Wednesday, September 7, 2011

My name is Terrorist


My name is Terrorist. Yeah that’s my name, that’s how people call me, people of high intellect, people of disguised unsure idiosyncrasies. I could have been given any name starting from A – Z when I had born, but who cares, even I don’t, as if it’s gonna help me in laying foundation for my future when I know there is nothing there except for a big while hole. 

Now let’s talk about my passion. Actually there is nothing there that excites me except for some quite moments of solitude. Look at my profession, I have to create panic, screams, stampede all over the place. So you youngsters aren’t alone, even I am dangling in between my passion and profession. I don’t like to do what I do but can’t say if I have anything else to do. Then what would be my purpose for living, I can’t just live in oblivion, it’s so lifeless. Talk about my religion, I could be living any sort of lifestyle be it in a posh area or in bunkers, I could be praying with hands folded across my chest, or cross in between my fingers or even sitting on my knees, but my religion would always be the one in minority. I don’t know the reason why, but i am optimistic, at least people know that we too are part of this living world.

I see these beautiful kids on the streets with their parents. Their feet up in air, their red rose cheeks, their screams and laughs and level of curiosity in their eyes. Talk about my childhood, actually I prefer not to talk about it. But I will just to motivate myself a lil bit and to assure myself that it’s the best profession I could have chosen. I need to motivate myself time to time whenever compassion streak tries to overpower my motives. I had lived my childhood in the most beautiful of all places. But peace is where your heart is. In the midst of this serenity I had seen people being abducted, hostaged, raped and many of them couldn’t live for a very long time. I didn’t close my eyes when it all happened. I cried and screamed but nobody listened and finally my tears dried up. My parents never consoled me. My elder brother was already training and preparing to scare the hell out of me. I couldn’t even go to schools to hide from my fears because these big bureaucrats were minting money out of all funds. Even If there was a school in the 20 Kms radius, teachers wouldn’t be there, mostly already had got transfers or had left their jobs. Then what, what all options I had, I mean I was just a kid. For playing there were enough guns, that too of different varieties, of different shapes and sizes.

I am not proud to say but I actually started liking them. Call it a kid’s dream or a way to set myself free from this loud noise and fear around. From being bullied to being a bully, this drastic change came in just one year, just like my moustaches and beard. Thereafter I never feared death.
I don’t know who to blame, whether myself, politicians, my brother, my state or those guns, but at the end of each day when I look at myself, I know I am terrorist and I at least know what I do and why I do it. 

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