Eager from the first sleepless night when I watched in horror, the dome of the Taj go up in flames, the windows catch fire, and gunshots piercing the night, on TV. Feeling guilty that while fellow journalists were risking their lives to do their stories, I had the luxury to watch the show live on TV.
It was December 6, when we could expect more attacks, in memory of the Black Day an era ago. Warnings of possible attacks elsewhere in the country, maybe even Mumbai although the city fresh from savagery of fundamentalist bloodshed, is unlikely to face one in the near future.
The city has been recovering from its battered self, with the `life goes on' ethic no doubt. But to remind yourself that anything can happen to you anywhere in this country of power-hungry politicians who know nothing of security beyond their armed commandos vigil, it is necessary you visit the terror-hit spots. Yeah, am guilty I did not yet visit CST, rather VT. I will go back to CST too, soon.
The power issue in Mumai's collective psyche is something that needs to be written about extensively. On Saturday, Dec 6, the day when Babri Masjid was demolished, by fundamentalist forces many years ago, I found it necessary to get out of my comfort zone called home. I found it all the more urgent to travel by the train to South Mumbai, blast or no blast, terror or no terror, and feel normal. It is true I could not be part of that crowd of millions that marched to Gateway just three days before. I was then in Dadar's Tata Memorial Hospital, running around between the various counters, for a wannabe engineer who was diagnosed with cancer hardly a few days into college and whose relatives from Andhra Pradesh found hard to understand what the doctors told them.
The fact that Mumbai's elite finally woke up after having lost its own was a welcome relief. The fact that they did not wake up till the city's five-star hotels got hit, after watching their landmarks go up in flames, waiting till the most upmarket suburb got hit, is shameful. Even if the elite has come out in the open, how long and how sustained will its effort be in voicing out against terrorism? And is there any balm at all for the deeply wounded soul?
How about the amnesia of convenience when it comes to people losing their lives almost anonymously in the other parts of the country to terror, be it religious terrorism or insurgent terrorism, or even State-sponsored terrorism? People die in Kashmir. They die in Assam. They die in Gujarat, Orissa and even in Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. They die because of terrrorists. They die of torture by government reps in different avatars - police, army, politicians...India's mainland mindscape rarely makes space for them!
I went to Gateway in spite of these thoughts hounding me. My husband, my cousin, and I had to get off at the junction before Gateway as vehicles would not be allowed into the barricaded area. Till about two weeks back, people walked around freely at the Gateway, alongside the Taj hotel and took the ferries for Alibaug and Elephanta caves. Not long ago, I sat under the tree near the statue of Maratha warrior Shivaji, chatting up with my husband. So that was the last time?!
The area has been a sitting duck for terrorists all along. And it will be for a long time to come. It's not like the Indian government machinery did not know it. The Intelligence lot did their job. It is that the government chose to criminally ignore it. Like it does always.
It was heart-breaking to watch the two symbols barricaded away from the public. Battered. A ravaged Taj and a mute Gateway. The Taj, I thought looked more beautiful than the Gateway when I first saw it hardly nine months back. Now standing erect just like before, but burnt within.
For the hundreds who were making a beeline to be there and see the terror-spot, it was no joy. They were there out of curiosity. Out of concern. Mostly out of feeling. A largely unspoken unease pervaded the air. Their wanting to offer condolence and not knowing how.
A lone youngster went around distributing pamphlets about a bunch of like-minded wanting to do something. About waking up. Doing something for the country...
By now, three days after the big protest, even candle-light symbolism of paying homage dwindled, with just one organisation from Kerala lighting candles, doing a prayer and taking pictures. Time: 6.40 pm. The cops who were perched or moving around at different points of the barricaded area started blowing whistles. So unlike the days just weeks ago when you could walk around there as late as 9 pm without fear, and watch the Gateway gleam in moonlight.
In a matter of minutes, the crowd was sent away...
It left me with the eerie thought -- will this be the future of this place? Of the collective psyche of Mumbai, India and the world? The city has seen spurts of violence induced by hate-makers who have ruled the roost for decades. It has seen blasts in trains, in subways, witnessed the goriest of riots.
But this hit the hardest.
At the Oberoi Trident hotel spot in Nariman Point, there were no tourists. It was only in the first week of October when I went there with my parents-in-law and again with my baby-nephew. And wondered while we sat along the granite between sea and road, watching the Oberoi lit up beautifully in lemon-yellow -- what if some terrorist strikes these buildings? WTC-like? Huh...they're not as tall for planes to crash in! Surely, the crowds that throng this place would not do it if it was not secure enough! How I wish I could turn the clock backwards! Oberoi hotel has begun rebuilding. How one wishes those terrorists died in Arabian Sea before hitting the shore!
What about the lives of people who lost their families, everything? Can the place ever see more such tourists again?
``It was waiting to happen!'' said my husband, to my cousin, watching the open sea. A Victoria rider stopped his carriage outside the unlit hotel, hoping that some tourist would hop on for a ride after looking at the buildings. No luck.
Cars would stop for a minute or two. People would come out, look at the hotel...speak in low voices...and move on.
We moved on too. With worry. With anger. With faint hope of positive change...very late. But change for sure.
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