Salaam Bombay

Bombay - City of Dreams

I had just walked into work and was settling in, when I noticed a missed call from Sid on my phone. Wondering what the matter could possibly be, I rang him back.

“You called?” I asked, dispensing with the customary greetings.

“Yes. I just read about some major blasts and terrorist activities in the hotels of Mumbai. You might want to check if your friends and family are safe.”

I put down the phone, shaking my head sadly. The past year has seen me receive such news numerous times. From the Delhi blasts, to the Jaipur ones, from Bangalore’s explosions to now, this latest call. Anxiety seems to increase exponentially when you are so far away in Australia. I would first ascertain the extent of the damage before I started to call the heaps of family and friends I have there.

Launching the browser window, I typed the address of a popular Indian newspaper. Pictures of the iconic Taj Mahal hotel popped up, smoke billowing from its beautiful dome and roofs. Air dropping National Security Guards, rounds of bullets being exchanged and grenades being tossed was all being covered live on television.

All on the streets where I lived.

Could this really be happening? The Australian media was giving the events unfolding in Mumbai complete coverage – two Australians had been killed in the firing. Caucasians were being targeted. This was a matter of their security as well. Within hours, the government issued travel advisories, warning their citizens against traveling to India.

As I took a bus home from work that evening, Aussies on the bus stopped to talk to me. Pointing to gruesome pictures of destruction and death on the front page of Brisbane’s free daily newspaper (and in fact, on all the inside pages as well) they looked at me quizzically.

“You are Indian. How do you feel about the terrorist attack on your country?” they asked.

“Do you think that these are Indian terrorists?” another older Australian lady wanted to know.

“I hope your friends and family are safe”, they added as an after thought.

Smiling and murmuring my gratitude for their concern, I sat down in a vacant seat. I had no answers to their questions.

Some fifty-six hours later, as I tap out this post on my keyboard, I still have no clear response. Four people, whom I knew personally in some way or another in the hotel fraternity, have lost their lives. So how do I feel?

Horror, at the way Mumbai’s most prolific symbols of history, commercial prosperity and influence were targeted?

Or terror that our marine borders are so porous that we were infiltrated with such ease?

Or perhaps outrage – lets comb the entire country for supporters of terrorism, and award them the slowest, most painful death that we can think of?

Maybe even shock – at the ease with which a thriving democracy can be brought to a grinding halt – just because a handful of miscreants are willing to wreak havoc on the rest?

Do I want to go and hunt out the politicians who claimed that they would throw Indians from other parts of India out of Mumbai, and ask them where they were hiding at a time  like this?

Or perhaps, laugh at the global community that sits up and takes notice only when their citizens are threatened.

Perhaps I am comfortably numb.

But then as I watch live streaming pictures of the encounter underway, courtesy the website of an Indian news channel, I recognize various shops on the street where the encounter takes place.

“That was where Mum and Dad bought their first pair of curtains from…ages ago”. I tell Sid, pointing to a corner shop on the screen, as the crowd swells and cheers on the NSGs. He nods at me in pre-occupation, following the developments closely.

“And that is the Leopold’s restaurant – they serve up the most divine juices.”

Everyone looks at me in disbelief. There is a war like situation on in Mumbai, and was this all I could think of?

But indeed, this was all I could think of. Bombay is a magical city – a city of dreams, great speed, great anonymity, great professionalism and yet great comfort. It has seen major riots, serial blasts, train blasts, bus blasts, floods, more riots and now even a guerrilla terrorist attack. After every new incident, Bombay-ites and Mumbaikers alike, pick up the pieces, support each other and bounce back to normalcy. This is perhaps the greatest display of the spirit of Mumbai. Some also say that perhaps there is no other choice for the resident of Bombay. I do not know.

But as I recall one wet, cold July two years ago, stranded in Central Bombay in waste deep floods and traffic jams all night, offered cups of tea and biscuits by unknown strangers, my heart bleeds for its chronic troubles.

It has given me some of the best years of my life….Mumbai meri jaan.