Blood is life. Blood is important, therefore blood relations are so valued and letters of passion are written in the fluid. Is it therefore that people are reluctant to part with even a few millilitres of the precious fluid? A stock which medical science claims will replenish itself in 48 hours. Does a needle prick or the possibility of momentary weakness scare us so much so that even in life and death situations we remain willingly unwilling?
The concept of voluntary blood donation may have been well campaigned for, but we even find the ‘educated’ sceptic to the practice. I too was a little apprehensive, but that didn’t deter me from making my first donation. That was many years ago. And today whenever anyone seeks my type, I find myself reflexively willing. The feeling that – if one day I or someone I know needs the life blood and there’re no willing donors – keeps me following and propagating this practice.
And whenever someone for no tangible reasons declines to do so, I feel a little angry. But it’s their blood and their decision. I can only motivate, not coerce.