Two blasts happened in Hyderabad, one foiled, last week. Cacophony rose on the television and the theatre of absurd is ready for a play, a whole new season. Reasons and explanation are being deliberated over the deaths, now crossed sixteen. There is something strange about what we call a national conscience, if there is one such thing to go by that name. It gets shaken and outraged over some things while sleeps unperturbed with an unburdened soul regarding others of similar or even gruesome matters. The very next day a report of the death of six policemen in Maoist attack came in apologetically in the back pages of the newspaper, ashamed perhaps at relative public apathy. Having just finished Kurt Vonnegut's 'Fates Worse Than Death', I was wondering why one death is different from other. He used the argument in the context of death by nuclear attack. But the question easily can be posed in any other context, to no valid response or argument or explanation. Why the outra...
I am a Worshiper of Words. I ponder, I think, I write, therefore, I exist. A Blog on Literature, Philosophy and Parenting