There is such a thing as an exhaustion of witnessing. Glued to the television for long snatches of time over the last forty eight hours, while I watched gun battles and firestorms in Bombay, the first thing that i found failing was reason, the second thing that failed was speech, the third thing that failed was the capacity to do anything meaninful in the face of such disproportionate horror. I did nothing. I was parched, I drank a lot of tea, and water. I nursed insomnia to fitful, erratic snatches of sleep, populated by lucid dreams that smelt of cordite.
Continue reading ‘Don’t Hold My Hand Longer Than You Need To’

