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| "We are being punished for being law-abiding citizens."
Huh? While there exist a few quirky laws, a legacy of the British rule, I have largely been a fan of the Indian Penal Code. Although, the same cannot be said about it's protectors and enforcers. The number of contingencies catered for in the big bad books of the men in black, starting with the mother of them all, the Constitution of India, underlines the collective foresight and knowledge of the people who burned the midnight oil, framing them. One of the many victories of the largest democracy in the world.
The above statement, by one Niketa Mehta, is what I woke up to this fine morning. Her story comes right on the heels of 'cash-gate' (I really don't understand why does every scam have to be named after watergate?) and has made the nation (or is it just the metros) and it's umpteen television news channels sit up and take notice. Her appeal is simple. She should be allowed to abort her 26 week old foetus (when do we start calling it baby?) as it has a congenital heart blockage and malpositioned arteries and could require a pacemaker for life. Her arguement is also simple. She would rather cry once now and abort than cry many times in the years to come.
The story caused a discussion at home and while the judge echoed my dad's thoughts that aborting in these circumstances would be akin to mercy-killing, I beg to differ. In mercy-killing, the one being 'killed' wants to die.
Niketa's story will be fodder for debate for quite some time with there being no clear winner. However, it is not the debate or my stance on the issue that I am concerned about. It is the change of guard. A couple of decades ago (or a couple more), this would not have been a topic of debate at all. A child is god's gift and should be cared for and loved, would be the standard pattern of thought. That the child would give immense joy and may exceed expectations would be secondary. So, what happened between then and now?
Is it the age of the computers which has heralded the competitive race? Where there is only one way to live - by being better than the rest. If you can't be better, you should at least be normal. Funny. I thought those rules were for survival. Doesn't living need happiness?
Is it that medicine has improved the quality of our life so much that we can't think lower than a life expectancy of 80 years? So, anything that shows signs of less, must go. But doesn't the advancement in medicine also suggest that we should be able to combat anything? Also, any student of evolution and natural selection will testify that shortcomings in a race are more important than their strengths to help build on the strengths. Take away the shortcomings and you are left with a stagnant race.
No one wants to have a less than perfect child and people who have brought up such children would readily admit the hardships they have faced over the years. However, that does not mean that they would have not wanted that child to see this world. We cry at screenings of films like Taare Zameen Par and loudly proclaim how sensitively the issue has been handled. But when it comes to things that affect us on a personal level, where do our sensibilities go?
I wish Niketa's child good luck and hope that all turns out well. I also hope that the child understands her parents' view and does not feel alienated when she finds out that they wanted to abort her in the 26th week. It is not easy being parents, especially in a world which runs everyday to catch the 06:45 Churchgate fast.
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Been there... done that... finally... sigh...
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| "A brand new Ferrari comes cheaper than a second hand airplane. Then why would you purchase an airplane?"
No. I didn't purchase any birds. I can't even think about the kind of money it takes to have one. A year ago if you mentioned airplanes to me, I would probably just name the few that overfly my home. Today, I can take you in one and get paid for it. Today, all the adrenalin and the thrill that I felt over these past four months seems to have settled to a deathly serenity. All I could do after getting my licence was sit on a bench on the tarmac watching all the airplanes come and go, watching life fly. I feel gooooood. "When you hit 100 miles per hour on your Ferrari and pull on the control column, nothing interesting happens..."
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| "You've been travelling for a year, Alice and yet you are no farther than when you started. How will you ever be Queen?" It's true. I read the first few posts and all I can see is a language different from what I would use today. I see a guy desperately trying not to keep it simple. I can see he is not writing for himself. But I can also see that he is not making an attempt to be heard. What is it that he really wants? Is this a semblance of a break from a life spent doing things somebody or the other wanted him to? Maybe not. One year down the line and the bard's still questioning. Bhakti's question keeps coming back to me again and again and again. Why is it that I started blogging and why is it that I still continue? I really don't know. I never really enjoyed writing. If I did write, it was always for the marks or for the award and maybe to try and impress the person who had asked me to write. I had even asked one of my professor's to return an essay I'd once written for I considered it to be the best I'd ever turned in. All the stuff that I ever wrote, whether they were stories, poems, dramas or simple essays, they were always very calculated. I used to decide at the outset how big, how deep and how humourous I want it to be and then proceed. Could never get in the flow. Write for myself? What? No award? No one to read it? No ways. Maybe if you gave me an incentive... And blogging? Excuse me. It more likely comes across as someone writes about their lives and a bunch of others follow it. A lot of people need to get a life? Maybe. And then a really close friend of mine took to Xanga. I almost tore my hair apart trying to tell her to live in a more 'real' world, but she just didn't budge. Then I realised that I wasn't really being myself. Judging something from a distance. I have to at least give it a shot. That's how Ichha_Mrutyu was born and very soon died a premature death. Almost. Got second wind thanks to Usha and a few really amazing people, even better writers who egged me on. I know I havent updated in a while and my packing my stuff has hardly been the reason. Somewhere down the line I realised that I haven't been doing what I had set out to do. Somewhere deep inside I hoped to find myself through this blog. A year down the line, I find that I held the sand a little too tight and it is all at sea again. Whichever square I hop onto seems to be turning to number one. "I wonder how will I reach square number eight, your highness." p.s. For all of you who have been wondering, I was at the registrar's office as a witness. | | |
| It looks like any other government office. Stacks of files beginning at the floor and reaching to the ceiling. Yellowing walls, the plaster peeling off, if it's visible at all. Fans and tubelights which have long since given notice or retired. It takes a month to get a an appointment and faster if you show some Gandhis. Like any government office, they ask for attested copies of your documents and at the same time expect you to get your originals along. Like any government office, the officer is surrounded by peons who love to keep their pockets warm and who are your only medium to reach the officer. This is the office of the Registrar of Marriages. For every four couples that register their marriages here, there is one which gets married in this very office, mostly with only friends as witnesses. This is probably the only ceremony they'll ever have. Most of them are young, just turned adults and they have not been outside their locality, much less seen the world. All it takes is a mere Rs. Fifty, a month-long wait, at least a couple of witnesses and a signature of the registrar. And they're off. No sweets, no cheery faces who just married them off, no blessings. Office-bearers and their peons, a 'Congratulations' would be nice. | | |
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