The overwhelming moments at the WTC memorial site remind me of what vicarious emotional experiences end up being, especially upon a filled stomach and a warm body: a self-indulgent trip full of gravitas and solemnity.
I am sure, that day, Vanitha and her parents weren’t as much washed over by a sense of tragedy as I was. Yet, that the lump rises less readily up their throat doesn’t mean they would be any less constructive in amending others’ misfortune. Mooning over others’ sorrow is more often just that – feeling and mooning over, and as a rule worth precious little. The exceptions of course become revolutionaries and lose their lives.
Vicarious experiences are not the equals of our darker emotions – jealousy, depression, suspicion, hatred, loneliness, loss, and those accompanying sheer starvation. These are real troubles and cause real heartache, not the ‘ensconced-in-comfort’ wallowing in others’ tragedy. However big others’ tragedy is, it wouldn’t bother us as much as a bolt which has descended upon ourselves.
Eventually, our deepest feelings for others are noble-colored fluff. And they frequently get degraded to the level of ‘the sentimental dope of this month.’ They become yet another piece of gratification, which in a twisted sort of way makes us feel less bored. As proof I could perhaps offer media’s penchant for disasters, corruption, serial killers, ethnic cleansing, besides grotesque relief such as Bush and Indian Cricket, to go along with our morning coffee, and to act as fodder for small talk through out our day.
