doctor tells the parents of a baby who dies in his office to carry the
dead child to the police station. What
thoughts could the grieving, humiliated parents have towards their
fellowman as they walked towards police officers with the dead baby in
kind of savagery is this?
with baby faces, are charged with the slaughter three gentle middle-aged
and elderly people. A senior Customs officer is gunned down, by all
accounts because he took his duty seriously - was straight and not open to
kind of despair is this?
actor, Devindra Dookie, with the talent to transform, translate ordinary
life into something meaningful, extraordinary on the stage, loves books,
plays and ideas for themselves, and not as an investment for the material
gain it might bring him in the future. A man worn down, over several
decades in a society that doesn’t value anything that isn’t material.
kind of frustration is this?
read it in the letters to the editor, in the barely contained hysteria of
callers to talk show hosts, in the voices of callers, in the brusque
manner of the maxi taxi drivers.
kind of rage is this?
time when good manners are considered an indulgence to those who have
nothing better to do. When ‘good morning’, ‘please’, ‘thank
you’, ‘excuse me’, is interpreted as weakness, fear or sarcasm
because it is so rare; because people don’t believe good manners are a
way of showing consideration to fellow human beings, not a way of showing
off, and don’t bring you down.
kind of obscenity is this?
rich buying extravagant presents for one another and their spoilt brats,
while rolling up their glasses against the boys on the highway trying to
make some money by selling fruit.
lives in a society where the only lives that count are those of the
wealthy, famous and well-connected. The poor don’t have feelings.
the 18-year-old boy and his alleged accomplice.
they have the opportunity to attain an education?
Dookie who committed suicide.
saw him over the years doing banal radio programmes in a damp underground
building where he once handed me one of Chekov’s plays. And I wondered:
“How does he survive in this intellectual desert?”
like many others refused to ‘see him’ because his tormented state made
me uncomfortable, want to question my life, values and country and who
likes to feel that?
was no real vent for his acting talent apart from the usual slapstick
comedy on offer here. The isolation and loneliness of being invisible,
because he was not “normal” (of course he wasn’t - he had artistic
rather than monetary inclinations) led him to grief, drink, the streets, a
crazed state and the final decision to sit in his car and put out his
brand of light because few saw it.
the callers, the fuming maxi taxi drivers.
are forced to stand by and look while people at the top get something for
nothing. Why should they have dreary lives, hustle, when those in
positions of power ruthlessly abuse it to their own financial benefit?
can solve it, make us all happy?
proof is in the grief of people who have money to burn and now don’t
care if it does, because the person they loved has died, or far away, or
is never coming back.
sense of context. We are part of the vagrant, and of us. Products of the
same society. A civilised country is measured by how well it takes care of
its vulnerable. People who don’t feel the need to give back may as well
be stray dogs on the highway.
it’s practically Christmas Eve.
amidst the rage, a gesture of grace, from the pomerac tree that is
generously sprinkling its dusty blossoms in circular swathes, staining
green leaves and trunks of trees with that glorious mixture of hot pink
and deep crimson.
comes to those who seek it, although not in the quantities you might wish.
It comes with the news of the community that sent out 12,000 hampers to
the poor, of the woman who takes in an eight-month orphaned baby in for
Christmas, with the knowledge that there are people who quietly collect
grace and spread it like the pomerac blossoms to those of us lacking in
the crimson dust glitter in the sunlight, float up, spread far with the