Note I'd written after the 26/11 terror attacks...
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Nah! This can’t happen to us. Or people like us. The ‘privileged’ sorts. Privileged not just financially, but in all respects. Almost like we’re bullet proofed, wrong choice of words, or actually not… from ‘these’ things.
This is what happens to other people. To the not so ‘privileged’ types.
Who can imagine, 20 odd teens or guys in their early twenties, coming in on a boat and holding a city ransom! And attacking, taking hostages at of all places South Bombay, Taj, , on a regular weeknight. Leaving 100+ dead. 300+ hurt. Millions scarred. And a city changed. Forever.
Even after hearing it, it was stuff you typically only heard on the news. On bad crime report shows. And cursed the cops, the politicians, the establishment about. Saying how could they not have prevented it. And laughed at some of the OTT Hindi News Channels over the sensationalized coverage, “maut ka taandav!” and carried on with your life.
Then as things started getting worse and stories came trickling in about people we knew and/ or their relatives being stuck there or being untraceable or having managed to get out of there you started getting shaken up a little. And this nonsense continued for a while. You couldn’t believe it. Its 48 hours plus. And its not ended yet.
And then I heard about a friend’s sister & husband – Rita & Sanjay – who were caught at the Oberoi’s going missing. They were around 40, were typically late for all dinners, events. Just this one day they decided to get to dinner on time. And reached ten minutes early to meet their friends. Their friends on the other hand reached late. Late enough to not be allowed into the Oberoi as there were some ‘problems’ or ‘disturbances’ as quoted by the authorities. They went incommunicado right after.
Their bodies were finally identified today. Found huddled under the table. Rita had a bullet in her head, Sanjay through his heart. They were found hugging each other. And couldn’t be separated. They’re survived by two sons, 19 & 21. Who just flew back from London where they study. The last time they saw their parents was a couple of months back.
This is what sent shivers down my spine. And made me feel angry and sad and fragile and vulnerable and frustrated and scared and helpless.
The last time I felt like this was a long time back. Not during the July floods, the train blasts, 9/11, the serial blasts. But during the communal riots that broke out after the Babri masjid demolition in 1992. We used to stay at Tardeo. Again, in a bubble, away from these ‘harsh’ surroundings.
There was a tailoring outfit on the ground floor of my building – Kachins – that did clothes for big film stars. It was Amitabh’s favorite as a matter of fact. Every weekend we’d catch a glimpse of some star or the other who was there for a fitting, or more. Kachins was owned/ run by a pleasant bori muslim. Who was very active in the building’s cooperative society. Who always returned our ball even if it entered his store when we were playing cricket. And gave me the fattest donation when I went with a school magazine prospectus. The lead designer there was Akbar bhai who spun off on his own to set up Gabbana.
There was a slum right behind my building. We knew loads of people there. I had a rakhi sister in school who lived there. Our maid lived there. Couple of my mom’s friends had a house there. And I’d visit often. Especially during Ganpati or so when festivities used to be at their peak there.
During the riots, when things were tense, we always felt safe knowing that there was a police chowky in the slum right behind. And the people in the jhopad patti itself were very peaceful, they knew us and depended on the building for their livelihood.
And suddenly one day, we saw a mob collecting at this time. And advancing towards the building. Before you knew it, they’d jumped the wall of our compound, run towards Kachins, smashed the glass showroom window and ransacked the store, stolen the suits, suit pieces, shirts, hell, even the mannequins. Set parts of it on fire and run. I recognized some of the teenagers who did this. I knew some of them by name.
And suddenly I felt violated, scared, unsafe. Like nothing, nobody’s safe. All those feelings of “nahi yaar, yeh hum logon ke saath nahi ho sakta” vanished. And the fear felt suddenly very real. I remember hugging dad really tight. Almost asking how can something like this happen to people like us. It’s not supposed to. We’re meant to be away from and above all this.
It took me a long time to get over it. But just like Bombay always manages to get over this, kick back into action after being bombed, flooded, shot at, attacked… I too got over it. And had become almost numb to all that happened to it in the same way. Some call it being resilient. I think it’s more being comfortably numb.
After hearing about Rita & Sanjay that feeling just suddenly came back like one massive wave sweeping over me. I hugged my son, who’s all of 3 and fortunately too young to understand any of this, very tight. I wanted to just hold on to him. And not let go. More to comfort myself than him. To reassure myself that it’s all cool. Or it’s not, but it will be.
It scared me to think about how unpredictable, unreliable life is. I mean, being shot by a terrorist is definitely, not the way to go, ever! How can that happen to us? Or people like us?? It just hit me hard, that there really is no guarantee whatsoever to life. Even for ‘people like us.’ And all these stupid thoughts about what would my son do, my home loan, my parents should something happen to me started crossing my mind.
And I’m meanwhile being hit by random sms, fb communities being set up to light candles in the window, maintain silence for a minute, forward mails, hate mail to politicians and more. OH SHUT UP!
I think its time we really said enough is enough. And didn’t celebrate/ or say “salaam Mumbai” for it’s resilience. It’s time we insisted, demanded and mandated a Government to prepare for disasters and disaster management. That would not just control things faster, but prevent them from happening in the first place.
Let’s not get comfortable. Let’s not be numb. Let’s speak up. Let’s not play dumb.
