The worth of a Life (angol) – írta Bipin Doshi

Kolumbiával kapcsolatban sokszor felvetődik a biztonság kérdése, amiről hosszasan tudnék mesélni, köztük az alábbi történetet is. Most viszont nem saját elbeszélésemben, hanem egy indiai jóbarátom szavaival osztom meg. Ha több kérés is érkezik, hogy lefordítsam, akkor talán veszem a fáradtságot és nekiülük majd. :)

What is the value of your life? Can it be measured? What IS the human life worth? Is it worth the figures printed on paper? Cost of the number of days in the ICU ward of a hospital? The number of years your loved ones will miss you? Or the fight you put up for yourself for a cause higher than all of these? These were the questions that occupied my thoughts for some time after three men armed with knives attempted to rob me and a friend of mine on early Friday night.

The background to my thoughts was very simple. Andras (my Hungarian friend) met me outside my apartment so that we could do the regular thing that most heterosexual guys with a decent libido will want to do on a weekend night. Just as I met him I got a call on my cell phone, which could not be disconnected for any reason what so ever (it was my Mum). I was busy with my pleasantries on the cell when I suddenly realized Andras shouting out for someone to help (police, taxi, god, Claudia Schiffer) just a few feet ahead and my way towards him blocked by three guys, of which one guy caught hold of me and demanded for something in Spanish, that I can only imagine, was money. The few seconds after that were hazy and full of this adrenaline rush, which has been well documented in similar incidences all over the world. After the hazy moments rushed by, we stepped onto the most famous street in Bogota, which was just a few feet away from the dark lane where the aforesaid incident took place and tried to look normal…till the reality of the fact that we got away with our lives and our valuables sank in.

Somehow during my conversation on the phone, Andras saw three men converging towards us and recognizing the signs from his previous experiences, yelled for some help. My oblivious-self-on-the-phone fortunately heard him shouting and I saw three guys in my face with a knife demanding something. My Spanish wasn’t good enough to comprehend what was being demanded, but my animal instincts, honed over the centuries of human survival recognized the sounds and sights of obvious dangers and then adrenaline kicked in. But instead of my feet taking to wings (which I always assumed I would do)…I too yelled, for the cops in the five languages that I knew and fought back. My memory is hazy but the pain that lasted till the next morning in my wrist clearly told me that it had connected with someone’s jaw and that particular someone fell on the ground. I pulled, pushed, shoved, kicked and worried that my mum would hear it all and even more worrying was that she would ask me to return to India after that incident. Few heads peeped out of door frames and dark dingy corners in the lane and the assailants started walking away. I almost crossed the faint line between being brave and being stupid by calling out to one of the assailants to fight with me…even though he had a knife that could have easily passed through my chest, ribs and perforated my back. But fortunately Andras called out for me and I backed off. All this in matter of moments…though it took almost twenty minutes for the adrenaline rush to get to normal and couple of beers for my breathing to get normal.

But that got me thinking… Of all the creatures in the world, why did someone as regular, normal and average as me fight back? All I had on me was a cheap measly replaceable cell phone from India and enough money to get me a meal for the night. I always considered that I had a logical head on my shoulders, which would give me the advice of Flight instead of Fight. Just couple of days ago Andras told me about how a father walking with his daughter and holding a laptop in his hands, was shot to death because he refused to hand over his laptop. Was the laptop worth his life? His assailant clearly thought so. My assailants had knives and knives are generally sharp and have a reputation to cause pain, which is sometimes accompanied by lasting damage. I did not even have a laptop…forget a daughter to protect. My mind did not even pause to think as to whether the money worth just one meal, was worth all that possible damage. It just acted. For the assailants, my life was worth money for one meal…and more maybe. For the guy who got shot…his life was worth just the resale value of the laptop. And as for my family…they would not hesitate, even for a heartbeat, to stand between me and the knife. My life to them is worth more than their own lives.

When I sat down to write I recollected that I have always thought as to how I would hate to part away with my hard earned money to any bum like the ones that I encountered on the street…because I toiled for that money. It was not my fault that I was born in a family that provided me everything, but it is my fault, if I give up my sweat, toil and meal without a fight to some bum on the street who thinks he’s got the right to take it away. It was a question of my pride and freedom and rights and all things abstract that make up all the good that exists in this world. These are the some of the reasons why great revolutions and struggles have taken place. The reasons why martyrs are born and names aren’t forgotten. Because when some bum someplace believes that he can simply take away what rightfully belongs to someone else, that someone else decides to fight back. But I am not just talking about great things and great people…I am also talking about regular people like us, who believe that we will never face these kind of situations. It is when people like us choose to remain mute spectators when it happens to someone else, they spread to us too…like a virus. Maybe because of that fight from a thin scrawny guy in the street, the assailants will think before they try it again. Maybe they might not think. But it was worth writing this story, the feeling of pride and the few laughs that me and Andras have every time we think about it.

Why I fought back and why I got away with it is still a mystery. And though I am convinced that my life is certainly more than the price of a meal, all I know is that I still had money after that incident to buy a couple of beers and to write this random ranting.

A sorozat további cikkei:

  1. Colombia, nem Columbia!!!
  2. Videóinterjúm Kolumbiáról
  3. Cartagena vs. Santa Marta – két karibi város összehasonlítása
  4. Iszapfürdő az El Totumo sárvulkánban
  5. Utazás Kolumbiába és Kolumbián belül
  6. The worth of a Life (angol) – írta Bipin Doshi
  7. Kolumbiában felcserélték az ünnepeket

Légy Te az első hozzászóló:

Az e-mail címed nem fog sehol publikusan megjelenni.