Running a finger across the forehead has come to epitomise the sentiment of the people in Zaveri Bazar who have no other recourse but to fall back on stoicism after bearing the brunt of three blasts.
If you get talking with old-timers in Zaveri Bazar, at some point, they will run a finger across their forehead and say, ‘naseeb’. Fate is the only answer they all have for questions about what they are still doing in the busy marketplace, which has been the target of deadly terrorist attacks thrice — in 1993, 2003 and now.
Anger against the government is the most prevalent sentiment in Zaveri Bazar at the moment; an anger tinged with a sense of resignation. Garment workers Prakash and Rajubhai have been working at the Bazar for almost 30 years. While bemoaning the lack of security, the two also dismiss the thought of moving out. “The 1993 blasts happened right here, in of our eyes. People ran, many died. Is mein kya hai? We are not scared of the blasts,” says Prakash. Curious onlookers gather around the shop during the interview. “This is our karambhoomi,” says Prakash, softly. “Our grandparents started the business here. What can we do? How can we leave this place?”
Sixty-year-old Reham Abdullah, who sells plastic containers at the corner of a street, has spent his entire adult life at the bazar. He has his meals at a nearby restaurant and sleeps on the footpath during the nights. “My wife and children are back in my village in Bihar. Whenever they hear about a blast, they ask me to come back home. But the money I earn is what keeps the house going. I can’t leave,” says a weary-looking Abdullah. “There are so many businesses here. So many people come here, and I have a good business. I can’t move.”
Rajesh KM, a street hawker who sells chickpeas, sleeps at a jewellery shop where a friend works. “I left my village near Benaras and landed in Mumbai on the day of the 1993 Mumbai bombings. I was 13 then and ran back to my village.” Yet, years later, Rajesh came back to Mumbai at the behest of his father, to continue the business. “I was at the bazar throughout the tragedies. Why should I run away from the marketplace? For how long can I keep running?” asks Rajesh.
Dharam Narayan has been supplying water to the shopkeepers at the bazar for the past 20 years. His profession is such that he cannot run even when bombs go off near him, for he is almost never without at least three water pots. “One on the head, one on the shoulder, and one on the hip,” he explains. Yet, he refuses to let go of either his pots or the marketplace. “I can’t escape death. When it is time for me to die, I will,” he says, before running out in the rain to a shop across the road.
Closer to the blast site, a news channel crew is busy filming a man in a raincoat, who is animatedly holding forth about Ajmal Kasab. A crowd gathers around them. “The blasts kill off only poor people,” remarks SS Shekar, an employee at a diamond shop. So, what keeps him here at Zaveri Bazar? He points to his forehead with a smile, that all too familiar gesture. Naseeb.
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
)
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
)
)
)
)
)
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}
){kind=small}