The Right to Life*

*conditions apply

With all the love I have left inside of me, to you who have lost, to you who might be fighting to get oxygen, and to the rest of us who are breathing a day at a time while being conscious of how a breath should be, thankful that it hasn’t entered our homes yet, I will not ask you to be strong. We aren’t superhumans.

There is fear, helplessness and anger. Even when I somehow manage to subside these emotions concentrating hard to work, I’m reminded of the reality on the street by either an ambulance or the police, passing from my house every hour for more than a week now. You are alerted as if the sound is coming from inside your head. You drop everything in the present, panicking how will you manage an ambulance. You don’t know how to drive as well. There are also phone calls informing us of another relative, friend, neighbour or an old school teacher getting infected or the worst. It has reached each of our homes — the virus, the sheer mismanagement of human lives, and a lack of intention to prevent our deaths.

This is not political. We don’t have the energy left to criticise, but rather a realisation of the differences between those who are governed and those who govern, irrespective of left, right and centre. Us and Them. I’ll leave the definition of “they” up to you.

To me it seems, they will always have a COVID bed reserved in AIIMS. They will have oxygen, a bed, doctors, and other life-saving resources. Maybe more than they require depending on the noise their leadership makes. They should. They have the Right to Life. They have the right to save their lives. But I have to pause to answer the same question for us. I look around the people and the social class I belong to. There is no definite answer. The ability to save my life degrades with the severity of the virus. Atmanirbharta leaves me in the middle of nowhere. I have to return to the land where we used to realise and respect the nirbharta for both physical and emotional needs on each one around us.

We rarely have ever trusted them with anything. To the extent that many of us have forgotten whose responsibility it is to lead and how one does that. On the contrary, we are indicting the public, taking it all on ourselves, poor human hearts.

“Aur jao Kumbh”

“Aur karlo shaadiyan, yahin hoga na”

“Ab koi mask nahi pehnega toh government kya kar legi?”

“Itna bada desh hein, government kitna sambhalegi?”

Of course, we didn’t shy away from shredding off our responsibilities; some of us were too strong to get covid, others trusted Coronil, while some sincerely believed that the world was conspiring against them and it’s all a hoax.

But then why should I forget their invitation on the radio asking us to join Kumbh Mela, the faith heaven happening once every 12 years. I’m not expecting my cousin to give his 12th boards every year either. Why should I forget the all colourful rallies of dancing democracy as they made sure their business doesn’t get shut? The shop opposite my house has now witnessed three failed businesses in 6 months, each unable to pay the rent alone. Don’t even get me started on wearing masks. We could have made a lot of money from the penalty in each of the past month rallies from the ministers alone. The amount might have helped build a hospital.

What leaves me boiling with fury and at the same time melting into collective empathy are the lost lives whose death certificates also have to lie to keep their narrative credible. A repeated reminder that we are only counted as a voter. As a human, the Sarkari babus deny counting us as dead while reporting to the press, “These are non-COVID deaths which have increased in the last few days”. Multiply the numbers at least 10 times, for I don’t know how many days, and the result is the cost the middle class of this country would be paying to realise the realities of the incumbent.

According to the US-based Pew Research Centre, one-third of the middle class is now pushed to the borders of poverty. For the poor, I am sceptical if they discuss them any longer except for as a crowd waiting to be invited to rallies. The question now is for how long the images of rows and columns of pyres burning in each of our cities will continue to haunt us? Would we remember it when we become countable again as a voter in any of the upcoming elections? By 2024? Or will the emptiness in families be shadowed by another chronicle of ultra-nationalism concocted by politicians desperate to become idols?

An unaffordable tragedy that ought to teach us to not fantasize and make politicians our heroes and idols, all we need to do is make them humans. Just like us. Equally vulnerable, scared of losing loved ones, of losing their dreams, of losing two years of their lives, and capable of sharing the feeling of being paused waiting for someone to press the play button again.

I want to sleep, only to wake up once each has forgotten how they lost a piece of their heart because leaders couldn’t lead, leaders couldn’t build, and definitely couldn’t practise what they preach. Do you think we can forget? Do we still have any end of the thread called the Right to Life in our hands? Do we even have the right to a dignified death?

You see, we are not them.

We will neither be able to forget nor sleep.

All that is left is to be kind, responsible and share with each other the stories of our loved ones once we get an iota of strength back after fighting for them. As for my anger, it would vaporise the moment someone in my family exhibits symptoms, leaving me alone with fear and helplessness.