Shootout

11 people were shot dead in a rampant fire by a psycho army man at Nagarkot. In refute to this, there is a Bandh in the valley today. How safe are we in our own country, our own city, our own neighbourhood? What if tomorrow the army standing below my house, in the street each night drinks one more shot of his daily vodka, and goes out of his mind? I could be history the next day. I would be the headlines. One more bandh in my name? Is that it? One more bandh? Am I worth one more bandh? One more protest in the street with tires ablaze?

I first heard of rampant shoots at US schools, killing tens of their fellow classmates. I still remember blaming English movies for them. Blaming them for showing violent actions on screen. Blaming the US system on easily accessible guns and arms. I was in school then, and the news half way around the world had only informative value. The affective component was too little for me to give more than an expression of surprise on my face for a few seconds. I forget it too soon.

More incidents came after that. More school shootouts. More CNN coverage on it. More songs dedicated to them. Annual memoirs on the day. That was it. Now, shoot outs hold special meaning to the Nepalese at least after the royal massacre. They bring about memories that are sad and bad. Memories that shock us, keep us yet bewildered after years. It is still hard for some us to digest it, to take in the fact that the whole royal family so prominent, so loved and so admired by the people was finished without any trace in the most unassuming way. The people were proud of this one family. This one royal thing that none other had. We were proud of the King, proud of the Queen, the Princess who was beautiful, the Prince who started taking things seriously. Like top actors and actresses in Bollywood and Hollywood, the stories of royalty was a social talk of the town. Businessmen, servicemen, college students, school children, housewives, among friends, among families, good or bad, we all talked of the royal family in reverence. Some just commented on them, some were proud of some kind of association with them, some related incidents of their encounter, some boldly revealed the interesting facts he had come about and others were just eager listeners. One night of shooting and they were all gone. Today, it is too sad a topic to be brought about in social gatherings. We have even stopped wondering of the probable culprit.

Today, this incident at Nagarkot reminds of this and more shootings. One crazy gunman and 11 lives lost. 11 families affected. 11 dead bodies to cremate. 11 times 13 days of full mourning. Mothers lost for some. Brothers never coming back home. Fathers. Sisters. Wives. Sons. It is so close to home, empathizing comes naturally. It could be me, you, my family and your family next day or the next hour. Craziness has no date, no time, no boundary, no mind – where do I shoot, when do I shoot, whom do I shoot, how many do I shoot? Psycho. Crazy. They have no brain. All they do is pull the trigger – for a long long time. And the next thing you realize is a sea of blood like you have never seen before. What is the solution? Who has the answers? Where do we go? Fight? Be scared? Tremble? Burn tires on the road? Whom do we turn to? Shout? Be frustrated? Laugh at it like it never happened? Ignore it? Carry on with my college assignment because it is not me and my family?