Delhi is on Red Alert. Again.
by Apurva Sapra
I hate terrorism. I truly despise it! I hate the fanatic madness of terrorists. I hate the unnecessary waste of resources. I hate the fear that envelops people and disrupts their schedule as plans go haywire. I hate how heart beats are literally stopped. I hate the way little kids look questioningly at their parents, as they are prevented from running around and doing the little kid stuff they are best at. I hate how the world is so panic-stricken for a hoax bomb threat, yet so peaceful, so calm preceding the actual blast.
I hate the shock and horror on people’s faces as they watch a place loved so dearly crumble before their eyes. I hate the pain in the eyes of a person watching a loved one fall, the tug at their heart at the loss of someone they thought would stand by them forever, till the end of the world. I hate how they know crying would never be enough, but still they shed endless tears. I hate the triumph of terrorists in evoking a sense of surrealism. I hate how the world looks so devastated, so helpless.
I hate the feeling that we may not be the ones leading our own lives after all. I hate being restricted, so bound as if I am merely a puppet in the hands of a very cruel puppet-master, all strings attached. I hate knowing I have little hand in my own destiny, as everything I have worked so hard to achieve can disappear, vanish without a trace. I hate being so afraid, so weak in my own eyes.
I hate how it can just never be stopped!
But Delhi is my home, my country and I love its people.
I love the pride with which policemen try hard to protect the country, their home; not just as a call of duty. I love the way everyone gets united under the banner of fear, a sort of common ground on which everyone stands, each with equal chance to walk over and move on, or have that very ground pulled from beneath their feet, leaving them to fall forever.
I love the way parents and lovers become extra affectionate to someone who means more to them than life, leaving not a single moment to go by without having told the world what a special feeling it is, to have been loved in their own special way. I love the protectiveness that friends and family feel, and the love that arises from fear of separation, that fills their heart completely. I love the tenderness with which strangers speak, not knowing if another chance might come to get to know one another.
I love the joy that comes from the smallest of things, becoming ever sweeter in pain and fear, in knowing it may be the last time to enjoy life as it is. I love the way people realise nothing lasts forever, yet choose not to let that come in the way of anything they do, putting their heart and soul into it and hold on, nevertheless. I love the little extra something even the hardest of stone hearts does, as the end nears for some; a new beginning for others.
I love the way people arise, matured, the very next day, as corpses in a tomb from a deep slumber, undeterred by pain of loss and suffering, fear and terror, forgetting the sense of dread that looms overhead, guided by the faith that everything will be okay one day, if not now, that they will find their place in the world and resolve not to succumb to fear and do all that they can to fight terror, that has ruined so many lives, in such a short time.
But most of all, I love the strength of a smile in times of turmoil.