What am I Today: Journalist

          Guy with a camera and a trunk of lens swaying around his neck, running to get a glimpse of event at it origin, miraculously escaping the death – these are some flashes we get of a journalist in a war ravaged area. I am a regular listener to a radio channel that covers capacious stories ranging from pugnacious war to tenebrous political dramas to health information’s. I had felt the incipient journalism in me with the thoughts created by stories I hear. 
          I wish to share a moment in my life: My bivouac was a sectarian violence scene in the semi rich part of the world. There was a patrol of UN peacekeepers finishing their routine round. The young guys were in their early twenties and were multicultural, multiethnic personalities having a common aim. One of them, a Caucasian, was approached by a street kid with a rose; his face showed glower and seems that momentarily he enjoyed everything from his family and susurrus of the autumn leaves. His expressions were as though the thought of his new born child just razed this mind. In spite of the ferociousness of the community he would have wanted to hug the kid walking down to him.
          The kid clad in a torn shirt and a red trouser is carrying a rose. This walk was robotic, considering his age of around five to six years, he seems to have been told by someone to do so. He may not realize the real meaning of what he is doing, however the uniform, gun and hat attracts him.
          Then there is a sudden explosion!! Ironically this is a treat for a journalist: the picture can speak more than words for me. Being hundred meters away from this I was hit by the thundering impact of the sound. Clusters possibly from the bomb pierced my right forehead, which I realized only after a drop of blood traveled all the way to my mouth. However painful it was, my objective was to deliver the plight of the scene to the world with fragile hope of ending it some day. My Nikon was zooming and capturing mushrooms of thick black dust, limb and legs falling on the trees…I lamented the moment and sight, however I this grief there was encouragement to carry on this holy job for the benefit of mankind. This was the time when my eyes felt tired and hazy. I could feel my hand touching the nearby cart for support, legs trembling. To my solace there were red cross people arriving to help us...I was grabbed and taken on a strature before falling asleep. But wait this was not the last thing I knew, there was one more event from that ghastly event, the bomb was not timed or thrown, it was a detonated human bomb….and the slayers had used a juvenile heart to devastate the garden.