Saturday, December 23, 2000, Chandigarh, India
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The homecoming TIME, they say, is a great healer. But sometimes it refuses to oblige. Though life moves on at its regular pace, the mind gets stuck at one point. For me there is something nightmarish that is attached to the word "NEW YEARS' EVE". The very mention of the word brings to my mind the events of December 31, 1999, when 155 precious lives were at stake for several days at Kandahar airport. As the government was dilly-dallying in reaching a decision, the uncertainty was becoming tortuous. At last, in the evening, the announcement of the release of the passengers brought relief. As Doordarshan had made arrangements for a live telecast of the arrival of the passengers in Delhi, all other New Year programmes were forgotten and I sat glued to DDI throughout the evening. As the passengers landed in batches, it was heartening to see the cheerful faces of their relatives. But yet, the heart was heavy for the one who did not come back. Rupin Katyal—the innocent young man, who sacrificed at the altar of fundamentalism. My eyes kept looking for Rachna Katyal. I think everybody who was watching the TV must have liked to see Rachna. As if to see her was to share her grief. As if to see her was to console her. As if to see was to hold her hands and say, “Rachna, we are very sorry!”. At last there she was. Dressed in red and green—a picture of innocence. She appeared unaware of the darkness that awaited her. Even when the live telecast had come to an end, her face kept haunting me. 'What will she be doing now? Perhaps, she must be looking for her husband, thinking that he must be in some other batch....perhaps now she, in panic, must be asking about him....and very soon the news that will break her, will be broken to her....now!....or now!!....or perhaps....!!!' And with the stroke of midnight, when the new millennium crept in, a wail rose in the sky—a wail which came, not only from the heart of Rachna Katyal, but a wail in which the tears and grief of millions of people were mixed. And this wail, I am sure, piercing through the foggy clouds, must have deafened God's ears. But did it reach the ears of those who were responsible for all this? NARINDERJIT KAUR |
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