Response to the article about immortality

“In Pursuit of Immortality: The Science behind Life Extension” is an article by Kristie McNealy M.D that describes the efforts of scientists to cure aging and put an end to death. The article made us acquainted with the techniques like cryonics, the method of preserving human bodies after death with the hope that they would be revived back to life. While reading about the scientists’ attempts to make medicine to avoid natural death, I felt awkward. I feel convenient to add here that it is actually the end point of things that adds meaning to their existence. Likewise, it is death that grants value to life. In other words, we are concerned about the proper utilization of time and better consumption of facilities because we are all well aware that life is a precious gift which we cannot get back once we lose it. The realization that till death we have a limited span of time to achieve our goal motivates us to work at a faster pace and put the best of our talent. We all well know that life is short and proceeds towards death with every click of a clock. With the passage of every proportion of a second, we get closer to death and the time we have to fulfill our desires shrinks further. The knowledge that death is irreversible further intrigues us to work smoothly and even more efficiently so that we could be able to achieve our ambition before we die. Since we cannot refrain from death, we cannot procrastinate if we really want to lead a successful life. Thus, we rush towards our destination and try our best to accomplish tasks on time because we are aware that if we waste time then there is surely no any way to retrieve it back. We are serious about life because we know that we cannot get it back once we die and so endeavor to make best of it. A logical and critical overview of the article tells us if there was any way to revive a corpse back to life, life would have lost its significance. Death actually imparts value to life. If there was a strategy to put a stop to death, man might not have taken life seriously. They would always procrastinate and might have sat idle. Consequently, the highly advanced achievements of today would not have been possible. Moreover, the world is already overwhelmed with problems like over-population, scarcity of food and such other problems. In such a situation, why not be concerned about the health and environmental problems that lead to death at earlier stages than to strive to make life immortal?

“The Fury of Overshoes” is a poem by Anne Sexton in which we read that she was afraid of the wolf when she was a child. What an interesting stage childhood is! Sometimes we are afraid of real things that are never ever gruesome and yet some other times, we are scared of imaginary things, things that have never ever existed, things which are just imaginations. I was afraid of the huge, traditional musical drum which is a special part of musical apparatus in Gilgit, the city where I grew up. I still remember when I was a child, there used to be frequent musical shows in the open, beautiful and the lush-green garden in front of our home. There would be a storm of people to entertain from the musical program. A particular instrumental piece would be played with fourteen small drums along with one big, circular drum that needed a robust man to hold it on his belly and play. For me, those musical shows were really fear-provoking. I don’t know how and who had incorporated the delusion in my mind that the large-sized drum can rush at me at any time, and can swallow me in a single gulp, or it may beat me with its sticks until I fell to the ground paralyzed, wounded and badly hurt. My siblings and mother tried hard so that I do not fear the drum, but their efforts brought no hope of freedom. Whenever there used to be a musical show in our garden, I would not have the courage to step out of the house. I would sit silently in my mother’s lap while she would try to appease me by every possible tactic. My family members, many relatives and the huge drummer himself strived hard to bring me out of the trouble. Unfortunately, the delusion had so deeply prevailed in my mind that their description of the drum as an object unable to move was totally implausible for me. Well, it affected me a lot. I was deprived of the charms of the music. I could not dance and enjoy the music with my friends. The days of the musical shows in our garden would be among the worst days of my childhood. Being overwhelmed by the fear, I would not dare to step out of the home until the next day. I would be a topic of more special concern than usual for my relatives and neighbors in common and for my family members in particular on the days when music could be played in our garden. I would pray to God: “Allah papa, please make the drum afraid as it frightens me or take it away.”

When going through the essay “What is Poverty”, various horrible scenes of poverty came into my mind. The essay sketched in my mind the figures of little, dirty and naked children scavenging for food among the piles of rubbish. It portrayed in my mind lame and hungry people begging for food.  I must add here that we go out of university nearly daily and travel around by rickshaw. My heart feels sorry for the impoverished and the vulnerable rickshaw pullers who drive us a far distance only for 15 or 20taka. I had been thinking the rickshaws belong to them, but it was appalling for me to know they are not owned by the rickshaw pullers mostly. The money they earn is divided between the rickshaw owner and the rickshaw puller. What can they make out of such a little amount? Moreover, I particularly reminisced about the underprivileged people I found at the train station in Dhaka on our first arrival from our homeland country. The affluent people there were arrogantly stepping ahead towards their destination but what about the poor? No any destination, no any aim. How can they imagine of a destination when they don’t even have the starting point – food, shelter and clothing. They stay up under the open sky wavering with cold while the rest of the world sleeps on velvety cushions. They remain hungry over nights while the wealthy people in their milieu enjoy parties. The prosperous people sleep peacefully on the soft beds while the poor stay up the whole night fearing the next day, fearing life. So many things to be worried about, so many things that strangle the sleep of the destitute, so many things that pull down their love for life but alas! No to one is there to understand their pains. Frazzled poor hardly find any source of income, hence their children remain illiterate. This illiteracy appears as the inheritance of the upcoming generation and continues as a legacy. Thinking of all these bitter facts I often ask myself if only the deprived are responsible for their awful condition. I think, some responsibility lies on our shoulders as well. No doubt, our respect and support for the indigent group of the society and care for their emotions can boost them not to mourn upon the situation they are living in, rather to strive to improve the condition. Can’t the poor be brought out of the paucity of life facilities if every well-off member of our society contributes towards the betterment of poor? Please think over this issue. A heartfelt realization of the case may pave a way towards a social reform in favor of the depressed group of our society


Hi friends,

Ecstatic to share and recieve ideas. It’s a good opportunity. Isn’t it? Off course! it is.