Only a game of darts...!
And with a vengeance and anger that springs from my soul I will hurl dart after dart on the face of the man who could do so dastardly a deed as the killing of three thousand innocents that day ten years ago.But it’s not just Osama I would pin on that board of mine. After his picture is pierced with a thousand darts, I would replace his with an Indian equivalent, someone I consider as great a villain. I would change the black beard with the white one of a chief minister of an Indian state, a man who allowed riots to take place while he like Nero turned a blind eye, just a little after nine-eleven.
“There sir,” I say as I throw my first dart at him, “Here’s one for you!” “Ouch you hit my glasses!” “You don’t need them sir, if you could not see women being raped and men killed mercilessly. If you could have withheld your police force while babies where thrown into the fire, you don’t need those glasses, here’s another to break them!” I throw my darts, then tear his picture off my board, and look for another to replace the same, and it’s then I hear him speak: “I will go on another yatra,” he shouts, “A yatra against corruption!”
With glee I fix his picture on my dartboard and as I ready myself to throw my first dart, he shouts, “Why me, why are you throwing darts at me?” “Because sir, “I shout, “It was your yatra in 1992 that tore to pieces the fragile fabric of communal harmony in our country. You took away tolerance and brought in hatred just so you could win an election! Your yatra brought a masjid down, and now sir, you want to go on another?”
“But this is a yatra against corruption!” “You corrupted the minds of our people sir,” I shout as I throw the rubber edged dart at him. “And now you want to do it again?” “Ouch!” shouts the old man, “Ouch.”
But what is a game of darts, but to soothe one’s inner anger for a while: How futile it is. Can one ever get rid of the anguish one has about terror these gentlemen callously unleashed? We fight terror with guns, cameras and sophisticated machinery, but the first bold step would be to recognize and rid ourselves of these real home grown terrorists.
Till we do that, it’s only a dartboard I have to get rid off my rage. “Ouch..!” shouts the yatra bound old man. “Ouch..!” shouts the bespectacled chief minister.