The only privilege

Strange how terrible things always catch us in our festive or pious best. Some of us call it Murphy8217;s Law but we mustn8217;t let the I...

Strange how terrible things always catch us in our festive or pious best. Some of us call it Murphy8217;s Law but we mustn8217;t let the Irish monopolise angst. Some of us cynics, both sthira embedded and chara chalta-firta, have long called it the lead pipe theory, viz, to wit, malicious fate awaits round every corner with a lead pipe, sprung to cosh us soon as we step blithely into range. A thinking person8217;s Roman emperor like Marcus Aurelius became a stoic because there was only this much bad news any one, even a soldier, could take. A seer like Adi Shankara threw the blame squarely on handy Maya or illusion typical, typical, trust a male ascetic to blame something feminine.

In Delhi, heaven of conspicuous consumption, itself the emotional consequence of too many bad times, the Punjabis from around Faridkot way have this grimly cheerful saying, 8220;Khaata-peeta lahe da, rehnda Ahmed Shahe da8221; feast on as much as you can while you may, the invader will come to take the rest away. The radio jockeys are all playing the theme song from Kal Ho Na Ho as their way of registering the sombre mood now, curiously prefaced by 8220;Dil Hai Chhota Sa8221; appropriate at many levels as a comment on the human angle to the tsunami.

If we look back, there was the IA hijack to Kandahar on the eve of Y2K and a long list of other horrible things that routinely happened just when human beings innocently geared to celebrate. To get a joy ride through life is an amazingly random freak, a bonus. Most of us get a blow, may be several, from the lead pipe, with differing degrees of force. So the most realistic definition of 8220;good luck8221; is anything that is NOT active bad luck. Does that sound too severe and gloomy a view of life? I8217;d presume to suggest that it is actually liberating. When you know things will never be 8220;perfect8221;, after a point, you can stop pining. Instead, like water, you flow around obstacles, you get by, because if you8217;re not moving, you get stagnant. That stasis is not safety. It, too, contains death, as the pond-bather in Nadia District found, when the seiche rose up and slapped him to death as a faraway ripple of the tsunami.

The only privilege or right we have, in effect, is to keep connected, keep trying, keep showing up for our lives. There can be no better example than the prisoners in Tihar Jail who collected a fat donation for tsunami relief. Otherwise, we might be snubbed like the young man who belligerently told the Universe, 8220;Sir, I exist!8221;. 8220;However8221;, said the Universe, 8220;the fact does not create in me a sense of obligation.8221;