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Beirut, #Paris, Nigeria, #Mali, #Syria : what can You do to help?

Instead of fighting with each other on social media, I urge everyone who is in a position to physically or financially help out those in need to do so, now more than ever.

One of the organizations my support goes to is Projectwhy in New Delhi, India, about which I’ve written here.

If you want to help a genuine organization trying to help children with a few dollars (as little as 5 dollars or Euros would help), where each cent of your money would go to the kids themselves, donate here. I’ve supported them for years, and this place is run by a woman with a large heart, exactly the kind who can protect us from guns with flowers.

Or, find another place, people, or cause to add your positive energy to. Do something for a person or animal or plant without concern for your own material benefit. We cannot fight darkness, we need to light a candle in order to make it melt away.

Do you hate E. L. James ? #fiftyshades

And it is this part, the part of E.L. James being a human like any of us, (despite her freakish success, her deplorable writing skills and Everything Else : I’m not posting excerpts because this is a PG 13 blog, and the internet is so awash that a simple google search would tell you more than I ever can)– this is the part that holds me back.

What has she done, after all, other than produce some bad fiction? Does being on the internet give everyone the right to bring anyone down? Yes, she’s a public figure, and as such, ‘fair game,’ but must we put her on trial for making money out of incompetently-written smut?

What about you? Do you think E. L. James deserves the flaying she gets? Have you read any of the books? Do you have opinions on her writing, and its effect on the publishing world?

Do You ever Wonder about Your Own Death?

My thoughts might change, but as of today, I believe a death hurts as much as the attachment to the dead person or animal or plant. Which is why a friend’s death is devastating, whereas a man dying in the opposite side of the world, who you read about in the news, causes much less alarm. A pet’s death is painful, but the death of a random fly or snail isn’t. Following from this, the prospect of one’s own death is the most scary to some of people, because they’re most attached to themselves, or their survival instincts are alive and kicking. Which isn’t a bad thing.

The bad bit, according to me, at least, is not confronting death at all, keeping it taboo, a faraway topic to avoid. No point in trying to ignore the inevitable. Not that thinking about death day and night is the solution, but thinking about it once in a while can’t be all that bad.

What about you? Do you think of death? Your own death? The death of those you have lost? How significant is a fly’s death: is it a tragedy, or a catastrophe, or both?

Children are Children, aren’t they? #IndiawithPakistan

As a young girl in India, I learned to hate Pakistan. I was told the history of this country with my own, how we were once one nation, and now bitter enemies.

I saw the Karghil war. On TV, yes, but its horrors did not go away.

I saw each terrorist attack on India, there were many, and was told Pakistan was behind each of them.

But today, when I see the seige on Pakistan’s children, those lives gone before they could properly begin, I cannot remember that they are from a country I was taught to hate.

For years I’ve been on to the politicians of both countries: they flamed up hostilities between the two nations whenever thing got hairy within either country.

And today I stand with those mothers in Peshawar, whose children wouldn’t come back.

I’m not a mother, but I’m a daughter, and I’ve seen mothers.

I cannot begin to imagine those households where children would return from school in coffins.

So those of you who tell me Pakistan deserved it, that they had supported terrorists once, that they’re villains who murdered Hindus in Kashmir, I have no time for you. Those who tell me that Muslims and Islam are the problem, I have no time for you either.

I hang my head in shame, because I’m part of a world where children are murdered to raise funds, where some people can find it in them to feel good about what happened to those children and their families.