SOLITUDE SCRIBBLES

Forgive me. For, I too am a scribe The wound a story gifted me refuses to heal. My solitudes, my attempts to sleep, my efforts at being happy are being ruined by this story. A story that has given me the tightest slap on my face for being a man. A story that has ridiculed me for being a journalist. This is the story of Khelranji, which the mainstream media closed its eyes on. The story broke many a heart, but failed to tickle any editor’s or scribe’s conscience. Sad. A rural hamlet some 50-km north of Bhandara town, off Tumsar road in Maharashtra, saw September 29 dawn as usual, but ended up weeping by night. Four hapless members of a Dalit family were massacred and the women among them were gang raped and abused in the most heinous manner on that fateful day. And yet, the mainstream media did not know. Why should they, right? When they have Bipasha’s cleavage and Hrithik’s biceps to expose. A village, home to around 780 people, is where the Dalit Buddhist family of Bhaiyyalal Bhotma

Fearing fear A good friend of mine today talked about his fears. Fears due to temptation, ambition, the American onslaught, technolgy invasion and the like. He plans to start a community on his Orkut space to call for support from like minde d people around the globe. His fears came as joke to me, while I was listening to him. But then on second thoughts, he sounded sensible enough to nurse those fears. Take for instance his words: "I used to walk a lot. Now I own a mobike and a car. I need to walk. My feet dont let me do that because i have vehicles to take where i need to go. Im scared". He went on: I used to think a lot. Now I have Net access. Even if I sit down to think, my hands reach out for the mouse. I fear that I just exist, I dont live. Continuing with his fear thesis, he concluded with an attack on the American attitude and the Indian slave menatlity. He asks, rightly, Why should we value the dollar. Shed the greenback and we can see the US tumble. Sensible though