“What is the point in leading such a miserable life ?” says the woman who attempted to end her life. It’s a vital question, not a rhetorical query that one flings in a group of friends or an intellectual matter that we may want to settle over a coffee table.
Her life was already on line. The question needed no answer; in fact, it was an explanation after she had already given up on her life, on the world, on people who held theirs habitually, routinely. The question is asked by most of us some time or other, with perhaps the same hemmed in intensity. But we perhaps allowed ourselves to divert our mind or slept thereafter. Life resumes in the same humdrum but we instinctively recoil from asking it again. We choose to find value in small happenings, even where none existed, than be on that edge where life ends.
I find myself singularly exhausted of opinions, advice or thought. There is will, wishing God would come to rescue the woman who must have felt compelled to ask that question several times.
I wish she could see herself as a vast capacity of karma, not limited to little bundle she was facing just then, and multiple opportunities to reincarnate herself.
I wish she would take herself forward along the sanatan way and have the smiling Krishna in her heart for company.
I wish she has a worship corner to visit, sit or stand in, and leave the world outside at its boundary. May she light a lamp or incense at the alter and converse with her Maker.
May she be nourished and regain her capacity to bear.