Dies irae, dies spe

       Day of Wrath, Day of Hope

     

     I wonder how many Chinese living in Nanking on the eve of the Japanese invasion were clinically depressed and how many had just bought their new house. I wonder how many Poles on the eve of the Nazi invasion were facing such problems in life that they were contemplating suicide and how many girls had just said “Yes!” to their lovers. I wonder how many people living in Kolkata on the eve of ‘The Direct Action Day’ were unemployed and hungry and how many had just finally cleared all their debts. I wonder how many families were broken beyond repair in Phnom Penh on the eve of The Khmer Rouge victory and how many had just graduated. I wonder how many Tutsis in Rwanda suffering from terminal illnesses had lost all hope in life on the eve of the 100 day massacre and how many had just received their first Holy Communion.

        

           And I continue to wonder as I read history and current affairs. I wonder as I continue to live.

     

        Personal disasters and tragedies strike without a pattern and without warning. Upper middle and lower middle; depressed and anxious alike. The prelude or the life lived before the disaster is as important as the aftermath. It sets the stage for the great show. It determines and adds to the intensity of the disaster. When the proverbial shit happens, the prelude or the pre-life seems like heaven compared to the after-life of the disaster. Ironic! Let’s say there’s a man from somewhere who is not happy with his life at the moment and is spending five minutes every fifteen minutes complaining, cursing life for the first minute, thinking that nothing can get worse than this for the next three minutes and fifty five seconds and hoping life would one day be better for a mere five seconds. At this point for this man, unfortunately, comes the pain, the suffering, the test. Countless thoughts, headaches and sleepless nights later the man thinks of the heaven that was, to curse a mouthful, complain a list-full and hope a glorious five seconds. It was way better then, he says.

     

           And on the other hand let’s say there’s a woman from elsewhere who has just been promoted a day after her last instalment of her apartment was filled. She’s so happy she gives fifty bucks to the transgender at the signal. She’s just living every moment. Things she hoped for have begun to happen. At this point for this woman, unfortunately, comes the pain, the suffering, the test. Countless thoughts, headaches and sleepless nights later the woman thinks of the wonderful prelude only to make the current trial even more unbearable. It was way better then, she says.

     

         For the depressed Chinese, suicidal Poles, unemployed Kolkatans, heart-broken Cambodians and the terminally ill Tutsis, life showed new depths in the coming days. They would have joined their voice with the optimist in saying that nothing is impossible, only to give the phrase a new interpretation.

     

        Can anyone fathom the thoughts in the mind of a girl hiding in a bathroom trying to escape the hacking machete on the street? We can only make an infinitely futile attempt. She probably heard that people are being raped, hacked, skinned alive and mutilated on the streets. A sound can mean death, a slow, painful, torturous one at that. We are familiar with a similar story where a girl hiding in the attic with her family shares her thoughts and feelings. But what was she thinking the day they came and took her? What goes on in the mind of a prisoner who has just been released after serving five years in jail, only to realise that his family has abandoned him and that he has nowhere to go? He’s free of course but for what? A man was once brought to the E.R unresponsive. After intubation and a few cycles of resuscitation the man was declared dead. He was twenty eight. Waiting behind the E.R curtains was his wife of one and a half years. She was four months pregnant. That is life.

     

            I am stating the obvious. Life has its full glasses and empty glasses (or to put it in a positive way, it’s full glasses and no-full glasses) It is he or she or others who have endured through a trial that are crowned. Not everyone is capable of such endurance. Or in other words not everyone is aware of their capability to endure. Some falter. What makes it worse for a help-my-unbelief-sailor caught up in a terrible storm is the fact that he worships a Saviour who calmed the seas with a command and even walked on water. While there are people who think they are beyond any help, there are those who stare at help right in the face to the point of drooling only to realise that it is not coming. The Justice League of Nations, the United Nations of America was there to help of course. Millions perished still and millions continue to perish while the world which said never again in 1945, stands and watches.

     

           But I believe someone in Nanking, Krakow, Kolkata, Phnom Penh and Kigali dared to hope and someone is hoping at this very moment, even if it is for five seconds. But for many others, hope was and is so infinitesimally small that it’s probably like a memory of hope. What does hope do anyway? What kind of a hope does a priest in a Gulag have when he wears a cross with a crucified-Saviour, an apparent divine paradox? What is hope anyway?

     

         God promised a highway if one is in the wilderness and even a river if one is in the desert; but there’s no promise of a bridge when one faces waters and no eastern wind when one faces fire. Only a promise that the waters will not drown or the fire will not kindle oneself.

     

         A promise. A hope.

     

       Some wonder if they are in the desert or the wilderness or the river or the furnace.

     

        Some get help. Some endure. Some perish. Some hope.

     

        Some live and wonder.

-Sam.