While I go through my daily chores, the news on my TV updates me on the happenings around the world. War, poverty, injustice and death; there is too little to celebrate and so much to mourn about. I move quickly around the kitchen, completing my daily cooking ritual, I rush towards my car. I need to do some grocery before it's time to set out the dinner table for my family.

The August sun is blazing and only a handful of people are out on the road, but they are the ones that don’t belong anywhere. I see beggars, homeless people, fruit sellers and helpless drug addicts. Driving on a deserted road, I skim through my surroundings; I feel misery so palpable around me. The news casters voice echoes in my head again and I dwell into grief on the current state of humanity.

But then a thought nags at me again. What should I lament? For whom should I mourn?  For a disabled man limping in pain, selling flower bracelets on the traffic signal, with heart-wrenching sadness in his eyes, eyes that glimmer with hope every time someone on the other side of the glass pulls out his wallet? Or a child running from car to car cleaning windshields, trying to grip on to a worn-out ten rupee note before the signal turns green and the cars start moving? Should I lament a woman seething with pain when she puts a warm cloth on her wounds inflicted by her husband? Or the one who was raped by a man she refused to marry and is now holding a bunch of pills in her hand, thinking about killing herself?

Or should I lament for something bigger? Something that's apparently brutal enough to make headlines in daily newspapers but much too small to stir our consciousness? Something perhaps related to a father in Syria with son in his lying in his lap battling for life, or a mother who just lost her newborn baby to poor medical conditions in a deserted war-torn area of Iraq, or maybe a son whose father was just attacked by pellets in Kashmir losing his sight, or a girl who lost her fiancé in the Munich shooting while they were out planning their wedding, or a sister who lost her brother in the Orlando shooting,  or a wife whose husband was taken hostage by terrorists in the name of divine revenge.

I feel confused thinking about whom I should lament because all these people are human beings, like me, with dreams and wishes in their hearts. I feel horrified when I think that my heart lacks the ability to handle so much grief and brutality at the same time. I am worried that we have reached a point where we are convinced that words like peace and humanity are meaningless.

I should lament the fact that these words can be used and manipulated to wreak one brutality or to defend other. I should lament the collective hypocrisy of people in power who utter these words meaninglessly. I should lament and wail on those who choose to turn a blind eye to cruelty and violence shamelessly to cater to their self-interests. I should lament the sheer indifference one is capable of having when they weigh out which misery is more terrible.

I should bewail the privilege to sit in luxury and talk about these desolations casually. I should lament the capability to bewail all of this and to continue with my life. I should grieve on humans and their ability to be intrinsically so barbaric. I should lament our very existence on the face of this beautiful universe. I should mourn the death of humanity that was never born. And I should lament the fact that I can feel all of this, come back home and set out dinner table for my family to sit, eat and be happy.