We accept death readily when it has no impact on our own life. It’s more straightforward in a society like ours, where thousands of people die unloved and unnoticed daily, simply numbers in an emerging country. But I can’t accept the death of my companion since it wasn’t intended to happen. He had a stable existence and the ability to save himself. I’m not sure if he was immunized, but he should have had access to medical attention. He couldn’t be rescued, though, because this is a virus over which we currently have little control.
Everyone can’t accept this loss because, even though most of us now know someone who died due to the epidemic, we appear to have collectively opted to forgive our government and go on.
I ask myself why my friend had to die, not as an existential inquiry, but as one with definite answers. If we want to peel the paper-thin layer we’ve erected between ourselves and the last few years, we may all turn to these solutions.
The official death toll from Covid-19 in India surpassed 500,000 a little more than a month ago. On paper, our country has the fourth-highest death toll globally, but experts have always claimed that our estimates are significantly higher. Numerous publications in unbiased media sites outside our nation have pointed out that these estimates do not account for incorrect surveys or unreported and unaccounted-for deceased.
Nonetheless, none of this has turned into anger or resentment at the Central Government’s bungled reaction. We appear to be okay with half a million of our compatriots dying, leaving behind millions of dependents, because we seem to be able to move on from sorrow much too readily.
Frequently equate our reaction to the political failure to the type of rage we reserve for irritating movies. This occurs more often than it should since getting stirred up over film is a national sport for us. I consider the ferocious demonstrations outside movie theatres or the hateful posts on Twitter and compare those reactions to how we agreed to overlook the urgent cry for aid posted online less than a year ago.
Everyone knows recalls the sorrow and dread that swept through the homes of family and friends, yet none of us seemed to have discussed blame or guilt.
We make excuses for our country’s poverty when our government fails to do its job, but we also spread the myth that we are a “rising power” with enormous potential when it suits us. During the epidemic, shockingly vast quantities of our taxes were diverted into government coffers, for which we received little in exchange. Where is the anger about the deaths of individuals we know when hospitals are denied funding?
I am acutely aware that my friend’s death is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He is now just a number, a fatality like a million others. His death will not inspire change since we have already begun reverting to our pre-virus existence. Those calls for aid and images of bodies being burnt on the banks of the Ganges will be a distant memory a few years from now when we are fully involved in the laborious work of living. No one will be held accountable.
We grieve my friend’s death, but I lament the lack of rage that has allowed us to forgive leaders who do not deserve it. Families across our country have been torn apart, and I worry about the children who have been left behind, hoping that they will grow up and seek answers. I hope they do what their parents did not and hold the Indian government accountable for its tragic failings. Which of the two do we belong to?
The authored article is written by shared with Prittle Prattle News exclusively.
