India's Silent GENOCIDE 

Rachel Joseph Chittilapilly

In March 2020, a newly married couple were at the hospital for a scheduled check-up when they were informed that their twenty-week-old unborn baby had been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. The doctors recommended that they abort their baby and simply try again for another baby. Heartbroken, they returned home and struggled with the choice placed in front of them. With courage and love, they rejected abortion, and a baby boy was born a few months later. At birth, the little one had to be rushed to the NICU, and it was clear that he only had a few hours to live. Their parish priest reached the hospital and baptised the little boy. His parents cherished the short time they had with their son, embraced him and loved him deeply. On the third day, the baby boy died. Though his life on earth was short, from the moment of his conception until his final breath, he experienced the unconditional love of his parents. It did not matter to them that their baby was ill; all they knew was to love their son. 

Sadly, our nation does not have this same approach when faced with difficult pregnancies. We have learned to solve crises through violence and death. Our courts are full of requests for late-term abortions for various reasons, but often because the baby was diagnosed with morbidities. In 1971, abortion was legalised in India through the Medical Termination of Pregnancy (MTP) Act. In 2021, the MTP Amendment Act was passed, increasing the threshold for abortion from 20 weeks to 24 weeks. Furthermore, this new amendment permits the gruesome termination of innocent babies, for an unrestricted period, in the event of foetal abnormalities. The MTP Act notwithstanding, the last decade has witnessed courts in India permitting late-term abortions even up to 35 weeks. 

MARRIAGE  in a Contraceptive Culture

Dr Enid Miranda Prabhu

Sometimes, the signs of changing times appear in the most ordinary conversations. Not long ago, a colleague remarked that fewer parents seem to be attending the parish Pre-Baptism course these days. At first, it sounded like a passing observation about parish life. Yet, it prompted a deeper question: does this reflect something larger? Are fewer children being born, and are our attitudes towards marriage, family, and parenthood quietly shifting?

Across societies today, we see changing perspectives on relationships, commitment, and the meaning of family life. These shifts are not confined to the wider culture; they are gradually finding their way into our own homes and communities. In subtle ways, they influence how people understand love, marriage, and the gift of children.

One noticeable trend is the growing preference for individual autonomy and the intentional limitation of family size—or even the decision not to have children at all. Along with this is a growing scepticism towards traditional institutions such as religion and marriage. Increasingly, religion is seen as something inherited, rather than something personally believed in, and this outlook is beginning to influence attitudes even within Catholic homes.

Another development is the rise of what are sometimes called "trial marriages," where couples choose to live together in order to test their compatibility before making a permanent commitment. What was once socially frowned upon is now widely accepted, even by parents who see such arrangements as practical. Shared expenses, personal freedom, and individual happiness often take precedence over long-standing social norms and values.

Technology, too, has subtly altered the way relationships form. Our dependence on phones, tablets, and computers has reduced face-to-face interaction, and paradoxically, increased loneliness. Many now turn to online platforms and matrimonial websites in search of companionship.

From SILENCE to STRENGTH: The Struggle of the Indian Girl Child

Dr Jeanette Pinto

Growing up as a girl child in the latter half of the 20th century, and reflecting upon those years today, I realise how difficult life often was for the female child. Discrimination and inequality were pervasive forces that shaped the life journey of many Indian women. From the very moment of conception, through infancy, childhood, adulthood, and even into old age, these challenges persisted. In a society where women were frequently outnumbered and overshadowed by men, many lived under the weight of a deeply entrenched patriarchal system.

From early times, Indian women were often considered inferior to men in terms of strength, ability, and work. They were discouraged or even prohibited from undertaking occupations traditionally associated with men. Instead, their domain—often described as their "kingdom"—was confined to the kitchen and the home. Such restrictive roles fostered significant gender inequalities. Discrimination manifested itself in unequal access to education, sports, employment opportunities, wages, and even recognition for literary or artistic contributions. For generations, it truly seemed to be a man's world.

Education and socialisation play powerful roles in shaping gender identity and expectations. During childhood, these influences gradually mould a girl's psyche and sense of self. In many parts of India, boys were traditionally preferred over girls, and patriarchal values reinforced rigid social norms. As girls grew older and interacted more with society—particularly after marriage—they often came to realise that they were victims of discrimination, lacking personal identity and autonomy, and trapped within limiting social expectations.

Gender discrimination has long been deeply rooted in Indian society. One of the most disturbing manifestations of this bias has been female foeticide—the deliberate termination of a female foetus—a grave and cruel crime that has nevertheless been practised. Girl children have frequently faced unequal treatment compared to their male counterparts. Such discrimination deprives many girls of access to quality education, healthcare, and employment opportunities, thereby perpetuating cycles of poverty and inequality that affect both their personal and professional lives.

