Puppets in Strings.

Thursday evening, post gruelling exam bliss, McD burger + coke dinner, engaging the mind in an enjoyable vettiness, I enter the YIH TV room and meet my freinds after 1 week of intense cramming.Amidst the vetti talk, snide comments, xam cribbings,the topic suddenly turned to Mumbai. Caught unawares, my bewildered, ignorant, just out of a cave look was the instantaneous response. "Yea right", i laughed. Stunned looks, a chilling silence followed. THe thrashing began.
Somehow,when i managed to get hold of a comp, the astonishing, out of hollywood, action thriller headlines greeted me. It was like getting sucked into a dream. a ridiculous dream. my ususal type. Half hour later, the news flash still kept coming , more deaths, more tortures. THe dream got more ridiculous, fanatical, evil. A look of a gunman, in black clothes, resembling a hateful aqaintance . the witness statements screeching along..“My brother, Manish, died in the firing at Colaba’s Hamaal Galli.” ..THe shock, the idocy hooked me to the comp for the rest for the night. Worried chats with Anxious friends from Mumbai, unable to contact their families at home...Why, How, Who, What next??. Thousand questions pounding , yet the most terrifying of all, the sick feeling, the frustrating regret "What can I do!" As discussions turned to heated debates,as speculations and predictions were thrown in 'bout the involvement of Govt, as calm voices analysed the issue like a talk during tea time,the paralytic realisation struck - to be hung helpless as puppets on strings of some power, helpless to do nothing but yap about the misery, attacked by rage and guilt. Still in shock, I remembered I still got an exam the next day.