It is morning! I’m alive, and I think of all those who aren’t.
I was 11 when I first saw my father cry.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and he was abruptly awakened from his siesta to be told that his best friend Balan had died that morning.
My father’s cries were the most terrifying thing I had ever witnessed or heard up to that point in my life. The strong person I had always looked up to came crashing down, broken and helpless against the inevitable.
But it’s morning! I am alive and believing that I will live this day out, and I think of all those who couldn’t.
An acquaintance of mine is dying of cancer. He was always a chain smoker.
It’s still not fair.
He deserves a full life. His family deserves him in their lives. Though the doctors are fighting the disease with drugs and scalpels, the inevitable will happen soon. Nevertheless, the family prays for a miracle to happen.
But it’s morning! With the insolence of youth, I feel I am immortal and indestructible, while I know I shouldn’t.
My mother died young, at the age of 32.
She fought hard from the day she was diagnosed with cancer, always hoping for a miracle. Not for her sake, but for her four children.
However, the corruption of the disease built a tangled web in her wasting body, a web that no miracle could destroy.
But it’s morning! I’m alive, and hale and hearty, and I think of all those who aren’t.
Overcome by grief and enslaved to the bottle, my father too left for the great unknown, eight years after my mother. He died alone, for his addiction caused pain and derision among whomsoever his life touched.
Death may have appeared to him as a benevolent redeemer.
But it’s morning. I am taking so much for granted, when I know I shouldn’t.
My wife is still sleeping. A peaceful vision bathed in the dim light of the morning.
A thought chills me. She may not wake up to see the light of the day. We have been married for a little over a year, with so many dreams yet to fulfil, so much happiness to come. To think that everything could stop in its tracks at this very moment!
But it’s morning! We will most likely enjoy the little miseries and joys of our workaday life. And I think of all those who couldn’t.
Faces fill the television screens these days of hapless children, women, and men, their bodies shrunk by hunger and beaten by the elements.
Crazed men fight for power with greed and utmost cruelty even as grief-stricken mothers of the victorious and the vanquished grieve at the loss of their sons and daughters.
But it’s morning! I am planning the day with gusto as I believe that there is a purpose for my life, and I think of all those who haven’t.
I look at the youth of my day, and I see shallowness, lack of purpose, and disregard for the future. They repeat the mistakes of the previous generations and fritter away wealth and time. Their tomorrows are being sacrificed for some grand spectacle of today. I wonder what would happen to them when they become aware of their mortality, when it’s too late to recoup and repair.
But it’s morning! I can’t wait to get out and enjoy the work I have chosen to do, and I think of all those who wouldn’t.
There are those who live on the edges of the world, waiting and watching while opportunities pass them by. They dream of doing something, someday, but all they are doing is think wishfully. They will leave nothing to mark that they had once been in this world. Some may remember them for a while, but they will soon be forgotten.
It’s morning! I’m alive for another day, and I think of all those who aren’t.
P.S.: A version of this story was previously published in the Gulf Weekly, March 11–17, 1993 edition, Dubai.
