Sadness is profound. I'm not talking about anger or hatred or even jealousy or insecurity. Sometimes, the feeling is absolute and calming. That is the sadness I talk about.
Today I lost something. Something that meant a lot to me. It's strange how lifeless, meaningless objects can suddenly have so much sentimental value attached to them. I attached the value. And now I have lost it. There is absolutely nothing I can do to get it back.
I started thinking through all my travel experiences to a time when a place held such profound sadness for me. And even though there are several places which I visited while I was sad, I would not like to believe that the place itself could not hold happiness. Or that the sum total of my sadness could wash over the history of its joy. As if it was only me, there and then, in that time and place, in that moment, and nothing else.
And then I thought of Jallianwala Bagh.
I remember visiting it. The place held children scampering around with glee. Couples in the corner. A few men lazing in the garden, perhaps taking a nap or soaking the afternoon sun. It seemed like such a chilled out scene.
But I knew that that place did not belong to that time and moment. That place belongs to April 13, 1919. The screams of people I believe still linger on in that space. The bullet holes still pay tribute to the senseless violence that took hundreds of innocent lives. The men, women and children who jumped into a well...so that they'd die as martyrs and not as victims. Acts of bravery and courage. Human strength and endurance. And then there was blood everywhere. And then nothing was left.
I sat in the garden. Looking around, taking in the place. Something had been lost. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to get it back. The pain belonged to a different time and space, but I still felt it right then. I touched my cheek, only to realise that I was crying.
Sadness...profound and absolute.
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Somehow this video from the movie Rang De Basanti, always plays in my head when I think of Jallianwala Bagh.
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