on chasing militants

15:{something} hours
sms | ‘Militant attacks (stop) 5 klld (stop) 20 injrd (stop) Call u la8 (stop)
Imagine this was how messages were wired long before I was the apple of my mother’s eye. Only then is was a telegraph and it still took some time.
Anyways, I almost feel guilty for not feeling anything when I read the message.
OK. Not an entirely accurate assessment…

Heck. I’ll be truthful.
I felt resentment reading it. Visibly, I was disturbed. I was angry.
I tipped a glass of water on my Victorian ladies writing desk that my Mac barely fits on its extended writing top. With the same ease as breathing, my left hand grabbed the camera and my right lifted the Mac as a flow of not-so-proud-but-definitely-“flowery” words spilled out.
Why is it that only accidents like this happens when its not suppose to?
Why must water spill over things you need most to keep dry?
Bah. There goes my Japanese occupation banana tree notes. Time and time again I procrastinated keeping them away.

as well as a few early Malaya stamps. Guess I could now decoupage it to the table of lift it up, risking destroying either or both in the process.

God! I really needed to talk to him. Not wanted. But needed. Really NEEDED.
F@#$ the militants. Like the glass of water … why? why? why?
Why can’t they find some other time? Day? Place?
Interestingly a friend pointed out recently that militants and terrorist are one of the same. Just different POV.
Either way, militant or terrorist, I am fed-up. I am so tired. I am immune.
How quickly! Only two years now (or so) and I am indifferent of their existence. Only their intrusion into ‘my’ personal space bothers me.
God! I am fast becoming like one of them. I get flashbacks of his voice resounding in my head. Booming. Haunting…

“I want peace. 
But we are so used to it. We grew up with it. 
2 weeks goes without a bomb. Killings. 
I am restless. I don’t know what to do. I am lost.” 
said D in a panel interview for war photojournalist not so long back on Kashmir – his home and life
My reaction then, standing amidst a room full of people whose only shadows are visible and cast by D’s photo of a beheaded head on a table on the projector, was “God! Why did you say that? They won’t get you. You’ll be labeled a monster. One of them.” But damage was done.  He was honest. Too honest. In any case, we didn’t hang around long enough to know the repercussions, though I highly suspect none were negative as most were journo hopefuls and soon after the talk a party departed for Kashmir in search of fame.
Look. Let me put all of this into perspective.
We are not cold heart-ed people. We are not insane. We do not condone to any violence. We do not want any violence.

We want to make a change.
{most of us} devote out lives to make a change. To find a solution. To be a voice. To be a picture.
All in the name of putting a STOP to all this madness by militant or terrorist (depending on your POV apparently).

The difference between you and {most of us} is we have learned to cope. It affects us in as much as it affects the victims of these monsters and their monstrosity inhumane work we document.
However, admittedly on an isolated self-centered shallow days, such as today, I just want him contactable NOW. I need to talk to him. I need to sort some arrangements NOW – pronto.
sms | ‘oye – I am sexier than a militant leader any day. So, y r u chasing him?’
8 seconds lag and a reply came:
sms | ‘hey! Hmmm… come stop me from chasing him. :-)’
Ha ha… we’re back in communicato mode. The power of flirtation still works.

4 thoughts on “on chasing militants

  1. Pingback: POV {+ Travel Tips}: Sikkim, INDIA | Travel G-spots

  2. nothing serious guys…Just confirming the political situation there which was very mild when I arrived.I believe in fate – if it's time, it's time. Just like that.Thanks for your concerns though.

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