ONE of the things that stops me from writing about India is that I feel I am no longer qualified to write about it as much, since I do not live there anymore. But here we are, in the middle of a pandemic and confined into our own homes. And within those four walls, you could be in Mumbai or Sydney, in many ways, it does not matter.
And I do realise, while I say that, my statement reeks of privilege. Back home in India, a country that is now engulfed in a migrant crisis, there are probably thousands of stories, tragedies, such as this.
Slowly, little by little, like the layers of an onion being peeled, we will see many stories unwrapped. With how our governments treat their citizens, how employers treat their employees, how the leaders treat the common-folk and eventually, how human beings treat each other, we will come to know how much of a human we are.
This pandemic will be the greatest experiment being played upon mankind and it will reveal a lot of things that we would have otherwise not known.