Even as we draw poison with every breath, there is no fear on the streets of Delhi. Life goes on as usual, albeit with some intermittent inconvenience that serves the worthy purpose of inflating our ego for having “done our part”, so that we may go back to being righteous and indignant towards others. Truth be told, air is mostly a winter ice-breaker; a social catalyst; a remedy for awkward silences.
Where is the sense of urgency? Where is the panic? Where is the activism that so spontaneously ignites at every trivial event? Where are the liberals, seculars and human right activists, who cry hoarse for freedom of speech? Where are the faithful and the fervent, who raise hell for the freedom of religion? Why does neither raise their voice for the right to life?
Maybe there is no urgency because death is always distant until it arrives in full.
Or maybe deep down we know that the ultimate freedom is death.
