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2月6日 Flesh and bloodLast week, I’d promised to offer concrete logic as to why we ought to consider vegetarianism as a serious lifestyle choice, and here’s what I’m going to try… I could tell you how great a strain a non-vegetarian diet places on the planet’s stretched resources; how each morsel of meat you put in your mouth, turns the heat up a notch on the global  temperature scale, but I won’t…I could also tell you about the cancers and the cholesterol, possible by-products of your violent dietary habits, but I won’t… ..for then all I’d have told you is why it is wrong to kill to eat, but what I really want you to know is why it is right NOT to kill… I could tell you about the unimaginable suffering that a living creature endures as it’s dragged onto the conveyor belt that conveys it from birth to your plate, which I will, but that suffering isn’t half the reason why you might consider ignoring another helping of a blood-meal…. It was an early winter morning and the sunbeams had drilled their way through the morning mist and opened up the highway to Ghaziabad. After driving past apartment blocks, malls and marshes, we finally reached the killing fields. You don’t need signs to this place. Long before you reach the slaughterhouse, you smell it - a revolting waft that heralds both the stench of rotting flesh and human waste from the land fill next to the slaughter house. The strange mix assaults your nostrils and clings to your clothes and sears itself into your memory of this place. As I moved closer, I was guided by some more emissaries of death… dark shadows in the sky, hundreds of them… Pariah Kites. Big brown birds, hunters and scavengers, that ride the thermals, waiting to swoop in for the scraps that remain after the day’s bloodletting. The place is almost surreal… in the drains run rivers of blood and through the dusty haze and stench, strewn around like dirty snow flakes lie blood soaked feather balls, rolling in the wind and clinging underfoot… the kites fly so low and bold that you can hear them flap their wings … and in corners there are dogs playing tug of war with the entrails of slaughtered animals. The abattoir is the axis of this world, be it beast bird or man. I asked a young boy for directions, and as the lad gestured with his hands red with blood, a drop fell on the car’s sill. My colleague shuddered and looked away. ‘Your hands are as red as his, you know…’, I told her. Melodrama? Perhaps… but you’ve got to concede that there’s some truth to what I’d said… The bakra mandi where goats are slaughtered has a sanitised appearance and while I could hear the plaintive bleating of the goats and the frantic kicking of their legs as they were hung upside down and slaughtered, this place was off limits and so I headed for the murga mandi.....Continue 引用通告此日志的引用通告 URL 是： http://iipm-publication.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!461D0556705959F!184.trak 引用此项的网络日志
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