Of Kindness and Weakness

 

The above picture is by photographer Andres Serrano and is called Piss Christ. It depicts a plastic crucifix submerged in a glass of Serrano’s urine. There was this Secret Santa thingy last Christmas in an internet community I’m a part of and I sent this to a guy and he took it so badly. He sent me a stiffly formal letter about how badly it hurt him that I had practically pissed on his religion. Apparently he had thought higher of me than that. He said it was a lame, tasteless joke. Now I didn’t want to get into an argument with him so I apologised and we left it at that.

But in my opinion his reaction was very prudish. He did not interpret the picture right. It is not offensive. Rather, it represents how we are treating the words and teachings of our holy men and gods, in whose name we burn and kill. What better time to reflect upon that than Christmas?

We really are pissing on Christ. And Mohammed, Buddha, Mahaveera and countless others. Love thy neighbour. Forget the broad sense. Do we even do that literally? Are we kind to our neighbours? I hardly even talk to my neighbours. And they’re none too friendly either. We fail as a society. We just cannot get along. In the big cosmic picture, mankind is a stubborn stain.

Shopkeepers stare at me incredulously when I thank them after making a purchase. They never expect gratitude. The general mentality is that there is no reason to thank them. They haven’t gone out of the way to do something for you, have they? You’re paying them for the stuff you get and they’re just doing their jobs. And profiting from it. What most people tend to miss that appreciation and gratitude need no reason. What does it cost one to be kind to another human being? To make them feel a little happier and end up feeling great yourself in the process? I always get a nice, warm feeling inside me when I do some act of kindness. I try not to take too much time to answer the door when the mailman or the cable guy or some such person comes calling. My mother tends to take her own sweet time. When I tell her to hurry up she says there is no reason to. It’s his job to wait. She can’t just drop everything and rush to the door for the mailman.

It is so much harder to be gentle and kind than to be an asshole. Yet it is seen as a sign of weakness. People tend to take you for granted and take advantage of you unless you act tough. I get beaten up in class by my peers all the time. You know why? Because I hardly ever hit back. I try not to be crude and primitive. While it is just their idea of fun and male-bonding, they need to realize it hurts the other person no matter what the intentions. This is why I don’t hit people for the heck of it. And that makes me the class wimp.

But I am beginning to sound like a saint. I am not a saint. I had an argument with the rather rude guy at the milk booth around 2 years ago during which I told him where eh could keep his milk and walked off. He was an elderly person, around 60 or more years of age. I never went to the milk booth again. So yeah, I have engaged in my share of assholery too. I am so not a saint.

I found out some days ago that he died in a road accident early one morning on his way to the milk booth. I loathed the guy and his rude ways but it made me feel sad. I wondered whether it is right to hold grudges for so long. I don’t think he hardly even gave me thought after our argument but I feel bad the whole thing happened. I feel like I should have swallowed my pride and patched things up. But that would be akin to tolerating assholery. Life is short and precious to be wasted quarreling with other people. I struggle to strike a balance between being kind and not being a pushover. I think once we manage that the world will be a much better place.

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