Two incidents which have clearly etched a mark upon most of us in the past few week, and yet plays out seemingly with no end are the Indrani-Sheena show and the Immigration crisis in Europe. Though unrelated, both the incidences have a striking similarity. Tragic and fatalistic. Both the incidences throw a fair share of human culpability. Both remains fearfully on the edge of an existentialist dilemma.
A mother killing her daughter in the former and mothers losing theirs in the latter are depraving, even by modern societal standards. Whatever be the motives, human disillusionment has now reached a point of no return. A nadir so unfathomable that it now lies beyond human imagination.
The similarities end there but the human story moves on. Primarily hinged on the emotional roller coaster the heart can offer. Instances of parents, singularly or both, taking the lives of their children are many. History is replete with such tales of parenthood gone horribly wrong. Such sacrilege has usually ended up in carnage and the world gets another tale to embellish.
Such is also the sadness related to the plight of the migrants from Syria and Iraq, now pushing their luck into Europe through Hungary and the other land borders. Lifeless bodies of infants washing up the shore of Europe is now a phenomena. In a world so connected the images are harrowing and desperate. I can well imagine the blankness in the minds of the parents whose children they might well have been. Now, so devoid of life, the bodies are our new symbols of failure. Failure to provide a fellow human with the succor they so vehemently need. Hope.
And here in, we converge on the most striking similarity of these two topics. Failure. Whether by an person or by society . The communion of human beings is now a myth and we are all a part of a race for singular recognition. The air we breathe is now a commodity, packaged in a illusion of wonderment we so pleasingly call Life.
Desperation has pushed us into a dark crevice where logic thrives on ignorance and manifests itself into a monster of which we are now slaves. It is this desperation which will ultimately drive us into self-destruction or at least abet us into becoming a part of this vicious cycle of self degradation. Either way, it is the death of that last sliver of light we so ardently held . Faith.
A mother’s womb is a universe for the child. The umbilical chord is not just a physiological adjunct but an emotional one too. It survives the trauma of detachment much long after the child has grown into an adult. Or the parent into dependents. But circumstantial evidences illustrate that such relationships are no more everlasting. And on the face of it, we have almost lost the battle.
The humane in humanity is like the infant in red shirt and dark shorts, washed ashore, dead.