My initial reaction of disbelief soon turned into shock, and, in the next sixty hours it catapulted into anger, horror, pain and finally a sense of loss. A city felt lost, the innocence spent and with that, lives that had changed forever.
This is not the first time that we have witnessed terror in all its glory, there have been tragedies far worse and lesser than what happened on 26/11 but none of those, and I mean none of those, could prepare me to deal with what we were about to face in the last few days. Although, I haven’t been directly scarred by the massacre, and initially thanked the almighty for not choosing anyone I knew closely as a victim of the tragedy, only later to realise my short sightedness and folly – there were no survivors. The only difference being that some have left us forever and the rest of us continue living, leaving behind something that has died in all of us. More like trust in life itself.
Do I want to blame the system? The politicians? A neighbouring country? Or myself? Really, I don’t know. This is not about that at all; the blame game that everyone is so easily sheltering under. As I sit in my car in the garage with the keys still in the ignition, I realise I don’t know where I am headed. My mind is going through a gamut of thoughts, of emotions and the events of the last few days, replaying in my head like the recap section of a television soap though unfortunately this isn’t a soap but real life. The FM station is playing A R Rahman’s rendition of ‘Vande Mataram’ and I notice something which beats me and before anything I find my eyes moist.
I drive out of the garage into empty roads, clueless, to an unknown destination. Suddenly the empty roads take longer to cover than the usual busy days. I stop at the traffic junction almost mechanically, only to realise there is no signal to stop. I keep driving; looking outside to see any sign of normalcy, there is none. As Rahman’s song hits the crescendo note I rev up the accelerator and find myself moving along the long road. As I am going and going comes the last cry of ‘Vande Mataram’ almost melancholic and tragic and bringing with it a taste of salty fluid running down my face and my phone begins to ring all of a sudden. I hit the brakes. ‘The siege has ended,’ I am told and all I can conjure up with my choked voice is, ‘Not quite.’ because I know that the ‘siege’ within has just begun. I know life will go on. We all will go back to our jobs and get on with our respective lives, but something inside will never feel the same again. It will never be okay and funnily, I don’t want it any other way. This sense of loss felt by all of us will help us to keep a lookout for our families, our neighbours, our fellow citizens, our country and ourselves. Attitudes are changing, the fighting spirit has just got stronger and a sense of unity has brought us closer. This is not just about a terrorist attack; it is about a war which has ensued in each of our hearts and minds.
Sadly, when the system fails, the politicians disappoint us and the prayers go unanswered, and then a hero emerges from within each one of us. Let’s not allow the hero in each one of us to die this time.
‘Kandhon se milte hain kandhe, kadmo se kadam milte hain
Hum chalte hain jab aise to, Dil dushman ke hilte hain’
(These wonderful lyrics written by Javed Saab, have been in my head since I got pen to paper, just had to put them down here)
Jai Hind
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
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