It is tempting to believe that a tragedy is all about an ending, irreversible, and one that casts a long, dark shadow over all that follows across time. It is, as if, to borrow a phrase, once ‘the light has gone out’, the dark clouds hang low and heavy, a pall of gloom and doom that is unshakeable. It is easy to succumb to this characterisation and shut out the sunshine and rain, the breeze, the swish of the tree leaves and the urgent chirp of the birds.

Yet, over these past three years, I have seen myself emerge haltingly, shrugging off this pall, slowly but surely, the intense sense of loss giving way to melancholia, which in turn, after overstaying, is making its way out. I may have been bent and broken by events unforeseen but remain rooted, with faith in my resilience and regeneration renewed.

It is hard for me to tell how long the search for MH370 will continue to occupy my mind. I ask myself what will have been found, if indeed, one day, it is declared to be found. A hundred pieces of debris? 200? 2,000? Small pieces? Large pieces? The engines? The black box? The tail? Passenger remains? When will we rest satisfied that the ‘plane’ has been found? Lately, I have been seized by this question. While I have lent my voice to the clamour for the continuation of the search to locate MH370, my interest remains in understanding how a recurrence might be avoided, and what institutional mechanisms need to be strengthened to ensure that issues of safety and investigation are not caught in the unhelpful logjam of inter-governmental bureaucratic protocols. How do we ensure dignity and sensitivity towards affected families and enforce it as a nonnegotiable value? How can we deliver compassionate justice?

Mysteries of technology MH370 has brought home larger questions of our vulnerability and dependence on technologies (and companies) that we don’t understand, much less control, and the fallibility of systems that are often presented as fail-safe. MH370 has thrown wide open many issues related to aviation safety and family assistance in the event of accidents that I was oblivious to, and now, I feel a sense of urgency to work with people who share similar concerns.

The lawsuits on compensation and damages will work their way through the long-winded processes of the courts. I expect that Malaysia will vehemently resist any attribution of responsibility for any actions leading up to and the disappearance of MH370, and the inability to locate its whereabouts. In the court of public opinion, the unflattering verdict on its conduct from the very beginning has been out. Malaysia has done little to salvage its stature, its credentials or its bonafides despite the innumerable opportunities it has had.

Nursing anger over a prolonged period ultimately corrodes the soul. I don’t wish it for myself or for anyone else. While it has energised the struggles to press on with the search for MH370 and the truth, it does not replenish. It thrives on keeping the sense of being wronged, hurt and wanting retribution alive in a way as to be possessed by the demons of blind vengeance. It does little to heal wounds and be free once again. I had hoped for a different process to let anger abate, for a reconstruction of lives to begin, predicated on a heartfelt apology from Malaysia.

The internal crises last year in Malaysia only points to the intent of that Government to brazen it out in the face of accusations and mounting evidence of wrongdoing. It has belied hopes of expecting contrition from any sphere.

Given this, I believe one can draw strength, moral authority, and stamina to secure justice and change from our capacity to forgive. I believe that in the end everyone pays the price of their follies and excesses even if it is not always apparent. I don’t have to nurse the executioner-in-waiting or the aggrieved one in me to feel alive, purposeful and relevant.

I believe that ultimately justice prevails. Satyameva Jayate. Truth always triumphs.

Chandrika is not coming back. What I discovered one day, sometime in 2014, was that I experienced within me no trace of anger towards her. It surprised me. I didn’t ever imagine this possible, considering our life was not without its share of provocations and disappointments. In seeking to understand this, all that I came to was a total acceptance of who she was and an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I touched a quality of love for her akin to refracted luminous hues traced back to its source. This has remained a silent source of strength to get through each day.

What I have received in plenty are affirmations. These have helped me view my life in a more favourable light. That, beyond the flaws, my words and deeds have touched at least some people, that even my cynicism has been bearable because my wish for the world is honourable, that my off-handedness is forgiven because my intentions have never been hurtful.

I have made more friends in the last three years compared to the last twenty, many of whom I have never met but experience a camaraderie with, founded on sympathy but extending to shared concerns and broader interests. These newfound friendships, I cherish.

In India, and perhaps elsewhere, I believe marriages and deaths are occasions that bring out the best or the worst in us. Both in my family and circle of friends, I have experienced the estranged reach out, shrink distances and create a new and intimate space.

The near ones drew closer to enlarge space and add depth. An important lesson learnt was that family ties become stronger because they are invested in rather than by making demands out of a sense of entitlement.

With permission from Bloomsbury India

MEET THE AUTHOR

KS Narendran is an alumnus of TISS, Mumbai. He is a principal consultant with Flame TAO Knoware and a director on the board of Greenclouds Education Solutions and Sumedhas Academy for Human Context. He lives in Chennai with his mother and daughter.

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