World of our Own

16th may, 2100 hrs.

As my fist gets tighter on the wrapper of a wafer packet and the volume of the television gets on to my head, I finally hear my little cousin sister of 8 years, who had come from Noida for vacations calling out to me. She asks me a question and all of a sudden the room is filled with a deafening silence. The wafer packet slips out of my hand and I try to pass on a wafer to her to keep her quiet. But, how can I think of an answer to her innocent question “bhaiya, do fathers kill their daughters?” her voice, I can’t describe in words. It was innocent, polite and there was so much apprehension and fear in that subdued voice. If I were to draw a comparison, I would say the voice would be that of a mother who was just about to reveal to her adopted son that she isn’t her real mother.

Yes. Aarushi was killed heinously the day before and the numerous news channels had just got their own ways to shoot up their TRPs. Each portrayed a different story and added a more devilish touch to the already sinister act. Get over reality shows. This was real. It wasn’t reality TV, it was really TV. I couldn’t avoid her, saying it was unreal and just another cooked up story. She has always been told about the goodness of news channels and newspapers.

It doesn’t matter if her father killed her or the servant killed her or what the investigations said. I mean, how does it matter to us? Are we going to miss Aarushi personally? Are you going to light up candles every year on 15th may or are you going to spend sleepless nights crying? But of course, you would spend time in front of the television sunk in the sensational story and act like a top notch FBI inspector. I don’t blame the news channels or the newspapers for unnecessarily sensationalising things nor do I blame my sister for believing in them and asking me such a question.

What disturbs me the most is the thought that her little mind can afford to handle. I don’t think I could have ever thought of this possibility at that age. Even if I read novels where a father kills her child still, that would be confined to those dusty yellow pages of the book and won’t ever pierce into my brain. She is eight and she asked this. I wont be surprised if the next day she asks me about the whole fuss behind a rape and a death sentence for the accused? I can’t afford to answer all that for that can only lead to a deep cut in her heart, an everlasting fear and an impression too dark about this world which I am part of, her parents, her friends are part of and sadly even she is part of. I don’t aim at answering these questions. I wish I could remove the questions forever. May be I could take her to a different world, a cleaner one, a safer one and a more innocent one. Wish I could wash off her mind of all the dirt and fill it up with better thoughts. But, that would be simply foolish because eventually she’s going to be of my age, she’s going to live this world with its entire grunge and she might just face the same question that she asked me today. I don’t have a clue to her question. Neither it can be answered nor neglected. I am left stranded between the flashing screens of the television and her blank face, between the spice of the wafers in my hand and the total simplicity of her eyes. I reach for the remote but that is just out of shame.

What have we left for kids like her? A place full of blood, wine and sex? Is that what we call living in developed India? Huh. . Everything converges onto the human mentality. Crimes would never stop, nor would the investigations, nor would the news channels and newspapers. No matter how clichéd it might sound but yes, the people can change. Do we really need to indulge in such incidents; do we really need to make it our dinner table discussion, and do we really need to encourage the news channels to spice it up for our thrill thirst? The channels do it obviously because the viewers wish to see that. You may say I don’t but hey you people of the 21st century, don’t you realise the channels simply run on your viewership.
Have we ever talked so long about a disabled man winning the Olympics, or have we ever really awed about a rare surgery over and over again? Of course not. But murder mysteries, a war in Iraq, Osama’s heroics, split up and hook ups in Bollywood. They are our bread and butter. Why can’t we create a place where kids won’t get to hear of extortions, abductions, rapes and murders? Why do we always have to warn them before they board their school bus, why do we have to ask them to be in groups rather than be alone? Why can’t we teach our child that this world is a beautiful place to be in and that, humans are one united race and the most sensible creation of God. Sadly, that isn’t the case. In a world full of evils, how can a father waste his time explaining his son the genius of Einstein or the leadership of Mandela? He would rather use his time letting his son know the dangers of staying out late or the various dangerous people he might face in school and all the precautions he must take. Why can’t the front page of a newspaper contain a report about a flourishing India? Why can’t we concentrate on the result of a match rather than waiting for the dope tests of the players involved?

What do these little kids like my sister think about this place? They would be feeling like pet dog that barks at just anyone who doesn’t stay in the house. They would never believe that humans can help each other, that strangers will be friends and they would eventually marry a stranger, live with a stranger, work with a stranger and all that.
I don’t have an answer to her question nor do I have a solution to such stories and our mentality of splashing such stories with all possible colours and shades. I need help. I want an answer from you? I am yet to answer her. She would find an answer someday somehow but I feel like a loser, I feel guilty, I feel ashamed.
16th May 2200 hrs.
The wafers have dampened and the news has changed and my sister has gone on to find a better person to answer...
Help!