A city ravaged

Till a day ago I was moping about being ill, lying in bed on my birthday and questioning why it had to be me.

Till a day ago I was moping about being ill, lying in bed on my birthday and questioning why it had to be me. Today I feel selfish. Pneumonia be damned. Medical science will cure that but will there ever be a cure for insane minds. My city is being ravaged and I lie here helpless, enraged and grief struck.

This is the world my children are set to inherit. A world being torn apart more often than not by people just a few years older than my children. Young people brainwashed into committing atrocities on innocent bystanders. Towards what end? What do they hope to achieve? Notoriety? Granted. Spreading fear and panic? Granted. Creating mayhem? Granted. Even causing a certain resignedness? Granted. But then what? Will these terrorists ever be satisfied? What does it take to end this endless battering. Mumbai, Madrid, Manila, the list goes on and on.

I am angry, I am upset and I am hungry for news. As I surf national and international channels, no information is enough to satiate my hunger.The entire country is sitting glued to the television screen as this live screening of a real life show is unveiled. Phone calls are going back and forth to ensure loved ones are fine and to exchange information about those stuck and those who have escaped. Voyeurism on a world platform. I feel ashamed at this craving but feel a sense of solidarity at having people across continents reaching out and empathising.

If most of us feel appalled at this death and destruction around us, then why are we allowing a handful of tortured minds to hold the country, the world to ransom?

Prayer, said a friend. Karmic chanting, says another. Nostradamus, quotes a third. All well and good but we need to take concrete steps.

I am not an astrologer but can already foresee what will happen in the next few days. There will be a commission set up to do a thorough investigation. There will be world leaders condemning the terror siege. Our politicians will place the blame at the opposition8217;s door. The newspapers and media channels will have horrific pictures, expert panels and breaking news with victims and their families. There will be candlelight vigils, peace walks; our film stars will come out with other celebrities and march through the city in a silent protest.

All this and more will happen. And then in a few months the intensity of our feelings will die down. Life will go on. And we will numb ourselves until the next attack. This is what we have become. I feel ashamed at this predictability and so does everyone else.

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We have to strike back. But violence is not the answer. Make love, not war. Give peace a chance. All these cliches and more is where the answer lies.

Spread art, music, dance. Spread the message of peace and love, bring the terrorists to the table and actually try and understand what it is that motivates them. And in countries such as ours, focus on education, employability and a good quality of life. Why would anyone resort to this method if not for a feeling of frustration with their lot in life. Reach out to them. Understand them. Help them. No one is born a terrorist. Circumstances make people terrorists. They need us to help them. Not target them.

Otherwise this world, as we know it, will continue on this downward spiral and we will leave behind a legacy for our children which will make us hang our heads in shame.

8211; Monika Trivedi is a city-based writer and activist