A little poem I wrote yesterday afternoon:
Kill off your tigers,
Turn your rivers to shit,
Choke the baby girls
And go lynch a Dalit.
Stare and ogle, yell and leer,
Live a life of demon-fear.
And why can I judge, why am I so free?
The answer’s clear, it is our GDP’s.
You eke by while we advance,
Due to harsh and cold and random chance!
This one reflects my own progression of reactions to some things I’ve encountered in India. Reading the newspaper, I am disguseted by the steady obliteration of habitat in this tropical country. I am also easily frustrated with the staring, the religiosity, and the awful treatment of women (and killing of female fetuses and babies). But when I take a step back I must admit to myself that the fundamental difference between me and the average baby-killer, monkey-god-worshiper, or caste bigot is only in our wealth. The poor will always seek refuge in religious superstition. They will always be torn apart by senseless societal divisions. And yes, the poor will always be driven to extremes of survival, even if it means killing a female infant to prevent the family from being destroyed by another economic burden. And as I said in the poem, being born rich of being born poor is decided only by this indifferent thing, chance, and nothing else.
pseudoisaac 