This is a column about positivity. It is about coping mechanisms and how we can all turn these dark times into a period of self-development, by making smart choices
Representational Image. Pic/Pixabay
I know we aren’t allowed to talk about the tragedy that has been unfolding in a certain part of the world for a long time now. I can’t bring myself to name the place because that would call my patriotism into question. After all, our government has made it quite clear that we are meant to choose a side, which prevents a lot of us from being honest about how we feel. This isn’t about the aggressor who cannot be named by the world’s biggest media houses, nor is it about the women, children and civilians losing their lives daily, because we can get to them only after we acknowledge the murders taking place closer to home. This is a column about positivity. It is about coping mechanisms and how we can all turn these dark times into a period of self-development, by making smart choices.
One of the things that works for me is finding ways of addressing specific atrocities by looking at positive alternatives. Consider starvation, for example, because that has been well-documented by one or two newspapers that aren’t morally compromised yet. I try not to think about the fact that food has not been allowed to enter a certain part of the world by a colonising force, and the way I resolve that dilemma is by reading reviews of restaurants that have opened recently. I find that it always takes my mind away from those depressing facts and pictures.
Walking through Bandra is a good distraction because there’s always a new restaurant or two but visiting the suburb is also a risk because so many of these eateries appear in what used to be someone’s home. It may or may not remind you of homes that are being stolen elsewhere, by people we can’t talk about because they may or may not be our country’s second-largest supplier of military equipment.
Then there’s entertainment, a tried and tested method of distraction that has worked throughout human history. One of the advantages of living in India is having elected representatives who take theatre so seriously that it is often prioritised over their real jobs of managing the country. It gives us constant access to a stream of distractions related to eating habits, religious beliefs, and proclamations of how we are soon going to be the most powerful nation on Earth. This propensity for melodrama has also helped give us the world’s biggest movie industry and, even if it produces little of genuine merit, it is always something we can rely on for cinema about issues that don’t matter at all. In other words, if watching documentaries about war crimes upsets you, there are always options like Chhaava, Sikandar, or Bhool Chuk Maaf.
Ignoring crimes against women may be tricky, until you remind yourself that this is a country where atrocities of this nature are now an intrinsic part of our culture. For proof, watch any movie in any Indian language, or take a closer look at the profiles of men who have been elected to Parliament. It makes this aspect of genocide the easiest to forget because women in India already deal with this whenever they walk out alone after sunset.
The elephant in the room is the gory stuff: all the massacres, bodies, hasty burials, and unmarked graves that tend to get a lot of attention during any genocide. Under normal circumstances, this would be the hardest to ignore. What works in our favour, as Indians, is the endless series of minor tragedies and killings that make life so unpredictable in these parts. It’s like a guessing game, where so many people in cities across the country step out not knowing if human error or bigotry will prevent them from returning. Some are lynched, others run over, still others die in communal incidents or because there are not enough hospital beds. When faced with years of homegrown terrors, other people’s pain becomes easier to disregard.
For me, the big problem is always individuals with a conscience because even though there aren’t too many of them around these days, there are still a few who manage to be loud. Look at what’s happening, they scream, and I am forced to look. It is the only thing that makes me appreciate the current state of journalism in India. It is only now, because I am trying to ignore a genocide, that I can be thankful for a press that has had its hands tied and its mouth taped shut.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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