Displacement

Our bedroom has a nice little alcove that faces the window overlooking the front of the house. Pinch bought me a lovely mahogany coloured desk and we placed it in the alcove. So this is my study corner and I love it. As I sat today, sipping my ginger tea and watching the gloom spread outside, I remembered the snippet I watched from the NPR program. A photographer was recounting tales of the displaced Iraqis she’d met. A lady spoke about how militia entered her home and beat up her father, brother and husband. They seized her sister, stabbed her in the back, cut off her legs and dragged her into a nearby room and shut the door. She was raped within that room while the rest of the family waited outside, helpless and bleeding. This is pre-war and pre-occupation tale, I believe.

Sitting here in such comfort and security, it is indeed difficult to believe that half a world away, people are being subjected to such unspeakable atrocities. There is such pain and anger in that part of the world – surely, we here cannot be unaffected. So many cries of pain, misery, loneliness and how can it be that we don’t hear them? The sheer unreality to the situation leaves us cold. Every once in a while, a news feature comes up and we feel that tiny ache within and then it passes. Really, what can we do? It’s clearer to me than ever before – yes, I can do my part. Bring more people to the knowledge, guide more people towards the path of human values, take Guruji’s work to places and people where it is required. Not only the oppressed but the oppressors also are in need of this knowledge. My spirit cringes at the thought of such horrifying acts of violence… how is it that someone actually commits them? Can we be all that different? Surely it cannot be.