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SPUREN - BILDER ab 2010

voriger Beitrag| Übersicht 2010 | 29/36 |nächster Beitrag

Bilder aus der Hölle – Pictures from Hell

Vollbild Bild bewerten

Alexander Kriegelstein | 10.3.2010 | Kommentare (0)

 

Bilder aus der Hölle – Pictures from Hell

 (Translation below)

Man sieht es nicht allen Bildern an, weil Bilder die Wirklichkeit verzerren, ja verkehren können.
Doch wenn man, wie der Schreiber dieser Zeilen, dem Experiment „Homo Sapiens Sapiens“ mit geteilter Begeisterung folgt, verrückt Indien das Weltbild nicht zwingend auf die euphemistische Seite. Die Hölle, lieber Sartre, das sind jedenfalls nicht die anderen. Die Hölle sind schon wir.

Der Ex-Punk Paul Theroux schreibt (in „Ghost Train to the Eastern Star“, 2008):

“I finally left Trichy, and India. What sent me away was not the poverty, though it was pathetic and there was plenty of it. It wasn’t the dirt, though it sometimes seemed to me that nothing in India was clean. It wasn’t the pantheon of grotesque gods, some like monkeys, some like elephants, some wearing skulls as ornaments. It was not the widow-burning or the child marriages or the crowds of the cringing and the limbless, the one-eyed, the stumblers, the silent ones who hardly lifted their eyes. An experience of India could be like a painting by Hieronymus Bosch – among the deformed, the fish-faced, the crawling, the flapping, the beaked, the scaly, the sreaming the armless and the web-footed.
Nor the heat, either, though every day in the south it was in the high 90s. Not the boasting and booming Indians and their foreign partners screwing the poor and the underpaid for profit. Not the roads, though they were hideous and impassable in places. Not the fear of disease or the horror of the obscenely wealthy, though the sight of the super rich in India could be more disquieting than the sight of the most wretched beggar.

None of these. They can all be rationalized.

What sent me away finally was something simpler, but larger and inescapable. It was the sheer mass of people, the horribly thronged cities, the colossal agglomeration of elbowing and contending Indians, the billion-plus, the sight of them, the sense of their desperation and hunger, having to compete with them for space on pavements, on roads, everywhere.”

English:

It doesn’t show in all pictures, because pictures tend to distort reality, even reverse it. But if, as these lines’ author, one is following the experiment „Homo Sapiens Sapiens“ with mixed feelings, India doesn’t necessarily change your views to the more euphemistic side. No, Hell is not other people, dear Sartre. Hell is us.

The former punk Paul Theroux notes (in „Ghost Train to the Eastern Star“, 2008):

“I finally left Trichy, and India. What sent me away was not the poverty, though it was pathetic and there was plenty of it. It wasn’t the dirt, though it sometimes seemed to me that nothing in India was clean. It wasn’t the pantheon of grotesque gods, some like monkeys, some like elephants, some wearing skulls as ornaments. It was not the widow-burning or the child marriages or the crowds of the cringing and the limbless, the one-eyed, the stumblers, the silent ones who hardly lifted their eyes. An experience of India could be like a painting by Hieronymus Bosch – among the deformed, the fish-faced, the crawling, the flapping, the beaked, the scaly, the sreaming the armless and the web-footed.
Nor the heat, either, though every day in the south it was in the high 90s. Not the boasting and booming Indians and their foreign partners screwing the poor and the underpaid for profit. Not the roads, though they were hideous and impassable in places. Not the fear of disease or the horror of the obscenely wealthy, though the sight of the super rich in India could be more disquieting than the sight of the most wretched beggar.

None of these. They can all be rationalized.

What sent me away finally was something simpler, but larger and inescapable. It was the sheer mass of people, the horribly thronged cities, the colossal agglomeration of elbowing and contending Indians, the billion-plus, the sight of them, the sense of their desperation and hunger, having to compete with them for space on pavements, on roads, everywhere.”


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