I had a half written article on ‘forgiveness’ saved for my post. I had always been charmed by the concept and thought I would write about it. I texted a friend in Mumbai a few hours ago, “if i write another post wid the same fashion-show-backstage backdrop, wud it b 2 repetitive?”
“Yeah i dunno..rite it n see. there were bomb blasts in my area.” I read the last part of the text again. I had read it right. Bomb blast in his area.
“Wht?omg. r u ok?”
“yeah im fine”
“thank god. n all the ppl u know?”
“i hope so..”
I deleted the post I had written about forgiveness. It didn’t make any sense to me now.
I had spent some time in Mumbai during my internship. I loved everything about the city. The spark, the rhythm, the energy, the people, everything. Every time I asked for directions, every time I asked for train routes, every time I asked for place to visit, I got a friendly response from people who were happy that one more was falling in love with the city they loved.
I have friends and family in Mumbai. Each one took me to their favourite spot in the city, that soon became my favourite too. During my brief two months stay, I made friends with a lot of nameless faces too. The lady who took the same bus who gave me warm wishes before we left, the ice cream-wala near my place who gave us some kulfi as our farewell present, the colleagues who hugged us warmly, the roommate we promised to keep in touch with, the tough-exterior-soft-interior landlady. Whenever I go back, I wish to see the same faces with the same smiles. The thought that I will not get to see some of those faces and smiles when I go back…it is a terrible feeling. I write in my blog about people who enriched my life. The thought that one of them might be in a hospital right now, is disturbing.
And yet there are good chances that it might happen. I am angry. After 26/11, things were supposed to change to make our lives better. I don’t care who is behind all this or whose political support they have. I would still be angry.
I have lived all my life in supposedly safer places. But these terror attacks in any other place kills me bit by bit too. I only asked my friends and family how they were. After the “we are fine”s, I got back to writing my blog. The part of me, that would have mourned over the unfortunate fellow citizens, dies with each such attack. That makes me angry.
Forgiveness is the last thing to feel. I doubt the very purpose of it now. I regret ever telling anyone to forgive.
Terror groups are composed of young mislead kids who would have otherwise been as good as you and me. Yet I don’t feel any sympathy for them. The law and order cannot practically handle all the mushrooming terror units. I don’t feel sorry for them. The dictionary says the antonyms of ‘forgiveness’ are – accusation, blame, censure, charge, sentence and punishment. I feel that.
“keep me updated. n take care” I texted my friends in Mumbai.
A part of all of us dies. The part that lives should be resuscitated. I don’t feel it now, but I would want the anger to soon die and sense to take over. Forgiveness? Those who came up with the concept probably didn’t have any dear ones living in Mumbai.
Posted on July 13, 2011, in Forgiveness, Life, Life-lesson, People, Terrorism and tagged anger, forgiveness, friends and family in danger, friendship, Mumbai, strangers, terror attacks, terrorists, unforgiving. Bookmark the permalink. 25 Comments.