A few days ago (shortly before the 9/11 anniversary although I didn't think on that coincidence at the time) a bomb exploded outside the Delhi High Court, killing more than 10 people and wounding well over 100. The court's activities were suspended for the day.
The first news I got of the blast came in the form of a mass text from a friend: "Bomb blast outside Delhi High Court. Take a different route to work." In retrospect, this message was maybe a bit too blase - it made the blast sound like a rainstorm or a pile-up.
At work, I watched the TV coverage. A homegrown terror outfit known as the "Indian Mujahideen" had apparently emailed several TV stations claiming responsibility (although later this email turned out to be the work of an amateur hacker who sent the email "for fun" - yet another indicator that people have vastly different definitions of the word "fun").
Even at its wracking worst, the 9/11 coverage never made me feel unsafe. But as I sat watching the Delhi High Court blast coverage, it slowly dawned on me that I was, in fact, not all that safe. I huddled in my chair in my sweater, drinking tea and trying not to freak out on all my colleagues, who didn't seem particularly concerned.
Eventually, a co-worker who is also a friend wandered over. This co-worker and I tend to get into very long discussions about all kinds of theoretical and real possibilities, and I mentioned that the bomb blast had gotten me kind of worked up. He gave me a look of both sympathy and condescension.
"You can't worry about these things," he said, which is certainly true. "You have to do what Indians do."
"What do Indians do?" I muttered, looking around at my miraculously industrious office.
"Have a drink and thank your lucky stars you weren't there," he said, and walked off. That seems to sum up the Indian attitude towards crisis pretty exactly. And when people do have the misfortune to be there, so to speak, their misfortune only seems to confirm what they expected from the beginning.
Indians, speaking in very general terms, are a fatalistic lot. Maybe this is the result of living in a country where there's so little concern for general welfare, and so many ways for things to go wrong. Accepting that bad things will happen seems essential to the Indian way of life. (Perhaps this is related to our belief in reincarnation? If not in this lifetime, well, maybe the next? Of course, a deep-rooted belief in reincarnation has made us perhaps a bit too casual about injustices and crises that other people would find intolerable...)
Anyway, I got over my discomfort, did a full day's work, and headed home. At around 11 pm, I was merrily working away on my computer when I heard a deep humming sound - less tuneful than a musical instrument, more consistent than a jackhammer - and the building began to vibrate. The spasm of vibration lasted for about 20 seconds. I ran outside and looked at my roommate.
"I think that was an earthquake," she said. Our neighbors were already out in the street, so we joined them. (Although our street, full of apartment buildings and eletrical poles, probably isn't the best place to wait around for the after-effects of an earthquake)
"We should maybe go into a basement?" I suggested.
"You can't do that in India," said one neighbor. "The foundations of buildings aren't strong enough." Another neighbor, an architect, nodded.
"The basement is usually ok. The middle floors are the most unsafe. Oh, is that where you live?" he asked, blinking innocently. "Well, you'll probably be fine." My roommate and I exchanged looks of resignation.
I got an email from friend. "Earthquakes? Bombs? What is going on in Delhi?"
"Nothing major," I typed back. "Everything is pretty normal, actually."
If the Aztecs (or whomever) are correct and the world does indeed end sometime this century, I get the feeling that Indians, at least, will take the news pretty well.
The first news I got of the blast came in the form of a mass text from a friend: "Bomb blast outside Delhi High Court. Take a different route to work." In retrospect, this message was maybe a bit too blase - it made the blast sound like a rainstorm or a pile-up.
At work, I watched the TV coverage. A homegrown terror outfit known as the "Indian Mujahideen" had apparently emailed several TV stations claiming responsibility (although later this email turned out to be the work of an amateur hacker who sent the email "for fun" - yet another indicator that people have vastly different definitions of the word "fun").
Even at its wracking worst, the 9/11 coverage never made me feel unsafe. But as I sat watching the Delhi High Court blast coverage, it slowly dawned on me that I was, in fact, not all that safe. I huddled in my chair in my sweater, drinking tea and trying not to freak out on all my colleagues, who didn't seem particularly concerned.
Eventually, a co-worker who is also a friend wandered over. This co-worker and I tend to get into very long discussions about all kinds of theoretical and real possibilities, and I mentioned that the bomb blast had gotten me kind of worked up. He gave me a look of both sympathy and condescension.
"You can't worry about these things," he said, which is certainly true. "You have to do what Indians do."
"What do Indians do?" I muttered, looking around at my miraculously industrious office.
"Have a drink and thank your lucky stars you weren't there," he said, and walked off. That seems to sum up the Indian attitude towards crisis pretty exactly. And when people do have the misfortune to be there, so to speak, their misfortune only seems to confirm what they expected from the beginning.
Indians, speaking in very general terms, are a fatalistic lot. Maybe this is the result of living in a country where there's so little concern for general welfare, and so many ways for things to go wrong. Accepting that bad things will happen seems essential to the Indian way of life. (Perhaps this is related to our belief in reincarnation? If not in this lifetime, well, maybe the next? Of course, a deep-rooted belief in reincarnation has made us perhaps a bit too casual about injustices and crises that other people would find intolerable...)
Anyway, I got over my discomfort, did a full day's work, and headed home. At around 11 pm, I was merrily working away on my computer when I heard a deep humming sound - less tuneful than a musical instrument, more consistent than a jackhammer - and the building began to vibrate. The spasm of vibration lasted for about 20 seconds. I ran outside and looked at my roommate.
"I think that was an earthquake," she said. Our neighbors were already out in the street, so we joined them. (Although our street, full of apartment buildings and eletrical poles, probably isn't the best place to wait around for the after-effects of an earthquake)
"We should maybe go into a basement?" I suggested.
"You can't do that in India," said one neighbor. "The foundations of buildings aren't strong enough." Another neighbor, an architect, nodded.
"The basement is usually ok. The middle floors are the most unsafe. Oh, is that where you live?" he asked, blinking innocently. "Well, you'll probably be fine." My roommate and I exchanged looks of resignation.
I got an email from friend. "Earthquakes? Bombs? What is going on in Delhi?"
"Nothing major," I typed back. "Everything is pretty normal, actually."
If the Aztecs (or whomever) are correct and the world does indeed end sometime this century, I get the feeling that Indians, at least, will take the news pretty well.
the critical phrase taht about sums up the Indian attitude is that we are, "armed with the airbag of reincarnation".
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