The day it started, we gasped in horror. What, is this actually happening? We followed the news, drone by drone, bomb by bomb, paying attention as if the war depended on it. Schoolchildren killed. Outrage. Global grief—yes, that is still possible. Leaders killed. Anger. Third party cities attacked—third parties are not neutral. This thing is spreading. Worry. Dismay at how my country is handling this. Yours. Ours. Sea-lanes imperilled, then effectively closed.
Our cooking gas supply is going
to be disrupted. Do we have enough gas in the cylinder? Our neighbours had
their replacement cylinder delivered as usual. Switch to induction. Shopshopshop.
There is no problem. If you book at 1145, you will get your replacement at 130.
It’s the magic muhurtam for gas.
A hospital named after one of our own. A university. A
research institution. Smithereens now.
Never mind but will petrol prices
go up? I had planned to go on a road-trip next week but what if I cannot get
petrol on the way? I heard that everything depends on petrol imports—not just
motor fuel and cooking gas but pharmaceuticals and plastics and all sorts of things.
Electricity. Oh god, no electricity, no motor, no water. No lift!
They are also bombing a neighbour now. Oh, that country is
like a lingering itch. They bomb them like a chorus in their campaigns. It’s a
wonder anyone is still left there. Including those terrorists they always say
they are chasing. But wars have a long, long life. Unlike civilians they kill.
Unlike homes they destroy.
There is no problem. The
government says so. The government is talking to everyone on the phone
everyday. There is no problem. We are the most important country in the world.
Everyone listens to our wise counsel. But then, why is that country, our alter
ego, our nemesis, our enemy, being called to mediate? What matters is to be
more important than they are, always.
More bombs. More sabre-rattling. More speeches. More challenges.
More death. So much more death. Destruction of things it took ages to build.
Homes people scrimped and saved for. Bridges and roads and power plants
governments took loans for. The bridal dress grandmothers and aunts
embroidered. Bookshelves groaning with a lifetime’s collection, so many still
unread. And still they fought, and still the wonder grew that they could hold
their own as smartly and bravely as they do. (Sorry, Oliver Goldsmith!).
It’s getting really hot now. So
sultry. We are planning to go to the hills. With climate change, we really need
to regulate working hours for those who do manual labour in the sun. Also, between
induction stoves and air-conditioners, electricity bills will be so high. Rising
temperatures are a public health problem. No one will come to work. No one is
coming to work because they have no gas to cook their food and eat. People are
going back to their villages because they cannot cook and eat. At least there,
they can use traditional fuels. It’s like COVID-19 all over again. That’s what
the government is saying. Forebear, like you did during COVID-19. Why did these
countries have to go to war?
“The guns spell money’s ultimate reason.” Stephen Spender
got this right. Those who benefit from war are innumerable. Those who think it makes
them more important. Indispensable. Those who think it enhances their power.
Those who sell those lies. Those who grow in the shadow of the liars. Those who
make the things people fight with, and those are innumerable, from the bullets
to the aircraft to the software that powers the drones. Those who have secrets
to hide behind the wanton killing of children in school and people on the run
and scientists in a lab and fruit-sellers in a marker.
What are going to do in the summer
holidays? Some writing. Catch that blockbuster I missed. Visit my native place
(I hope it’s not inconvenient for them because of the gas situation. I already
bought my tickets in January.). Read some novels. Prepare for next year. Get my
house painted. Get the terrace water-proofed.
They heard the sound of planes or drones. They were too afraid
to look. The windows were sealed shut anyway. The lights were out. Or, they
would be out if there was power supply. Bottles of jam and jars of sweet
biscuits and dry fruit were running low as tensions ran high. They did not have
long to speculate. One minute they were huddling together in the middle room of
their home. In the next, a bomb had hit their terrace, torn through the roof
and detonated in the centre of their huddle.
10 kilos rice. 2 kilos toor dal.
2 kilos moong dal. 1 kilo each chana and urad. 500 gms tamarind—if you buy too
much, there are insects in it. This humidity is like that. 1 litre cooking oil.
500 gms ghee. Get some ketchup, please. And we are out of mustard seeds,
turmeric, cinnamon. Get a couple of packets of batter. And good to have frozen
parathas, just in case.
Flour and sugar. Sometimes milk powder. The children have
not tasted fresh milk in months. The little ones have forgotten the taste. In
twenty years, they will be mocked—those who survive this—for obesity and
diabetes prevalence, forgetting who made it impossible to get eggs and greens
and other nutrition. Those people, they will discuss in fine dining establishments
that serve the cuisines of the decimated, have no idea about nutrition.
4 weeks. 6 weeks. 8 weeks. 12
months. Time passes quietly and swiftly when you stop paying attention to the callous,
vicious destruction of people’s lives. Even when villains and heroes are
visible, there is too much to do in our own days to think much about them. Hard
to sustain anger or concern or even a passing interest when the drama of everyday
life asks so much of us. Stop already with the bad news and the endless
outrage. It’s irritating. It’s a downer. It’s embarrassing that you won’t stop.
You can’t do anything. I can’t do anything. Change the channel. Deal with the
problems at hand.
And yet, if no one looks, no one asks, no one is angry, no one cares, then those who start wars to indulge their need to be cruel simply get away with it. The juggernaut started in one place, moved to another, then another. It is a marvel that anyone has the will or capacity to stop it. Should one join the juggernaut or to reinforce the barricades in its path? Those who can dither, confident of their innate righteousness. They have stopped counting the lives that are lost. They have stopped noticing the war. This is just what happens in the world.
