The Humor in Terror

You are hearing continuous firing, a blast every few minutes. You're not on a battlefield. You don't live on the border between two tense nations. In fact, you're sitting in your own home which you believe is in the safest area of the financial capital of your country and the capital of your State. Whether it is the Vidhan Sabha, the Mantralaya, the Police Head Quarters of your State, the Naval Forces, any of the Courts or any other important building, it is not more than 15 minutes walking from your place. You don't know whether you will survive or how many of the final minutes in your life are left. How must a person be feeling in such a situation? What are the thoughts, emotions and reaction of such a person?

I had not spoken to my aunt heartily in years. Not because we did not meet or did not have each other's numbers but because I had stopped seeing anything in common which would bind us together anymore. Even after a lot of thought I could never think of anything all these years to talk to a 60 year old woman who spent her days taking care of her 90 year old mother in a village I had left 15 years ago. This was the woman who's told me bedside stories. She's done almost everything a mom does for her child. To me, she's my second mom. Yet, I had not spoken to her.

You call her up and you tell her that the situation is worse and that you are safe. How come you called she asks you. You tell her because that's what they show in movies these days. You're supposed to call people close to you just before dying. She's angry but she laughs at your humor. She warns not to crack such jokes after the laugh though.

Then you go to your CD Rack and try to pick up something to kill time. Unusually, a person like you who usually chooses flicks like “Sarkar” or “Johnny Gaddar” or “Gladiator” chooses movies like “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron”, “Bhagam Bhaag” and such stupid, non-sensical comedies.

In the evening you're too bored to sit at home. You go out with your family in your car with all the windows wound up. It's about 8 in the evening. The time when this area of the city is usually flooded with people and vehicles on their way home. Today, you see there is no soul on this road. There is no car except yours. All this while you were only insecure. Now, you're scared. You know no one can possibly live like Will Smith in “I Am Legend”. For the first time in your life you feel, sense and understand the meaning of the sentence “Man is a social animal”.

The next day, you go on your job like usual. The Oval is a park reserved for walks, cricket, foot ball and leisure. Usually full of people using it for those activities at any time of the day. Today however, it has a new game and new players. Pigeons. I don't know what their game is called, all they always say is just “Gutar-Goo”.

Only 5 out of the staff of 35 has turned up to work. Half in the day, one of your colleagues receives an SMS on his phone from another colleague saying firing at a certain spot has resumed. It's a spot very close to your office. Everyone decides to go home. The moment you climb down, you see hordes of people shutting their shops. Everyone in your office's building is watching down from the balcony. An old peon says he's scared he'll die. Young people around laugh at him. “Oh c'mon Mama, you're over 70, you've lived your life. Besides the terrorists won't kill you. They'll think its a waste of bullet to kill you. You're almost dead anyway.” Everyone including the peon laughs at this humor. He sees the truth in it and makes a face showing how he'll look if he's shot dead.

One of the colleagues asks me what am I going to do. I'm the one who's going to have to cross 3 main streets minimum to reach home. I tell him I'm planning to stay in the office building itself. He says he'll accompany me half way. We decide to go.

On the road, I keep each and every of my senses awake. I know, a bullet might come and strike me from any direction, any moment. I remember each and every face I saw during that walk. I remember every single step and everything that I sensed with any of my sensory organs including the red dupatta of a girl which touched me while she passed away.

Crossing the Oval for the second time I sensed some movement behind me. Two men, well built muscles, wearing chains in the arms and the neck, usually signs of masculinity, virility and style, were holding hands. That was a grip of trust. I slowed my walk down to be in the same line with them. When they start walking by me, I realize they're laborers who earn their living by doing some job which requires their muscles every day. I just put my arm on the shoulder of one of them. Our eyes meet. We're in this together.

I am supposed to be on a diet. After reaching home safely. First thing I do is open the refrigerator and eat Ice Cream from it and then the Chocolates. Any of them could be my last. And you might think I must have been serious the entire day but funnily, I was singing all the while.

My conclusion is that Terror is good. Terror is good because it teaches Humor. May be you'll die, but let's at least die laughing. It teaches you to tell people you love that you love them the most, to die without any regrets. Its only when the death is at your doorstep, you realize how much life there is in every moment. You realise what are things you truly love doing, in my case singing. I know people can't bear my voice when I'm singing but henceforth, I won't care much. I enjoy it and I will do it as I can.

I am not scared of death. I am privileged to have survived. Privileges are not to be demanded like rights. They're to be enjoyed while they last.

A Marathi Poem says:

“Mrityu mala nyayla ala...
Me tyala mhanalo “Tula Shambhar Varsha Ayushya”
Toch Chat Padla
Mhanala, “Kay Ha Manushya?”

Crude English translation

Death came to take me away
I wished her a 100 years of life
She was surprised
She said “What kind of a man is this?”