Of Wounds And Wishes..

Does it hurt a woman to be stung with a hundred needles a month or be subjected to radiations day and night, or be stuffed with chemicals, in a desperate attempt to survive what in technical terms is malignant neoplasm, more colloquially, cancer? Does something inside her moan in pain every morning, when she sees a cluster of her hair fallen onto the pillow? Does it hurt a man to know that the woman he loved and cherished half his life betrayed him for another man? Does it sting him to see her arm-in-arm with someone else? Does it hurt a newlywed bride to know that her husband has perished in a terrorist attack? Does it strike her every night he won’t be coming home? Does it hurt a mother, who had been yearning to finally see the child she had been nurturing inside her for ten months, to hold its little body- quiescent in death? Does her heart cry out every time she looks at a child beaming at her?

                                                    Yes, it does. But sooner or later, it ceases. The mourning, the grieving, the pain- comes to an end at last. It does not undermine the effect of the loss or the magnitude of it. The memory of the loss remains livid, but the pain wanes away, making way for another emotion. A woman suffering from cancer, may find in her pain, realization, that she has only days to live. This realization may strengthen her with courage to live the remainder of her days to the fullest. Another may strive harder to recover, to survive. Yet another might feel doomed.

                      Corporal mortification, particularly popular among a catholic sect known as the ‘Opus Dei’  in its extreme form includes seeking ‘penance’ by inflicting severe physical wounds on oneself. Whipping oneself with barbed wires and wearing them around one’s thighs as a show of remorse for a ‘sin’ committed, is common among such people. The pain, they deliberately inflict upon themselves washes away the guilt from their rather insecure minds; reassures them perhaps, that they have been ‘chastised’ – rid of their wrongdoings. To some it may serve as a license to folly again and again.

                           ‘There are no free lunches in life” – “no pain, no gain” is as true as any truth can be. That it is human nature to seek a recluse from pain is no less a truth. Some simply accept it as a way of life, maintaining a rather stoic attitude; some like the Opus Dei seek to control it, while others obliterate the memory of the loss, choosing to retain only the happier ones. Yet others- weaker ones, finding no other way out of their grief, seek to end it along with life itself. It takes both weakness and strength to commit a suicidal act. One has to be weak enough to run away from life and strong enough to bear that one last pang of pain- the pain that leads to death.

                                                The memory of the pain and suffering brought about by the 9/11 attack on the Twin Towers, the 26/11 attack on Mumbai, the Haitian earthquake has united men in their purpose to extend a helping hand. On the other hand, the memory of a long lost dear one in a curfew ages ago, still prevents a Hindu and Muslim family from embracing each other. Had not the likes of Bhagat Singh and Chandrasekhar Azad embraced martyrdom, for the purpose of delivering a nation from pain? Had not the most devastating nuclear attack ever to have been witnessed by man, that tore apart thousands of families in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, not been a display of vengeance born out of the wounds of the victims of the Pearl Harbour? The memory of the victims of the Mumbai attack, kept alit the fury of men who refused to allow Mohammad Ajmal Kasab the right to a lawyer, or even the fury of men who took a more sensible stand. This anger and vengeance is perhaps the prime cause for disharmony among different communities, regarding which, a special mention is owed to many a Bollywood ‘action’ flick featuring a muscular Sunny Deol shouting abuses and firing bullets at anyone and anything ‘Pakistani’.

         Yet, it is not just vengeance or fury that is born from pain. The pain and grief, not to mention the guilt that one feels while looking into the soot smeared face of a ten-year old, polishing boots near the signal, or the melancholic eyes of a mother who is forced to watch her little child fall asleep with a half-filled stomach, is not to be undermined. It compels one to lend an extra penny to those who need it. Is it not humanity residing in one, stirred by the pain and suffering of less privileged ones, that compels men to devote their lives to the betterment of society?

                      Just like the dark night makes us acknowledge the bright day, black emphasizes white, so does pain illuminate that one string of hope, no matter how thin or frail. A painful today urges one to strive for a peaceful tomorrow.