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I had a bit of a strange day on Sunday.
The majority of it was spent in the company of Rahees looking round Gwalior fort which was very enjoyable, despite the heat. And in all, I’d call it a nice day, but a few things did mare it somewhat.
It started with Rahees receiving a phone call with news of two deaths the night before. One, a 38 year old relative that had been suffering from cancer for some time, and the second the 50 year old tutor of his children. I assume that this was as the result of a brain hemorrhage, from his description that her brain exploded. That, added to the account that my landlord’s (wonderful) daughter had told me only hours before, about the cousin of her friend who, at 21, had hung herself the previous evening. It got me thinking that in the 8 months I’ve been here, I’ve been told about more deaths of friends or relatives of friends, or seen or heard about the consequences of road accidents, than in what I can remember of my last 10 years at home. And that upset me a lot.
I’ve read about mortality rates a million times, and, I’m ashamed to say, have never been overly shocked by the high numbers that plague relatively economically poor countries, just acknowledging it as a regretful consequence of inadequate health care systems, corruption, war, or one of the many other factors that are associated with such areas. I’ve never been able to humanize it, or to understand the torment that accompanies the loss of a loved one, especially before their time. I have lost family members and distant relations. I was 6 when my mother’s mother died, so I don’t remember the feeling that accompanied the news, but assume it was more confusion than an understanding of the loss that I would never regain. During my teenage years my mother’s mother’s mother passed away, and although it was awful to witness her suffer the anguish of strokes, I remember experiencing an understanding that life comes to an end when we’re old and finding comfort in the fact that, as far as I was aware, she’d lived a long, happy life. Finally, I remember during primary school my best friend’s step father died in a TT accident. That one took a while to accept and I convinced myself that he’d in fact lost his memory and had been misidentified and found myself double checking the faces of every motorcyclist I saw for the next few months. But I remember seeing the pain on my friends face during his funeral, and feeling disgustingly helpless at the situation. My point is, despite these sparse experiences, I’ve never been able to see beyond the numbers… until this afternoon, when I looked into Rahees eyes as he told me his news.
It was a look of despondent acceptance, that fate deals these blows and life will go on, despite the misery that will fill the air for the time being. When I insensitively uttered my earlier noted observed comparison between Britain and India, Rahees matter-of-factly stated ‘India is a poor country. That’s what happens.’ I think that comment alone launched this thought track of mine, leading me to conclude that human life seems to mean so much less, if there isn’t money to slacken it’s greases. And, ashamedly, it does come down to money… in the end.
Another death that I heard about, during a stay in Saiwara, was of a 20-something father of two, relation of Rahees’. He’d had trouble breathing and had experienced chest pains and feeling faint for months and had been to see many doctors, even highly qualified practitioners in Delhi. But no answers could be attained as to the cause of his suffering and one night, he sat up in bed, put his head between his arms, which, after a few minutes, fell forward and limp, instigating the screams of his 24 year old wife. I think one of the most disturbing aspects of his death, is never knowing the full cause that robbed the man of his life, the wife of her husband, and the children of their father. I just can’t imagine that happening under the NHS; I’ve never heard of a case being so utterly unexplained.
And this one most certainly would not occur within the British health system. I was in a village with my boss, who was asking why women might be reluctant to give birth in hospital, where trained mid-wives have access to medicines and knowledge that would ease delivery to a greater extent than can be experienced at home. One young boy stepped forward and gave the following account.
He was in hospital with his wife, who had just given birth, when he heard hysterical screams from a room nearby. A woman was crying that her baby had been taken and a midst of confusion and desperate panic ensued. After a little while, it came to be understood that the child had been taken by dogs, who’d come looking for the placenta that they usually feast upon, it having been tossed onto the floor outside the delivery room. Yes, there are guards, but they’re not paid to guard from dogs, of course.
I didn’t pick up the story at first, for which I’m grateful, since I felt the urge to vomit when it was later translated to me in the jeep leaving for our office.
In my very longwinded way, I’m trying to say that life seems to mean less here – but I’m not sure to whom. Certainly not by those who are left behind; I’ve witnessed the pain that accompanies news of another loss. I’m sure not by those professionals that do their best to work in under-resourced sectors and that don’t have access to the latest medicines and equipments.
Maybe I mean the system. The system seems to think that the level of worth attached to a human life differs according to the area, class, economic status, into which it is born. The global system, that ensures that some people live comfortably and relatively free, and others are plagued with worry of where their next meal may come from, what money will pay for treatments and medicines if and when needed, what will happen if water doesn’t return after another of the many cessations in its distribution.
But human life is human life, no?
Well, these are just a few ponderings that have plagued me since sitting alone, considering the days events, and reading Shantaram, which, if you’ve read, you’ll understand it’s contribution.
I did have more to write on, but knowing that monster blogs aren’t a reader’s favorite, I’ll save them for another time.
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