Unidentified Objects

I was at McDonald's yesterday. And a white man sitting at a nearby table suddenly attracted the attendant's attention. Pointing to a black bag left at an empty table, he said something.

After Saturday's events in Delhi, I froze a little, even though I am sitting safe and sound in far-off Dubai. I was impressed that he was so alert, pointing out an abandoned bag to the staff. I smiled at him.

Only when he looked blankly at me did I realise that he had just been pointing out something that may have been forgotten by its owner. Whereas I sprang to the conclusion that he was being a vigilant civilian pointing out a possible threatening object.

They say we go on. That we are indifferent. That this is oblivion and hard-heartedness. But we change. In small ways. In what we expect. In conclusions we jump to. In judgements we make. And that is the worst change of them all.

What can we do? The media were complaining that people just pick up the pieces and move on. But what would they want us to do? Sit at home? That's not life. So if moving on, if making a few phone calls to check that our loved ones are fine, before going back to our lives means we are immune, then so be it.

Yes, we pick up the pieces. But some pieces are shattered so fine that we never find them in the aftermath of a tragedy. We just rebuild with some chinks and carry on. For some of us the chinks are chunks of emptiness. For the rest of us, they are still chinks, thankfully. And may they remain that way.