What happens to a generation of people who are revolutionaries without a cause? No, not what happens in Osborne’s play. Not the claustrophobia of a single room where one man comes and a woman departs … woman enters and another man departs … No.
A revolutionary generation without a cause in reality creates an alternate cause to feel like revolutionaries in order to achieve something radical before hitting six feet under.
As I read about hormones and the effects they can cause in the body if their balance is disrupted, I wonder if Hitler had a hormonal imbalance … if Charles Shobraj had elevated testosterone levels and if George Bush has a similar sort of medical condition as well.
But then I don’t want to get into the intricacies of each of the above-mentioned cases even though my doctor mind would very much like to.
Well I guess in each and every corner of the world there exist some tiny or large population of these rebels without a cause and they make it their lives’ motto to create a cause and fight for it … fight … fight … fight till the death. Kill the innocent in Sudan … its only common blood … it doesn’t matter.
Kashmir deserves a special mention … its closer home. ____ no. of People died in the blasts in New Delhi in December. Tragic incident reported by frantic news channel reporters … as they ran to and fro amidst the flying ashes from burnt houses, bodies and commercial goods … trying desperately to catch hold of an eyewitness. Some being unlucky … going back home (the news studio) without one … some not so unlucky ones achieving the unachievable … a foreign national with additional hands on footage of the blasts … the dead bodies being carried by the survivors.
As I sat in my studio (where I work) that night I felt nauseas and something started brewing in my stomach. And then I heard the words that put my world in perspective. Before that the whole world around me besides me had started spinning at supersonic speed while I remained motionless in the middle. Someone on my left hand side said with a straight face and a monotonic voice … “But it happens everyday in Kashmir” and suddenly everything stopped spinning.
I question myself each moment I live … what do I live for? Am I worthy enough of being a revolutionary? Will I ever find a cause? Will I be able to win a place for myself in the pages of history?
… And with the same suddenness as the one with which the question drops by I hear my answer. No. I will live a life without revolution … I will lead the life of a heretic … I will lead a life very ordinary … I will lead a life without fame … I will lead a life which doesn’t leave even a single mark on the pages of history … because I “choose” to live a life wherein I don’t shed another’s blood. I “choose” to live a life wherein I heal and not destroy.