Can we see some remorse, some repair, some resignations, some response beyond empty platitudes!
Illustration/Uday Mohite
There was a Thor-like thumping on my door… standing outside was my neighbour, Gen Z angervist (angry activist) Natasha aka Nats- arms akimbo, her face, a shade darker than her streaked hair— “Uhmmm what’s up, Xena, Warrior Princess, your irateness this morning seems extraordinary,” I said with much trepidation.
Words were weapons this morning, spilling out faster than a flowing river.
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“A bridge falls, bruh… a pedestrian suspension bridge just collapses… suspension cables snap. Just like that. WTF, dude, lives lost.”
“Yes, Nats, Morbi Bridge… a bridge on the river Machchhu,” me giving obvious info when confronted with an irate Natasha.
“How’s it possible, how can there be such callousness, such carelessness. How how?… tell me, please tell me, 134 lives… no accountability, bruh just none (Words difficult at this point).”
“This was ‘God’s will’, one guy says, ‘it was a tragedy waiting to happen’, another explains, in unrepenting hindsight! Dude who writes the phrase book after an incident like this, one cliche after another.
‘There will be a full investigation’, ‘the victims’ families will be adequately compensated’, ‘the guilty will be punished’, that’s freakin’ crap! I wish one honest so-and-so would just say officially, ‘Nothing’s gonna happen, there will be a thorough probe where nothing will be unearthed and the real villains will get away scot free’. Jeez at least then there would be some refreshing honesty, however harsh.”
I agreed silently.
“No checks, no balances, the contract given to a clock repairer… are you shitting me? The family makes light bulbs and toothpaste! And the tourist attraction is opened for tourists without an audit, the rusty cables were just polished not replaced, this is a 19th century bridge, for crying out aloud… how’s it possible, Rahul bruh. How?” Nats howled.
“Magistrates, ministers, ministries, municipality… all disengaging from the tragedy, leaving the small guys to take the fall!”
“Bruh, this story plays the same every time… almost stereotypical in its predictability… Shifting the blame, calling names, ducking responsibility, not one person makes any attempt to build bridges, pardon the pun. The callousness, the sheer callousness, bruh.”
“Man, Rahul… if you look through history… real leaders step down faced with such a calamity. Man, someone should have resigned. Or be forced to resign…this is shifty leaders shifting blame! And then to top it all a hospital was painted, a makeover, come on tell me this a bad nightmare, and we’re all going to wake up one day—this ‘Morbi tragedy is morbid to say the least!
Can we see some remorse, some repair, some resignations, some response beyond empty platitudes!
Modern India… displaying its full palette of disrepair, Get out of election mode, dudes show some empathy,” Nats was unstoppable now.
“Natasha, this sadly is the scourge of modern India… the cold hand of corruption.”
“Dude, are you telling me this is the India I have to grow up in… the India, you my forefathers are leaving me?”
(Eye roll with tears)
“What the moral fibre of this nation, bruh, tattered man, torn, shredded.
What will be the final straw on the camel’s back?
When will it snap… like a rusty cable on an overcrowded bridge, dude… when will we collectively scream, ‘enough is enough’… Rahul bruh!” Nats screamed. “When will public memory change from being short to being on a short fuse?” she exploded, in conclusion.
Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
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