Zara hatke, zara bachke…

I am a proud mumbaikar. And I know there are many more like me in this city. But I wonder how many of us still have faith left in this place we call home. As I type this in the confines of my safe house in suburban Mumbai, I know this city is going up in flames elsewhere.
I must have been a toddler when the ’93 blasts happened. But I see the memory relived by many in the city. The news channels for which I shall not use any expletives are going from bad to worse when it comes to yellow journalism. Insensitivity to an event so horrifying is beyond my understanding.
I am losing faith in the city, the government, the world, even myself. People are dropping dead before the camera as the cameraperson zooms in on gory images of blood and massacre. I see the crowning glory of Mumbai- the Taj burn like a bonfire.
It is not even painful. It is a feeling so personal, that I can’t explain. Yet I know many others in this city can feel it. The names are familiar- Metro, Leopold’s, Cama, J.J….the list goes on…
It is something that is a part of my life. A part of all our lives. And this part is burning.
I have no words left to describe how horrible this is. Patients, doctors, nurses, held hostage. Foreigners crying for help. Standing on the rooftop of twenty storey buildings.
A taxi exploded in Vile Parle. There were two people inside. They are not to be found..Atleast in a recognizable form. This is what we have reduced ourselves to. Somewhere in all of us a human element has died that we didn’t shed a tear at these news bytes. We didn’t cry to see our city die, bit by bit. The whole of America, in some way or the other is still reeling from the impact of 9/11. We have even forgotten the dates when terrorist struck.
I am probably too messed up right now to make much sense. But I need to get this out of my system. And I send out a prayer. A prayer for all those who died. Policemen, civilians, or even the misguided souls responsible for this. I pray for you.