Valuing Price

Situation:
You are in a boat that is slowly and determinedly sinking. There are too many people on board, and the shore is quite a long way off. Two people on board are gravely injured, and are losing a lot of blood. It's almost certain that they'll both die before the boat reaches the shore, if at all it does.

What would you do? Throw the injured men into the sea and save the rest of the passengers, or would you not? Would it make a difference if the dying men were owners of the boat and the other passengers murderers and thieves?

***

The dinner table today was a heated discussion on this issue. As we figured, there are two ways one can deal with this. One is the "moral" way, to value life over all else, and value life equally. Meaning, of course, that no man will be dumped into the sea and left for dead.
The other way is what a certain little person called the "pragmatic" solution. In the interests of the saving lives of the majority, throw the dying men out. Twenty men saved and two men dead is better than twenty-two men dead, when there really was no need for them to die.

As I see it, this dichotomy of views stems from the fact that we look at this from different standpoints.

The moral solution stems from an individual moral standpoint, wherein I would value no life lesser than mine, and therefore, arrogate to right to myself that allows for the abandoning of the two dying men.

The pragmatic solution is what another classmate of mine would call the "selfish" way, because all altruism is, ultimately, selfish. In the interests of propagation, preservation of the human race, or simply, the preservation of society as we see it - built, I suppose, on a set of columns that we like to believe is inherently moral (what is moral, anyway?) - or even more simply, the individual desire to live, the pragmatic solution seems justified.

The question here is: does the pragmatic solution automatically place a price on the value of human life (and is that justified/acceptable), or is the value of individual human life economically and socially incalculable?

***

An observation made today:
The Delhi High Court, in a 1983 judgement, seems to favour the pragmatic solution over the "moral". The reason they state is simply this: that if a law kills one and saves a hundred lives, it is in greater social interest and is therefore a just, fair and right law. Inevitable, perhaps?

My question still stands.

Medieval Torture

You might be a Harry Potter fan. You might be jumping up and down in the air because the new HBP movie is out and you can't wait to watch it. If you are, don't be offended and don't throw heavy objects at me. All I'm saying is: are you sure you've got your priorities right? Should you, I ask in earnest, be putting your loyalty to some imaginary boy (who's quite ordinary and temperamental, come to think of it) over your commitment to good cinema and literature? Should you, should you??

You might be in a mood to root me out from any tiny corner of the world and dip me in scalding hot water now. Or the iron maiden. But wait. Listen, at least, to what I have to tell you about HBP the Movie.

*desperate silence for five minutes*

I've been trying to think of good things to say, but the only thing I can think of is: Draco Malfoy. Tom Felton is deliciously drool-over-able, and boy, is he the only person worth watching in the movie! The others are all more puppet-like than they can possibly be in real life - so much so I'm actually wondering if David Yates thought puppets would be a cheaper bet.

Now I'll tell you what's wrong with the movie. You'd expect a screenplay to be flowy, and we all know it's possible for books to be made into decent films (Lord of the Rings, anyone?!), but this one beats all. Every time I watch a Harry movie, I think, "This is the worst Steve Kloves could do, ever!" and he proves me wrong every time. Every single time.

And that's only one thing that's wrong about it. You might be one of those people who like romantic comedies, or period romances, action thrillers, gripping dramas, or fantasy worlds - but on all of those counts, HBP fails. Please, if you have any loyalty to good cinema, chuck your ticket in the bin and go bury yourself in a Tolkien.

i go to the hills when my heart is lonely*

We're none of us godmen, and so we all have our havens - our places of solace and calm and comfort in times of trouble and broken dreams. One of the best descriptions of a safe place I've read was in Jeanette Ray's book, Eat Cake, which the Reader's Digest collection threw into my bookshelf. The protagonist in it imagines herself to be deep inside a cake whenever she is lost, helpless, harassed and the rest of the menagerie; inside a deep, soft, breathing, comforting cake - she preferred a lemon and chiffon cake, but the chocolate and banana cake is my favourite to blanketed in.

As far as real (not in the Vedantic sense of the term, no) places go, I suppose we all have those places where we feel at home - safe, taken care of - like engulfed within a warm, encompassing, comforting hug. Mine is my room. Every time I come home, for the first three hours or so, I stay closeted in my room, acclimatising to the change, both in me and my parents, and to the place itself, and reflecting on it. If this precious ritual is broken, I end up a stark, raving lunatic for the rest of the week, and my parents are never pleased to make loony-me's acquaintance.

Then there is an old, wise, grandfatherly house about 20 km from home. It was the birthplace of Shankaracharya, and there are remnants of the bygone times in that house still - in the wood, the pillars, the lit oil-lamps, the smiles. There, one can be completely alone in the silence; unlike in a huge empty auditorium where one might feel a perverse desire to yell long and loud, there is only a want to go as softly and tip-toed-ly as one can, here. There are trees, old as my great-grandfather would have been, standing stick-straight on the grounds and spreading shadow, and rubber tree plantations that offer hiding places, and paddy and pineapple farms that delight.

There is also an old, rich, temple-city on a little hill, up in Andhra Pradesh, that offers the same solace, if one were to go at a time of the year where there's more breathing space than people. There is a garden there - large, but not very well looked after, and two enormous banyan trees growing intertwined, and they are always talking to you and gesturing with their thick leafy arms towards a blue, cirrus-y sky. There are sculptures in the garden that are not the work of masters, chipped and broken in places, almost hidden by undergrowth and shrubs, but they all have their stories to tell. There is silence there too, and it speaks a language all its own.

My home city is another haven - one can get lost in the milling crowds, and anonymity in familiarity is always the balm of Gilead for a lonely soul.

Mountains too offer the sort of solitude that cures all ailments of a diseased mind, and even freshen it up for a new plunge into the world of fleeting worries and happinesses (college, for instance). When I read Ruskin Bond's description of the mountains, I can't help but love them as he loves them, and give myself, heart and soul, to dreams of spruced and deodared and wild-flowered slopes. I have sat at the feet of men who've told me they spend months in solitude in the Himalayas. In fact, I have heard all hermits say they would retire into the Himalayas if they were to have the chance.

There must be a reason all hermits retire to the Himalayas. Even godmen need solitude, I s'pose, when all's said and done.

*The Sound of Music