I sat in front of my computer screen for over an hour, trying to type something – anything – to express my feelings on whatever has happened. But I just couldn't. I realized that I was speechless, that there were no words to describe what I was feeling: anger, sadness, relief, guilt and something that goes much deeper than all this. This is not the first time. I know that this is also not the last time, though I hope that I am wrong in this prediction. But this is definitely different.
After 40 hours, This is not yet over.
The previous times, Bombay and its famed Spirit fought back. Head held high with a kind of defiance in the eyes: Do what you want; I am not scared of you. But this time, somewhere, that Spirit has been dented. It has not shattered completely, thank god. But the cracks have appeared. The head is willing to bow: if only to make it stop. The eyes still look up, but the defiance has faded, leaving in place a tear-filled plea:
STOP.
Please.
There are hardly any people on the roads, and almost everyone is walking around with a vacant look in their eyes, the trauma not receding a bit, because well, it's not yet over. Today, even the sun is not out, like an indication that even nature knows it's meant to a bleak, gray day: a day for mourning. The intermittent sound of choppers flying above my building interrupts my thoughts, and I pray as each chopper passes by: Let this one be the hero, let this one be the one that ends it.
In these 36 hours I have realized one more thing: what it feels like to live in a war-ravaged country or state. Not completely, and again for that I thank God. But now I know, first hand, what it can feel like. I went out for a walk yesterday, tired because of lack of sleep, nonstop television watching for almost 24 hours, and frantic channel switching. With the depression adding to my fatigue a breath of fresh air seemed like a good idea. But I couldn't last more than fifteen minutes. After fifteen minutes of continuously looking over my shoulder and jumping at the tiniest loud sound, I was done. I was ready to run back home, for I just couldn't make myself believe that I was safe. I wanted to run home, shut the doors and the windows, and hide under my bed.
I was scared.
I am still scared, and hence I haven't ventured out since then.
The more desperate Bombay seems to be for this ordeal to be over, the more is seems to drag on. And for most of us, there is nothing we can do. Nothing but watch T.V., behave like an ostrich by hiding, and pray. Pray real hard, and hope that someone somewhere answers our prayers.
Until next time…
