To those who know me, this may come as a surprise. The idea of turning vegetarian has been on my mind for a while now. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced consuming meat doesn't sit well with my world view. While on the theme, the other day I came across a very compelling piece in Aeon Magazine on how much should we worry about the death of what we squash without giving it a second thought. A fly, for instance.
"Now, I’m not a biologist, but I know that a fly is an animal, and more specifically, an insect. As such, it has (or had) wings, legs, eyes, antenna and a host of internal organs. Those parts are in turn made of cells, each one of which is hugely complex. And in those cells, among many other things, are – or were – the fly’s genes, which in turn embody an astonishing intricacy and an ancient, multi-million-year history, while in the fly’s gut would have been countless bacteria with their own genes, their own goals. Worlds within worlds, now squidged together into a single dark smudge that I am already finding it hard to pinpoint among the scratches and coffee rings. A history of life spread out before me, if only I were able to read it.
At this point, I guess that readers will be dividing into two parties. One party, probably the majority, will be thinking, ‘Get over it, it’s a fly.’ This, it seems to me, is a very reasonable position. Flies die in large numbers all the time – some, indeed, at my hand, whether I intend it or not (and I sometimes do). And in the summer evenings, when I sit on our terrace and watch swifts in their spectacle of swooping and screeching, this beautiful display is, of course, at the same time an orgy of insect death.
The other party of readers, probably the minority, will be horrified at my casual killing of this delicate life-form. They will be appalled at the waste and stupidity of my carelessness. To them, I must be an oaf; at best ignorant, at worst malevolent. And this, it seems to me, is also a very reasonable position. Even though I habitually write – sometimes about complex subjects – it is certain that with one mistimed finger-swipe I destroyed complexity and beauty many orders of magnitude greater than any I will ever create."
The piece stuck. And even as it played in my mind, I travelled to Bhiwandi, a two hour drive from Mumbai, the other day. What hits the eye soon after you turn off the highways are rows upon rows of meat shops--or abattoirs if you will, of all kinds. Filthy to the core, with carcasses of goats and chickens mounted one upon another, with their live counterparts tethered close by, waiting their turn to be killed.
It is the kind of sight that can make you retch; and want to give up on eating meat of any kind. I swore I will. That I haven't is another matter altogether. It compels me to ask questions humans have asked forever. Do animals have a soul? Do animals have a conscience? Do the wretched creatures lined up for slaughter next to their slaughtered brethren know they're next? Does it terrify them? I think, deep down, we know the answers. It's just that we choose to look the other way. Not thinking about death is the easiest thing to do.
And once again, that haunting song from Ship of Thesus continues to play in my mind.