Mirza Ghalib wrote, “Dil Hi To Hai, Na Sangokhisht, Dard Se Bhar Na Aaye Kyon?” Ghalib felt that the human heart was full of pathos, unlike an insensitive stone brick structure.

I wonder whether Ghalib was right.

Once Times Now repeatedly ran a news clip. A man was being beaten mercilessly at the Vadodara station. The victim, a ticket checker, was bleeding profusely, crying for help, and trying to protect himself with bare arms. Cut to the shot of another man, who was very happily running towards the ticket checker for another assault. Cut to the shot of the ticket checker being hit on the head with a boulder, streams of blood turning his white shirt to a deep crimson. Cut to the shot of onlookers who appeared to be enjoying the agony of the hapless ticket checker.

Some years ago, I noticed a crowd of about fifty people curiously looking in a particular direction at the Kanpur railway junction. The centre of attraction was a lunatic walking on the roof of a railway bogie. The naked man was precariously close to the high tension wires that powered electric locomotives. After striding confidently for a few minutes, the man stopped and stretched his limbs. His hands touched the wire. There was a deep thud, and the man collapsed. If not dead, he was surely unconscious with the near lethal dose of high voltage electric current. Worse, his body had started sliding down from the curved roof of the railway bogie. By this time some police jawans had arrived. They waited for the body to fall from a height of four metres. And it did fall eventually. The naked man soon lay sprawled between two railway tracks. Two jawans sprung into action. Holding each arm of the dying man, they made him stand, climb over the platform, and walk, perhaps right up to the police station. The crowd found the spectacle of a naked man walking between two uniformed policemen funny. They broke into laughter, hooted, clapped, and walked behind in a small procession.

I am still unable to forget the footage of an injured man being lifted through his broken arm during the Mandal agitation about twenty years ago. He had not been able to survive beyond a few minutes.

Why do we treat humans in such a despicable manner? What makes us relish the discomfort of others? Is it true that under the garb of civilisation hides a beast within all of us; waiting to be released at the slightest opportunity?

Most animals fight when they fear a loss of territory, scarcity of food, or harm to their offspring. The most intelligent animal, we, fight regardless of the existence of threat. The fight can be visible, as shown through the examples mentioned before, or concealed; it can be in the boardrooms, between relatives, among politicians, petty vendors, road users, nations—the list is endless. Our fights mostly stem out of selfishness. Sad, isn't it?