The art of not caring, or, blood in our hands

Fourteen people killed in an ambush. This was the headline of the newspaper today. It was just like a normal morning, and this news was normal. Most of the people dismissed it by saying that this was a hors d’oeuvre for the upcoming general elections. What concerned me the most, though, that no one paid a thought to the gruesome massacre.

Maybe murder is à la mode these days.

We have seen slaughters going on since time immemorial for reasons little and big, but I have never experienced the callous nonchalance towards such a heinous act like I see now. People just do not care for another life – well, most of them. Over the past couple of years I’ve read and seen our neighbour nations blown to bits. There isn’t a single day that I don’t read bad news about any of their cities. But violence spreads here as well – even in the quiet suburban locality. Quite inexplicably, every life lost becomes dyed in political colours. His or her political signature becomes important above everything else. The real culprits roam free.

Transcendence into this bloody world is never instantaneous; it had spread its roots when we became an independent nation, maybe even before that. Some people like to blame it on our religion. I believe that this behaviour is in our genes. Some of us simply cannot tolerate others. Even in a utopian world, these warmongers will always persuade people to resort to violence. Religion is just a catalyst that they put into the mix, and most of us take the easy way out to point the finger at that. History has shown us time and again that different religions can thrive with each other very well, and so I am not ready to believe it is the root of all evil. Every one of us has the equal right to choose whatever way he or she wants to spend his or her life and religion accordingly.

We are becoming more and more impatient. I can see that with myself – there was a time when I used to wait hours for a local train to arrive at the station, and then push myself into hordes of other commuters in a filled up, smelly bogie, getting crushed in that one hour plus journey. I got tackled, got elbowed, was told bad things (some of which had choice replies from my side as well), but things never, ever escalated to a fight. A month or two back, a kid in his teens killed one of his friends because she was seeing someone else. In cold blood. I shivered at what we might be infusing into our young generation. It’s not about drugs and sex anymore – the malice has spread.

I sometimes think that this might be Mother Nature’s way of slowly depleting our species from the place of this earth. A sort of self-destructive evolution. We are paving the way of our own demise, and being awfully glee while doing it. Syria, Afghanistan, Rwanda, Kosovo – there is so much blood in our hands. Yet we open the newspaper, browse through the horrifying news, and tune in to the news channel to see more details of it. We faux-care, re-tweet celebrities’ quotes, and forget it at the first sight of another blockbuster release or another world cup. The mothers, the fathers, the sons and the daughters, the poor people who have lost one of their own in this mad fire – they too are forgotten. All that remains is the heavy air with the screams of the dead, and the despair of people close to them. A skeleton or two of empty promises also adorn this barren land.

Do you wonder where our innocence has gone? I do.


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