A STORY OF A SLEEPLESS NIGHT

November 26, 2008 could have ended as just another day of my life, had I not read the headlines flashed at the bottom of every news channel. I clearly remember having come home a little late, settling down for dinner with my mother and making a comment, “I believe the underworld has struck again. The outrage is on road for certain”

My mother was startled and agreed with me on the same. But after thirty minutes we were forced to rethink. Something that seemed to be normal had the connotations of being insanely abnormal. All of a sudden, we felt as if the news channels were expressing their concerns over some miscreants at large. I once again felt that the top gang lords might have decided to strike their rivals from different parts of the city. But what surprised me was their preference of locations. It was reported that two assailants had opened fire at the Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus. Reports of firings at Leopold Café, The Oberoi Trident, Taj Mahal Palace & Tower, Nariman House and Cama Hospital started pouring in. I couldn’t bring myself to believe what seemed to me like rumors. But as the clock kept ticking, I found it difficult to remain aloof. I murmured, “Our city is under attack. The nation is under direct threat”

I couldn’t move. I lost interest in continuing with my dinner. The mention of Taj reminded me of something. One of my friends was associated with the Taj and so were his father and younger brother. I fished out his number but failed to establish any connection. After two hours of constant trials, I finally could reach his younger brother’s mobile. He left me in a state of shock by declaring that my friend was stuck inside the hotel. I couldn’t believe my ears and started praying. Later I felt pacified to know that he was alive but a bit shaken. The commandos had managed to bring him out of the hotel.

In the meanwhile, the news about Mumbai being under terror attack had already spread like wild fire in a jungle of dry woods. Three of the most renowned police officers were dead. I just couldn’t tolerate the insignificant treatment being administered to the situation. My mom asked me to sleep as it was too late. She rightly said that maybe it would be all over by the next day. I couldn’t agree more with her. But I definitely knew that it was not going to be a day to be easily forgotten. I either smsed or called up my friends to affirm their locations because they were all supposed to be at the terrorist attacked places.

I wanted to desperately start writing about the day in my diary. The terrifying face of a gun brandishing terrorist at the Chatraptati Shivaji Terminus, a video grab of dead bodies being brought out of the Taj and the breaking news of Hemant Karkare, Vijay Salaskar and Ashok Kamte’s death simply made me feel restless. I shunned everything around me and sat staring at my television. The screen looked so stark. I wanted to reach out to the many victims of the brutal assaults. I decided to stay awake all night. Extremely pained by the situation, I called up some of my closest of friends and relatives to know what they were doing at that moment. Every voice on the other end of the phone sounded aggrieved. I was angry. I just kept moving corner to corner in my drawing room. The television was getting starker and the news darker. I knew I had to attend office the other day. But it was my city, my birth place and my motherland that was under attack.

I stood at my gallery and looked at the sky above. Nothing seemed to be normal. The eerie silence of the night failed to impress me. Time and again, I kept looking at the television to just see devastation all around. The color of human blood, the chaos of inhuman tendencies and the chutzpah of fanatics had started taking its toll on me. At that moment, I was not in a position to make any opinion against any particular person, nation, religion or community. My concern was about the safety of mankind. Being a trotter across the city, every place that was mentioned of being attacked by terrorists left me feeling shattered. Even though my mom was asleep, she woke up too. At around 12.18 am, we both positioned ourselves in front of the television and never left the place. We were not watching a movie. We were not seeking entertainment. We were not being indifferent. But we had tears in our eyes. One question that kept bothering us was – WHY MUMBAI?

The question that kept bothering us had no definitive reply. Just like other onlookers and viewers, the restless duo of mother and son was also dealing with its own share of confusion. Every time I entered the kitchen to quench my thirst with water, my mother kept telling me of something new that might have popped up as a part of the ‘MUMBAI UNDER SEIGE’ reportage.

The experience couldn’t be forgotten so easily. Even today when I recollect that night, I realize how tremendously bitter I had felt from within. Not for a second had I batted an eyelid and neither had I expected a good beginning of the next day. All I can say at this moment is that I had for the first ever time experienced the most violently sleepless night of my lifetime. God bless the many souls, which didn’t deserve such a gruesomely unforeseen end. I truly love Mumbai, which has over the years helped me earn my bread and butter. I wish not to hate anybody but always sit praying that there is never a repeat run of November 26, 2008.

-vociferous