Closed the book.
Placed it on the table next to me, folding a page corner to keep my place.
Just finished Part 3, 'a little wildness.'
Part 2 was 'the business of burning.'
Remember the burning?
One more part remains, 'up and out.'
Is it a person who rises up and out?
Will Abdul rise up, move out? Or will it be Manju? Or Mirchi?
Could it possibly be Sunil?
I'm rooting for Abdul.
But probability says it will be Manju.
The beginning chapters were sad stories. These 'undercitizens 'made the best of their plights. Sad, but they were survivors. I'm rooting for them.
Now, in these past few pages, too many of Annawadi's people have been unfairly treated. Not just bad luck, but press their noses into the mud and smear it. Intentionally. Oh man. Beatings by police, corruption left and right... in the police and charities as well as in your community. Corruption is the river that propels India's commerce forward, this book is saying.
And me, just a simple reader of these stories. I think I have become immune to the horror of the injustices. I read through their sad sad tales too quickly.
The first recounting of a bribe required for the wheels of justice to churn forward, I cringed. The first seemingly random act of unkindness, I paused. Thankful for my life. Thankful for my country. Thankful I'm sitting in Winter Park, not Mumbai. Not sitting in a 6' x 10' shack calling it my home.
Having read chapter after chapter of corruption and unfairness, have I become less compassionate? Do their stories move me less? Kalu was brutally killed. I read on. Sanjay died drinking rat poison. Turn the page.
There's enough heartache one one page to fuel an entire novel.
How do you stay human in Annawadi?
How do you stay attuned to compassion, when you really need to close off your emotions to survive?
As inured to each individual's heartache as I thought I was becoming, had to step away from the pages for a breath of air.
Place the book on the table next to me.
When do they ever get a moment to breathe?
Why are tears welling up in my eyes?
Placed it on the table next to me, folding a page corner to keep my place.
Just finished Part 3, 'a little wildness.'
Part 2 was 'the business of burning.'
Remember the burning?
One more part remains, 'up and out.'
Is it a person who rises up and out?
Will Abdul rise up, move out? Or will it be Manju? Or Mirchi?
Could it possibly be Sunil?
I'm rooting for Abdul.
But probability says it will be Manju.
The beginning chapters were sad stories. These 'undercitizens 'made the best of their plights. Sad, but they were survivors. I'm rooting for them.
Now, in these past few pages, too many of Annawadi's people have been unfairly treated. Not just bad luck, but press their noses into the mud and smear it. Intentionally. Oh man. Beatings by police, corruption left and right... in the police and charities as well as in your community. Corruption is the river that propels India's commerce forward, this book is saying.
And me, just a simple reader of these stories. I think I have become immune to the horror of the injustices. I read through their sad sad tales too quickly.
The first recounting of a bribe required for the wheels of justice to churn forward, I cringed. The first seemingly random act of unkindness, I paused. Thankful for my life. Thankful for my country. Thankful I'm sitting in Winter Park, not Mumbai. Not sitting in a 6' x 10' shack calling it my home.
Having read chapter after chapter of corruption and unfairness, have I become less compassionate? Do their stories move me less? Kalu was brutally killed. I read on. Sanjay died drinking rat poison. Turn the page.
There's enough heartache one one page to fuel an entire novel.
How do you stay human in Annawadi?
How do you stay attuned to compassion, when you really need to close off your emotions to survive?
As inured to each individual's heartache as I thought I was becoming, had to step away from the pages for a breath of air.
Place the book on the table next to me.
When do they ever get a moment to breathe?
Why are tears welling up in my eyes?
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