Why it took me two years to respond to 26/11

Unlike most Indians, I slept through the first night of the 26/11 Mumbai attacks, after a distressing day at work back in Dubai. The next morning as I got into work, I wished everyone a chirpy ‘Good Morning’. It was hard to miss the ‘Are-you-kidding-me’ look that most threw back at me.

It was only when I saw my red-eyed boss (“I was glued to the TV … could not sleep a wink,” she explained) that I realised that something was wrong. A large group stationed itself in front of the LCD TV in the newsroom. Some others seemed to be making frantic phone calls.

I watched wide-eyed as news channels repeatedly showed images of dead bodies strewn at CST (a place that I have only seen on TV — mainly films) and reporters gave live updates from the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower, which was still under attack.

‘Terrorists attack CST, Taj, Leopold Café, Chabad House … 164 dead’ — words that ought to have pained me but didn’t. “This is a nightmare,” a colleague said, tearing up. I settled for an unbelievably inadequate “Yeah, it’s a shame”.

I spent my growing-up years in Dubai, feeling detached from India. My parents tried to do their bit — they enrolled me at an Indian school and coaxed me into learning Hindi. Yet, every time we got back from India after a vacation, I would happily unpack, exclaiming, “Thank God we are home.”

Eight months ago, I shifted to Mumbai. A week after moving into my apartment, I decided to explore the city — mainly out of boredom. I boarded a train and got down at CST, where I was immediately swept away by the beauty of the architectural marvel, whose style has been described as Victorian Gothic.

I had a sense of déjà vu as I explored the station, when it stuck me that I recognised certain areas of the station from the TV footage of the attacks. My heart suddenly ached for those who must have prayed for a beautiful day before stepping out of their homes for the last time.

I lunched at Leopold Café, which was so crowded that it seemed to burst at its seams. I spent a good ten minutes casting furtive glances at the entrance. But as soon as some delicious continental food made its way to my table, I was able to relax and enjoy my food, with the sound of loud laughter from nearby tables for company.

I walked through Colaba Causeway and kept walking till the Taj. My image of a hotel wrecked by bomb blasts no longer seemed relevant. The newly-renovated Taj, that stood tall and proud, sent an unmistakable message about Mumbai itself: ‘We will never forget 26/11, but it’s going to take a lot more to cow us down’.

While I settled to watch the sunset at Marine Drive with the Trident behind me, I realised that you could live here forever and yet not pinpoint what exactly makes Mumbai tick the way she does. But my inference? No matter what happens, the show must go on here. And to think that I now live in this city, finally made my heart burst with pride.