NEW DELHI, Feb. 17 -- I have been sitting in front of the laptop now for twenty minutes. Tried to type, but there's such numbness - in fingers, in thoughts, in mind. This column is supposed to be light-hearted. I just wish I felt light-hearted enough to take my mind off the 40 coffins wrapped in the Tricolour that I see on the TV screen in front of me. I see visuals of wailing mothers, grieving fathers, miserable wives and heartwrenchingly oblivious babies, a 22-day-old among them. These are loved ones of those CRPF soldiers whose life was unsuspectingly cut short recently in a blast lasting a second-and-a-half. I experience myriad emotions - sorrow, anger, helplessness, shame, guilt, outrage. A friend who is watching the TV in front of me shakes his head. "I really hope they do something," he says, and looks up at my blank face. "I mean, hum aam log toh bas wish hi kar sakte hain that something is done about it," he mumbles, anxiously. He need not have explained. If by 'doing something' he means a counter-attack to avenge the deaths of our own, it's a decision left to those who have the rightful authority to take that call....