Being PRO-LIFE in a World at War

Lavoisier Fernandes

As Christians, we are called to be defenders of life. We often hear the expression "from the womb to the tomb"—a powerful reminder that life is sacred from the moment of conception to its natural end. 

But too often, the Pro-Life  conversation becomes limited, focused almost entirely on abortion and euthanasia. Don't get me wrong; those are critical issues, and we should never downplay their importance. But if we're deeply committed to being Pro-Life, our concern can't stop there.

Because life doesn't begin at birth, nor does it end at death.

What about all the time in between? The people struggling with poverty, inadequate healthcare, education, and the weight of racial injustice and violence? What about innocent civilians caught in the chaos of war or refugees fleeing for their lives, displaced by bombs and bullets?

These lives matter, too. If we overlook them, we are defending life only in pieces, not in its entirety. To be genuinely Pro-Life, we must advocate for the dignity of all people, in every stage of life.

War Is a Pro-Life Issue

Right now, the world feels like it's burning. In Ukraine, Sudan, Gaza—and now with the escalating conflict involving Iran, following recent U.S. and Israeli strikes and Iran's retaliatory attacks—violence is erupting all over the globe. These aren't just geopolitical crises. They are human tragedies. And they demand our attention as people who claim to stand for life.

India’s HEALTHCARE ‘Brain Drain’ and the Challenge of ETHICAL RESPONSIBILITY

Sr Dr Beena Madhavathumi

In recent years, particularly after the COVID-19 pandemic, hospitals across India are experiencing a rapid attrition of healthcare professionals. Although India has the highest annual number of doctors, nurses, and paramedic graduates in the world, a significant proportion of this trained workforce migrates to developed countries such as the United States, Europe, Canada, Australia, and Gulf nations, attracted by higher salaries and 'better career prospects'. This phenomenon, commonly referred to as 'brain drain,' has important consequences for India's healthcare delivery system. This is not simply an administrative or systemic problem; it is a moral and spiritual concern at the heart of our Christian commitment to life, dignity, and compassion.

The reasons behind this exodus are deeply human. Many healthcare workers endure long hours, inadequate pay, unsafe and poorly equipped facilities, and overwhelming patient loads. In contrast, developed countries offer higher wages, better infrastructure, opportunities for career growth, and a quality of life that allows families to live with security and hope. For many, migration appears not as a rejection of their homeland, but as a path towards dignity and better prospects.

Yet, the consequences of this migration are grave. Our hospitals, once known for the gentle presence and devoted service of our nurses, are now facing a major challenge in retaining experienced and skilled caregivers. This loss is felt most acutely at the bedside, where the absence of experienced nurses affects not only the quality of care, but also the spirit of compassion and accompaniment that has long defined our healing ministry. Hospitals are carrying this burden with concern, as patients and families—especially the most vulnerable—feel the impact of this gradual erosion in the quality of nursing care. From the broader perspective, as skilled professionals leave, India's healthcare system grows weaker, and the impact is most felt by the poor. 

Sanju Samson and the Quiet Power of Belief

Dr Fr John Singarayar SVD

On March 1, under the lights at Eden Gardens, Sanju Samson, a player in the Indian T20 World Cup team, walked off unbeaten on 97. India has just punched their ticket to the T20 World Cup semi-finals. The Kolkata crowd was delirious. But Samson didn't pump his fist or roar at the sky. He dropped to his knees, pulled off his helmet, raised his hands, and made the sign of the Cross. Then he said it plain: "I kept on believing, and thanks to the Lord Almighty for actually blessing me today."

Simple words. No theatrics. Just gratitude offered straight to God while the world watched.

That moment came right in the heart of Lent, when Christians worldwide are called to pull back from the noise, pray harder, and look honestly at their lives. Samson's gesture felt like Lent made visible—not as some grim duty, but as something real and alive. This wasn't performance. It was a man who knows exactly where his strength comes from, even when the pressure could crush him.

Samson has never hidden his Christian faith. He was born in Pulluvila, a quiet fishing village near Vizhinjam in Kerala, where belief runs deep, and daily life hums with it. But his path to that innings was brutal. He has talked openly about the years of sitting on benches, watching teammates rise, while he wondered if his chance would ever come. The self-doubt. The ache of feeling invisible. That is the kind of struggle Lent asks us to face—the places where we feel small or forgotten.

What gets me is how he never hedges. In cricket, swagger sells. Confidence is currency. Yet, Samson keeps choosing something else: humility that points away from himself. He crossed himself at his half-century too, a quiet reminder that talent is only part of the story. This is faith lived out in the open, not saved for Sunday mornings. During Lent, when we are supposed to fast from ego and lean hard into dependence on God, he is showing us what that actually looks like.