Red is everywhere...


A brown stretcher lays, with a body – sized lump on it. Covering the lump, a white sheet, matted with the crimson of newly shed blood. A gnarled hand has escaped the folds of white – it lies still, bloody. Two gold rings protrude and catch your eye, scarlet and gold, ironically, the colours of victory. A broken shoe has fallen a few feet away, and is being trampled upon by the unsuspecting commuter, scurrying along to finish his errands, oblivious. Two attendants, their faces pale, their eyes sunken, dressed identically in stark white, soon arrive. They pick up the stretcher and haul it away to an ambulance parked nearby. The lone hand trails its path up to the ambulance, in red. Then it is lost, as the vehicle speeds away. The solitary shoe is forgotten.
Watching the drama unfold is an 18 year old girl on her way back home. She shudders, and tries to avert her eyes, aware of the demons she will have to battle at night, but her gaze remains riveted on the stretcher, and the blood, so much blood. A train screeches to a halt in front of her, the stunned silence erupts in cacophony, and she gets in, still in a daze. A man jostles past her; his ears like those of the many others around are tinged with the ruby tint of gulal, his hands are covered with rainbow hues. He smiles an impish smile, unapologetic, and gets down on the other side, on to the tracks, in an effort to reach the train on the other side. He grips the edge of the compartment and lugs himself up, almost slipping, but he is not troubled. For him, it is routine. To cross railway tracks, to jump into running trains, to hang from doors, despite all warnings, is routine. He gets in and casts a lecherous look upon the girl, whose train is held up by a red light. She sighs, and turns away, and as her train starts moving, wonders. Wonders if the next hand she spies trailing a stretcher, will have rainbow hues......

That 18 year old girl is me. The day is 26th of March, 2005, Holi.

Crossing railway tracks is suicide. We know that, and we all comprehend the gravity of the statement. Yet, in the morning rush hour, we choose to ignore its implications. We suffer from the ‘It won’t happen to me’ syndrome. Until it happens to us. But by then, it is too late.

Let us stop right now, while we still stand a chance.
Happy Holi everyone.