Blast from the Past

Its too sad to be true !

And the longer I think about the title, the less the amusing it seems.

The day has been a violent concotion of a number of strong and numbing emotions. Each one as potent as the previous and the hangover persists. It will take me some time to settle down while I write this !

11/7/2006 1830 hrs. IST:

Within a span of minutes as many as 7 blasts ripped through the heart of the Western Suburban Train System, killing as many as 150 till the last count and injuring as many as twice as many more.

Theres much I want to say, about the psyche about the terrorists and the impact it will have on the City, its people and other things. But there are many who would want to say that, in fact to think about that should be among the most easier things to say in the wake of these blasts.




But that post, if it ever will come, has to wait.

Today I have to pass more personal judgements on the nature of the city, its citizens and 1 in particular.

Cut back 13 yrs.

12/3/1993 1745 hrs. IST:

My father was waiting for me at the school gates, an incident I dont recollect happening ever before. But then I have few memories as concrete as this one from class 1. [If you want to picturise what class 1 is, think of the twins from the movie 'Bombay' . They were in class 1 that fateful year.]

I asked what was special. He mentioned about a series of bomb blasts in Southern and Central Bombay. It later turned out to be 12 in number. But little did it matter to a 6 year old. Its just meant a drive back home in our 9 month new (then) FIAT, rather than in the rickshaw, as the daily routine was, much to the envy of others.

Little did I realise that, later that evening many of those kids would be waiting anxiously for their parents to return home, safe!
Little did I realise that, it wasnt that those kids were loved by their parents any less!
Little did I realise that the fact that they didn't posses (in case they didnt) a car, would stop their parents from picking up their kids from school that ill-fated day, in case they could otherwise!
Little did I realise that, living in Bombay meant that one had to trust the serpentine monster machines, called trains more than anything else and I belonged to one of the very few lucky households in which noone travelled by train.

Little did they matter to me, then. After all I was escorted safely by my parents back to home, at every instant of turmoil.

Did I ever feel rocked by these blasts? Did I lose someone near or dear to these blasts? Did I share the guilt of being a part of a community, that was in part responsible for the events of the 3 months leading upto that day? Did I whimper while the famed 'Spirit of Bombay' was assaulted? Did I loose a drop of sweat, blood or tear to make up the black ink that rewrote the history of the city?

What the Heck !! NO !!!

I was 6 then. I was doing what Calvin & Dennis continue doing till today....

In short, At that point, Did the Bombay Blasts in any way, seem closer to Home, than the year or so old insurgency in Kashmir??

NO !!!

I grew to be quite a normal kid. I imbibed in me all the qualities, that a 'Mumbaikar' would be proud of! In time, lives ruined on Dalal Street had more to do with Harshad Mehta and Ketan Parekh than Dawood Ibrahim. Plaza Theatre was an artistic monument that stood testimony to every passing 'Ganapati Visarjan'. The Sena Bhavan roared its loudest at the movie 'Bombay'.
The Air-India Building, Hotel Sea-Rock, The Centaurs, The Zaveri Bazaar et al were up and running in matter of weeks if not days.

I was soon to be told that this was the 'Spirit of Bombay' that everyone talked of.

I went into High-School and Bombay gave way to Mumbai. So what the spirits were still high in the city of dreams. Soon Dawood, Chota Rajan, Arun Gawli and their henchmen were household names. Daya Nayak, Praful Bhosle, Vijay Salaskar and Ravindra Angre were hot in their pursuit. Company found a place in the city's subconscious, Ab tak Chappan followed suit.

I soon found out how to travel by trains. Were they dangerous? Nah... dismissed everyone.
If the Spirit was to have a circulatory system, the suburban train network was the heart.

Then the terrorists learnt as well, and found out what a better place to attack than the heart itself! Blasts on trains, in Ghatkopar, Mulund followed. Vile Parle Station was rocked.

Did it shake my spirit? Well a little, a wiggle here and there. But then I was 16, had a mission in life (read JEE). I was not too be bothered by these things. The Spirit knew how to take care of itself.
& mind you it did!! In a brilliant fashion, Mumbaites rose to the challenge. Within hours the trains were back on track. The subsequent day, offices registered near usual attendances.
Did it seem any closer to home? Hmm.. certainly a little, but nothing that couldnt be taken care off. So what I almost daily traveled by that route.



Cut to Present Day:

I was 19 able-bodied, had a motorcycle at my disposal and didnt have any immediate goal in life. But as the City suffered 8 heart attacks within a matter of half an hour, I was stationary. While I could run, jump, carry and help I was coolly sipping away my coffee and following up the news on innumerable websites, all the while thinking 'Shya ! What has the city come too !!'.
Didnt the thought that someone might need help cross my mind at all: well it did, certainly !
But then I knew, the Spirit would take care of itself. And it bloody did !
[For those who thought, I was going to lament the loss of a great city, I am not! What follows is personal anguish.]

Hundreds of locals poured out of, each building, shanty and every other structure outsiders denounce mumbaikars for calling it their homes. People were rushed to the hospital, free of costs by taxi drivers. Shopkeepers gave away food to victims. Youth groups rushed to hospitals like KEM, Sion etc. offering to help in all manner possible. Doctors here, worked overtime to care for patients in unparalled heroism. [So much so, for being the Rudest City in the world.]

Aha ! no need to worry, I couldnt have been of any additional help - I thought, conviniently.

And as the day draws to a close, I feel sad for myself! Why did I not move a limb, while tons were being sharded? Was this one too 'far from home'? Clearly not !!
Had it been Central line under attack, in place of the Western, my mom was in the line of fire. If this wasnt reason enough, there could hardly be any !
On any other day, irrespective of Rain or Sun, all I need is an excuse to bike all the way to Juhu or Bandra.
Did I need an excuse today?? Or did I find one too many ! 'There would be traffic on the road', 'I wouldnt be of much help anyway', 'Its half an hour away' and so on ...


What stopped me from responding to the call of the abstract I called, so very proudly, my Spirit!
I let my City down, more than its insecurity, prices and crowdedness has ever let me down!
I shall never be able to call myself a Mumbaikar without lowering my head in shame.