patrolling areas, befriending shopkeepers and keeping an eye out, but keeping in touch with a well networked group of normal citizens in the area. Do we know the state of our police forces well (in a non-filmy way, rooted to reality)? Start with basics, shouldn’t we?

Blame the politicians, yes, but force them to see the solutions. You want to show them the strength of the masses, show them that masses can think and know how to fix the problem. Show them that you care by thinking of preventive measures in your own area, and push for it to happen.
We live in a democracy, not a dictatorship. It is designed to give us control over the government. Beyond just votes. Use that control! If the government is failing, it means we, as people of India, atleast the educated and aware ones, are failing.

The reasons we’re not driven to do all this, is not because we don’t have time (we have enough to spend many whole days on facebook), or because we don’t have the capacity, it is because we don’t care enough.

We’re desensitized. Accept it, and we might have a chance to change.

Chant

“Hang him, hang him!” chant the crowds, not knowing why, not seeing how it will keep them safe. The only thoughts furiously coursing in them are those of revenge, the revenge they name justice. They are wronged, oh yes. His blood would be what would have to pay for that. Not today maybe. But they cannot rest till it is shed. Or until they see sense.

Do they not see that he is a soul condemned? He was meant to die. He was meant to die like the others who accompanied him. His blood means nothing to the killers. If anything, keeping him alive has said something to the teenagers who can be like him. Something that would make them see… mercy exists. Because in their worlds, it most likely doesn’t. In their worlds, you hit and one hits back. An eye for an eye. They don’t know otherwise. Hang him, sweet crowds, but you would only reinforce their belief. You think they are afraid of death? You thing a hanging will scare them off? It will just prove to them that blood is returned by blood. And they’re not afraid to have the last word on that.

It is much more, much deeper what they look for. It is distorted meaning. An answer to ‘what am I meant to do?’ It is the wrong answers that are causing this pain. Your chants don’t solve that.

And you.
Volatile, explosive, restless, you. But also, indifferent, cynical, hardened, you.
If I could I would make you see. Your explosion seems not to last, your restlessness seems not to find purpose. Your indifference grows, and yet you know it not. Your cynicism cuts, it is much sharper than any blade. But it the way you have been hardened, that makes me cry.

But the anger swells, the crowds chant louder. For years, all they do is chant. No thought, no sense.
And then the hate pours out. It is ruthless, emotionless, because all feeling has been numbed. All that has remained is hate. Pushed too far, wronged too long, and left with an inability to forgive or remedy.

Insanity arrives, and following it closely, bloodshed.

Weird Lesson

From a time I don't even remember how long, I have been learning a lesson which has proved very valuable in many ways. It's really very simple, almost laughably so! And even if I cannot seem to find a good reason as to why it is so, inwardly, I know it's just right… or rather, it would be wrong if it wasn't so… because I've come to believe nothing can be really proved true, all you can prove is that it's converse is false…

So, the big secret.
When you get where you've been trying to get with all your might, leave! When you get what you've been dying to get, shun it. When you learn all the rules of the game, break them.

Weird! Why on earth would we do all that, slog so hard, when we want to throw it all away in the end? It's absurd. It's silly. It's an excuse made by people who never really get there. I gave myself all these answers, trying desperately to find sense in something that seems so pointless!

My first taste of this inexplicable rule was while learning art. I'm strangely drawn towards simplicity, and this trait manifested itself in my art too… but I quickly realized that I could only reach it when I was done perfecting the complex. When you can understand the complexities involved, when you can be perfect at handling them, then you can say, “I don't care about these”. Not until then.

The rule, almost sinisterly, finds roots in every aspect of life. It applies everywhere, almost like a trap, and a denying soul feels it closing in. But shake off the inhibitions and embrace it, and it gives you a sense of power. And a beautiful sense of security. Something that cannot be taken away… or maybe something that you don't care if taken away…

There is a danger though… most of the times we have no clue we are in this. No clue that what we want is something we won't want once we get it. It is by no means easy. Many don't ever realize it… maybe because many just never reach their goal. And most don't understand it. Perhaps that's why we see so much dissatisfaction…?

And as if to add a finishing touch, it spins itself a converse. It makes you value things that you do not have or levels that you haven't reached… as if a particular thing needs to be earned. You have to be worthy of something to get it. It gives you an essential reason to change, develop, improve in order to achieve something. It is transformative for those who dream of, say, ideals… for such it is the 'guiding light' that shows them the way. And you follow the light. Only to realize that when you reach, it isn't the light you want to see. But then, what do you want to see?

Meantime, you have traveled and come far.
And we come to another (cliché) thought.
That beauty lies not in the goal but the journey… (?)

As if I haven't really said anything new in this post. Just discovered for myself (have I yet?) what others have already discovered…

Terror 2

This post is a sort-of addition to the post labeled ‘terror’.
I wish to stress upon what we consider as facts, and how anger and hatred (or simply bias) might influence our interpretation of these facts.

A simple fact. ‘Jihad’ supports attacking people. Try to dig deeper and you find it initially had 2 meanings… one more radical, one less so. One, that jihad should target even muslims who interpret their faith differently, attack and get rid of them… and two, the one that rejects the ‘legal’ definition (as armed conflict) and insists on withdrawing from worldly concerns to achieve spiritual depth. Islamist scholars are still deciphering the true meanings (in an uncanny resemblance to hindu literature) as meant by the Quran. (also read comments on the earlier post)

Of course, there have been people who have interpreted it wrongly and unethically, and used that interpretation for their own interests, whatever they may be… but if you realize, this is true for almost every religion I know of. Nag Panchami wasn’t made to stitch snakes’ mouths and make them drink milk (which they can’t digest), but to respect the spirit of the snake who ate the farmers’ enemy (rodents, if you didn’t get that)…

We base our conclusions upon whatever information (correct or incorrect) we know. We try to figure out whether the (super-ancient) people who ‘made’ religion meant this or that, and which exactly should we follow. But what we don’t realize, is that in the end, we only act upon “our own” interpretations.

My purpose for bringing hate and anger into the picture was simply this. Anger does not allow us to interpret a piece of information in a stable, logical way. We see only what we want to see, we infer only what we want to infer, and we believe only what our “aroused” emotions allow us to believe.

I understand the situation isn’t so innocent and naïve… all I’m saying is that feeling anger limits our capacities of solving it, and unknowingly, we do more harm than good.

I quote a common sentiment I’ve heard,
“terrorists feel what they feel because of religion and we feel what we feel because they killed our loved ones/mumbaikars/indians.”

(If I’m a fanatic) I feel hatred because of my religion… what does this mean?
Because I feel my religion is under threat… I feel as if someone will “harm” what I do or what I believe… simply, I feel threatened. All over the world, for ages, people have done enough to fuel this feeling. Even now, there are people around me who are, knowingly and unknowingly, fuelling it.

And to be really honest, we feel anger because they killed some of us… which might mean we feel ‘we’ have lost someone and ‘we’ (or people close to us) might be next. Isn’t this also simply a feeling of being threatened? And ‘they’ are fuelling it.

What’s sad is that we are allowing our anger to be fuelled by them.
When you go deep and think of the cores that both arguments have, you will realize that they are shockingly similar. What I’m proposing, is a total shift into a stable and ethical zone, which is difficult, but not impossible.