Somehow along the way our megaphone, our microphone became a machine gun. Mercenaries with no mercy
Illustration/Uday Mohite
They call me deranged, they call me delusional, they call me dysfunctional, they call me deadly, they call me dangerous.
I suppose to the world I am dangerous, but I am divine. We were trained to get our orders and never question—brainwashed you could say, but we all tend to be conditioned at an early age—but I am disillusioned, a little directionless. It’s becoming an indiscriminate world.
You call me a terrorist… such a limiting negative term. I don’t start out wanting to spread terror—I wanted to spread our beliefs, spread our message—that was the training, the education, my goal in life was to do good. We were men on a mission… our message to be conveyed through our mouths, while we travelled the world.
Somehow along the way our megaphone, our microphone became a machine gun. Mercenaries with no mercy.
It wasn’t always this way. It was a profession what I was trained for, as a young men, I didn’t wish to join the army, or navy or air force. I wanted to make a difference, like doctors make a difference with their medicine. I wished did too, with a message.
See, I went to school, okay a school that’s a little different, call it a camp. Sure, we learnt about bombs, and bazookahs, and brainwashing, but we also learnt about peace and harmony, and philosophy and love. But somehow it all went wrong, we live in a world when things can be tuned differently, to suit peoples needs—that fine line between “supposed good and misguided bad”.
My batch, well classmates, we are all spread out, and then I began to hear about people I grew up with, studied with, trained with, having all joined, different terrorist outfits- Hamas, the Taliban, LeT, ISIS, Al Qaeda, some even in Boko Haram, in Africa.
And bombs were going off in public places, set off by these very people.
And then the “Insta world” entered the terrorism business too. Quick ways to attention, beheadings happening with live streamings, violence at full volume, extremism to capture maximum eyeballs—Insta terror at its deadliest.
“Let’s create anger and anguish in one fell swoop”, “Flying planes into two skyscapers is ingenious, people dying for their beliefs”, was the clarion call.
Here’s my thing, I didn’t sign up for this, suicide bombing, slashing throats, bloodshed to make a point.
Call me weak, call me non-ruthless, call me a bit of an innocent among these mercenaries- in this world a man with a conscience is a casualty. Morals and ethics are meaningless —but I won’t kill defenselesss people, what that Kasab did at the Taj, lining up innocents and shooting them at the back of the head— cowardice.
Or what the LeT did in Pahalagam, it escapes me what their motives were, to walk around a scenic, luscious beautiful meadow. And kill indiscriminately, to make a point, what point. I’ll repeat—shooting people in the back of the head, the ultimate cowardice.
Call me deranged, call me delusional, call me dysfunctional, call me deadly, but I am disillusioned now. I have blood on my hands. I am an oxymoron, an “extremist with ethics”. A terrorist with a conscience.
Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
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