------------------------------------
Nah! This can’t happen to us. Or people like us. The ‘privileged’ sorts. Privileged not just financially, but in all respects. Almost like we’re bullet proofed, wrong choice of words, or actually not… from ‘these’ things.
This is what happens to other people. To the not so ‘privileged’ types.
Who can imagine, 20 odd teens or guys in their early twenties, coming in on a boat and holding a city ransom! And attacking, taking hostages at of all places South Bombay, Taj, , on a regular weeknight. Leaving 100+ dead. 300+ hurt. Millions scarred. And a city changed. Forever.
Even after hearing it, it was stuff you typically only heard on the news. On bad crime report shows. And cursed the cops, the politicians, the establishment about. Saying how could they not have prevented it. And laughed at some of the OTT Hindi News Channels over the sensationalized coverage, “maut ka taandav!” and carried on with your life.
Then as things started getting worse and stories came trickling in about people we knew and/ or their relatives being stuck there or being untraceable or having managed to get out of there you started getting shaken up a little. And this nonsense continued for a while. You couldn’t believe it. Its 48 hours plus. And its not ended yet.
And then I heard about a friend’s sister & husband – Rita & Sanjay – who were caught at the Oberoi’s going missing. They were around 40, were typically late for all dinners, events. Just this one day they decided to get to dinner on time. And reached ten minutes early to meet their friends. Their friends on the other hand reached late. Late enough to not be allowed into the Oberoi as there were some ‘problems’ or ‘disturbances’ as quoted by the authorities. They went incommunicado right after.
Their bodies were finally identified today. Found huddled under the table. Rita had a bullet in her head, Sanjay through his heart. They were found hugging each other. And couldn’t be separated. They’re survived by two sons, 19 & 21. Who just flew back from London where they study. The last time they saw their parents was a couple of months back.
This is what sent shivers down my spine. And made me feel angry and sad and fragile and vulnerable and frustrated and scared and helpless.
The last time I felt like this was a long time back. Not during the July floods, the train blasts, 9/11, the serial blasts. But during the communal riots that broke out after the Babri masjid demolition in 1992. We used to stay at Tardeo. Again, in a bubble, away from these ‘harsh’ surroundings.
There was a tailoring outfit on the ground floor of my building – Kachins – that did clothes for big film stars. It was Amitabh’s favorite as a matter of fact. Every weekend we’d catch a glimpse of some star or the other who was there for a fitting, or more. Kachins was owned/ run by a pleasant bori muslim. Who was very active in the building’s cooperative society. Who always returned our ball even if it entered his store when we were playing cricket. And gave me the fattest donation when I went with a school magazine prospectus. The lead designer there was Akbar bhai who spun off on his own to set up Gabbana.
There was a slum right behind my building. We knew loads of people there. I had a rakhi sister in school who lived there. Our maid lived there. Couple of my mom’s friends had a house there. And I’d visit often. Especially during Ganpati or so when festivities used to be at their peak there.
During the riots, when things were tense, we always felt safe knowing that there was a police chowky in the slum right behind. And the people in the jhopad patti itself were very peaceful, they knew us and depended on the building for their livelihood.
And suddenly one day, we saw a mob collecting at this time. And advancing towards the building. Before you knew it, they’d jumped the wall of our compound, run towards Kachins, smashed the glass showroom window and ransacked the store, stolen the suits, suit pieces, shirts, hell, even the mannequins. Set parts of it on fire and run. I recognized some of the teenagers who did this. I knew some of them by name.
And suddenly I felt violated, scared, unsafe. Like nothing, nobody’s safe. All those feelings of “nahi yaar, yeh hum logon ke saath nahi ho sakta” vanished. And the fear felt suddenly very real. I remember hugging dad really tight. Almost asking how can something like this happen to people like us. It’s not supposed to. We’re meant to be away from and above all this.
It took me a long time to get over it. But just like Bombay always manages to get over this, kick back into action after being bombed, flooded, shot at, attacked… I too got over it. And had become almost numb to all that happened to it in the same way. Some call it being resilient. I think it’s more being comfortably numb.
After hearing about Rita & Sanjay that feeling just suddenly came back like one massive wave sweeping over me. I hugged my son, who’s all of 3 and fortunately too young to understand any of this, very tight. I wanted to just hold on to him. And not let go. More to comfort myself than him. To reassure myself that it’s all cool. Or it’s not, but it will be.
It scared me to think about how unpredictable, unreliable life is. I mean, being shot by a terrorist is definitely, not the way to go, ever! How can that happen to us? Or people like us?? It just hit me hard, that there really is no guarantee whatsoever to life. Even for ‘people like us.’ And all these stupid thoughts about what would my son do, my home loan, my parents should something happen to me started crossing my mind.
And I’m meanwhile being hit by random sms, fb communities being set up to light candles in the window, maintain silence for a minute, forward mails, hate mail to politicians and more. OH SHUT UP!
I think its time we really said enough is enough. And didn’t celebrate/ or say “salaam Mumbai” for it’s resilience. It’s time we insisted, demanded and mandated a Government to prepare for disasters and disaster management. That would not just control things faster, but prevent them from happening in the first place.
Let’s not get comfortable. Let’s not be numb. Let’s speak up. Let’s not play dumb.
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