Apologies for the hiatus. A series of unfortunate events have kept me house bound and bed ridden for a while. What I have discovered in the meantime is that medicine, particularly that which knocks you out, isn’t quite the hotbed of creativity. My thoughts have been a jumble, and I have been unproductive on most fronts.
What I have been unable to escape from is the constant reports of the latest atrocities being committed by the IS. It has made me wonder how quickly we become desensitised to violence. Is this why it takes even more ghastly acts to call attention to a cause? How soon before we become completely inured? Before the beheading of innocents or the mass abduction of young girls is passé? How many more depths have to be plumbed before we can reach the nadir?
The time of innocence is a brief few years at the very beginning of life, and that too, if one is lucky. The rest of the time is a quick unravelling of that naiveté. The world’s underbelly is an ugly place. To protect our children however, we disabuse them of their guilelessness, fill their heads with monsters, real or imagined. Hoping against hope that cynicism, mistrust and circumstances will protect them from the worst.
And all the while we wait for the next horror to be unleashed, the next act of savage barbarity to dominate the headlines, while we scurry about our daily tasks, averting our eyes and pinching our nostrils, from the stink of moral turpitude that emanates off humanity.