After We Swipe Away I was looking at the pictures from Nepal today. A family standing in front of what was once their home. Walls gone. Belongings scattered. The familiar suddenly made unfamiliar. I stopped scrolling. For a few seconds. Then my thumb moved. And I went on. That small movement has stayed with me. Because what happened in those few seconds? I felt sad. I felt helpless. I thought about those families and wondered what it must feel like to lose the place you call home, perhaps in a matter of hours. And then I continued with my day. Perhaps that is the strange contradiction of our times. We have never had so much access to the suffering of others, and yet we have become remarkably good at moving past it. A photograph appears. We pause. We feel. We scroll. Another tragedy appears. We pause again. And then we move on. I don’t say this as an accusation. I do it too. In fact, that is what troubles me most. I am very good at feeling concerned. But what a...
A civilian among the Air warriors For twenty years, I have watched Air Force children learn a lesson that most of us never really have to: how to say goodbye just when they have begun to feel at home. Teaching at Air Force Bal Bharati School has meant being a small part of the lives of Air Force families for two decades. I have watched officers and their families move from one place to another. Just when they begin to settle in, make friends, build connections and start loving their surroundings, a new posting arrives. They pack up, say goodbye and begin all over again. I have seen this through the eyes of their children. I have watched them adjust to new schools, new friends and new environments with a resilience that has always fascinated me. Over the years, I have formed a firm bond with many of them. I have understood their discipline, their ability to adapt and, gradually, a little of the life that exists beyond the school gates. And yet, after twenty years, I real...