The tiffin box

An hour with Scott Fitzgerald. “Civilization’s going to pieces,” breaks out Tom, a character in the novel, when, suddenly, a lady in my compartment in the local train, frantic with anger and panic, yelled to the passengers, to claim that mysterious tiffin box or have it thrown out. People were becoming uneasy and expressions started to sway and weave, as if cast by a distant flame, some were frightened, some angry, most of them, uncertain and expectant. We, all, watched not the rolling tiffin box, but the precarious balance of peace and the lives of men; we weighed not the fate of the innocent passersby on the road, or passengers on this train, but the unknowable result of unpredictable minds of unthinking men of unlimited power.

If the destroyer wanted suffering, he has succeeded. There it is: in the passengers of this local train, in the streets of Jaipur, in the faces of the nationals, in their whispers, in their fear, in their anger, in their diminishing hope, in their acknowledgement of the fact that this is much more than a moral catastrophe. It is unpatriotic to spread rumours exaggerating the power of the enemy, but, he is becoming stronger..

It is difficult to tell which community is being immolated to feed which community! And does it even matter? There is no way to tell which desolation has been accomplished by the policy makers and which by the undistinguished extremists. There is no way to tell who the cannibals are and who, their victims! Both are alike in fact, as they are in spirit. Both have held that immolation of men is proper, for their own reasons, and both are achieving it. Both claim that their misery is the measure of the other’s sin! Each is devouring the other, screaming to us that there is an unknown evil which is destroying peace.

..The enemy is becoming stronger but let him not forget that it speaks of our strength, much greater strength in refraining, in refraining from pulling the trigger when we are given a gun in our hand and we are hurt seeing millions of our fellow men die each day. It takes courage to strike back, but much greater strength to let go! Let go, this one time!

I still wish to see, in the chaos of the perishing humane relations, hope. Hope for peace. I want to achieve my wish to the letter, to the last bloodstained comma of it!

I know I will. Someday.