'Pintu will never come back'

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MUMBAI: It has been one year since the Abhijit V Ahiwale household in Ghatkopar has experienced the hustle and bustle usually associated with the morning of a Mumbai weekday.

Exactly a year back, on July 11, 2006, Ahiwale, like most twenty five-year-olds, rushed to office at 8.30 in the morning from his tenth floor 1BHK apartment in Ghatkopar after washing down a khari biscuit with a cup of tea.

He never returned; one among 186 people who died that fateful day when the city's lifeline was ripped by seven coordinated explosions between 6:24pm to 6:35pm, all in all just 11 minutes.

These days mornings in Abhijit's apartment echoes to the sounds of a cartoon being watched by his eleven-year-old son Aditya, the youngest in the Ahiwale household.

"Abhijit had his whole life in front of him," says his father Vilas Ahiwale, nodding his head in disbelief. "He would have been a CEO now," he continues proudly of his son, who used to work as a marketing executive with the Jignesh Shah promoted Multi Commodity Exchange (MCX).

On July 11, 2006, Pintu, as he was known to people at home, was a few months away from buying a Maruti Swift car; a few days from booking a Rs27 lakh IBHK flat with his father -- their first father-son project together -- and a few hours from meeting up with his dad who had left for Shimla to undertake a new posting.

On the face of it, the Ahiwale household appears like any other. A house that opens to a hall, which has a television and a CD player by its side; a ubiquitous black helmet that sits on the CD player and a long corridor that leads to a bedroom from which clothes peep out from suitcases stowed on the loft. The Sansui CD player, however, plays just one CD -- that of Abhijit growing up; the dusty helmet isn't used by anyone anymore and the clothes still sport the price tags.

"I used to often ask him, 'Abhijit, why are you having so many clothes'? And he used to tell me, 'Papa, this I'll wear it to this one's shaadi; that to another's'; but these occasions never came," says his father.

Disturbingly enough, Abhijit's mother has found a use for these unused clothes. "She arranges and re-arranges his clothes again and again," Vilas reveals. Fifty three year-old Ratnamala, whose routine was attuned to that of her son's, has very little to hold on to. To this day, both Vilas and Ratnamala believe that they could have saved their son, if they had received news of him in time.

At 5.30 p.m. on 11/7/06, Abhijit has had just finished updating his boss that he had finished his work and was on his way to office. Two hours later at 7.30 p.m, an injured Abhijit's had succumbed at Mahim. He had tried to reach his folks immediately after the blast; but the information never reached his mother who was alone at home that day.

"I just can't understand why nobody took the trouble to inform us.. A phone call had reached a friend's house that my son used to frequent, but they didn't inform us either! Abhijit's boss, who knew he was on his way to office, should have done something when he didn't turn up that evening. The news was all over, after all," Vilas says in exasperation.

Thankfully, the Ahiwales weren't dependent on their son's Rs25,000 per month salary. Just a few days earlier, Vilas received a call that his Rs4,00,000 lakh cheque from the insurance tribunal was ready. He is neither relieved nor grateful.

"It took them three hundred-odd days to get the cheque ready, during which, we've been called and asked to produce various proofs and documents. Can't they understand what they are putting us through,"? he asks.

What Vilas Ahiwale seeks today is far from monetary compensation. "There may be many among these 186 families who might not have a home. If the government really wants to help, it could build a separate society for the families of those affected, for we could lead the rest of their lives by sharing a sense of homogeneity, unique to us," he explains.

Vilas firmly believes that it's time authorities controlled Mumbai's floating population. "Mumbai today, simply does not possess the infrastructure to safeguard its citizens," he says, picking up his mobile that has 'Roobaroo' for its ring tone. "This used to be Abhijit's ring tone. I have now made it my own," he says with a smile.

Even as the coaches hit by the blasts have returned to the tracks, lives of those affected continue to remain derailed.