By those 8

Recently a bomb blasted at German Bakery in Pune. The news which was immediately reported has death of 8 people. I read it. It was somewhere at back of my mind.
I sit at tiny tea-shop with friends. We often have long running philosophical or political or any of that sort debates with cups of teas and smokes. The shop is managed by a old person. He limps but somehow he is able to manage the shop. He seldom talks with us. he offers biscuits whenever he eats. And, he insists that we take it at least one. Apart from that and except some information about his surgery-awaiting knee, I haven’t had many discussions with him.
That day, when my friend and I were having tea over there and our discussions centering on insurgencies and blasts, that person told us about Pune blast. I nodded and said, ‘yea! Only 8 died.” I didn’t feel much about my sentence. My friend later pointed out, though lightly, that I said very casually about those 8 who died. He too felt that this is not very uncommon as blasts are becoming ubiquitous in news. But, I was asking myself, why and how I said that. I ask it even now.
I am not worried about insensitivity. I prefer dry insensitivity that impotent but superficial sensitivity. People caring much about expressions of emotions are often shallow at emotions. I too was like that. But, once I realized that when I response to such a happening, a disturbing one, by my reactions (and mostly inaction), implicitly I care about image of mine in others’ mind and not bother much about truest feelings in myself about it, I prefer to gulp those initial bursts, see how much time they remain active and what shape they take within me. Even if I would have expressed that ‘oh! 8 died!!’, would that have been true reflection of what that incidence meant for me? No. nobody who are important in my life died there. No repercussion of it shakes my dear ones. What makes me connected to it? What makes me feel that whatever I said was not acceptable to myself?
Not so easy questions. None of this is a new question. I swing from end of total disconnectedness to feeling a live connection with those. With whom? With those who are away from my innermost circle of people. With those, whose faces and facts I don’t know but I sense their existence. They affect me as I am not able to build a shell around myself. I talk to myself through my reflections in them. I am one of them and I hate to be so unidentified to myself. I am not one of them, but I try that they should recognize me as one. They are twin to my contradictions.
Am I making this question simple? Will I able to reach a conclusion about my actions towards this distant, faceless existences by any self-search? If I keep searching this unending segregation of similar me’s, will there be any solution emerging?
I don’t like to be a questioner. I like to be an answer. I ask to myself and I answer to those who ask others.
I have answers within me. There is simple way out of such questions. If any action is generating so many storms of self doubts, it is not worth doing. If something is right, it will reconcile with questioning mind. It is not reconciling means it is not what I need to have. Simple!
The only connection I have with someone else is one which cannot be explained. This lack of explanations makes it painful, turbulent; but then my friend, that is how beautiful things are.