I guess the ghost of 26/11 shall haunt me for longer than I expected it to. I knew the day would bring back the experience of one of the most atrocious attacks that my generation has witnessed, but I dismissed the thoughts as mere imaginative crap. But as I write this in the wee hours of the day, tears are simply pouring out as I have woken up with a loud cry. The nightmare was so real and threatening that as a helpless citizen I seemed to have just 2 options; either to cry or die.
Though not a very close witness to the heinous crime of 26/11 that we now call tragedy, I feel an unbearable pain in my heart. I see myself crying...not out of pain but out of despair...
Last year, this day I sat all alone in my Mumbai house. Being an outsider (in political terms not constitutional) it was just my third year here. But I was a super confident and assured Indian. But today though insured and assured and no more alone, I am completely insecure and feel more vulnerable and helpless than ever.
Those moments last year as news channels broke the news of the terrorist attack, my phone rang relentlessly. People who cared for me were online every passing moment to make sure I was safe.
With the night growing darker the mystery of the attack growing stronger, channels suddenly flashed ‘ ATS Chief Hemant Karkare Rushes to CST’. This to me was a complete boost of morale. I felt confident of a victory against those mice that call themselves warriors of jihad. I still recount the roar in my voice as I assured my mum that those cowardly bastards would now all be gunned down as knew that Hemant Karkare was no ordinary officer. I was like a kid stuck in debris yet assured that there was someone who could and will pull him out of it.
Three of my friends and I met Mr. Hemant Karkare at his office last year in Jan. IT WAS a BRIEF ENCOUNTER. He granted us an appointment amidst his super hectic schedule. The meeting I guess lasted for a maximum of 15 minutes ,yet we left his office that evening with our faith in the police force restored to a great extent. We all knew that the system was a sponge but these kinds of officers gave us some hope. In exact 3 days Karkare sir was appointed ATS chief. My friend Snigdha and I felt proud of that moment. But I guess our pride as well as the person of pride wasn’t to last too long.
26/11 last year is a day etched in my heart with the blood of professionalism that laid down its life to the flaws in its system. It was not just an attack on the country but an attack on professionalism. Every individual who had been true to his profession that day during the attack suffered the highest. From those dutiful cops to Tag’s General manager Karam Vir Kang. These men of integrity answered their call of duty though many of those who didn’t and who could make a difference slept unaware in the cosiness of their super secured homes.
The streets that those cowards sprayed bullets on that night were those we stroll on everyday to college. While we thanked our stars that there weren’t many people as dusk had fallen, a few classmates who’d put up at the college hostel described on phone their ongoing adventurous experience of watching the Drama At Cama, live. Everyone was still hopeful.
But then, there was another “breaking news “ that to a great extent broke that wall of confidence within me. It read ‘Hemant Karkare injured in firing’. But I tried not to believe what I saw and continued to assure my friends and mum like I was god.
Not for long could I disguise my fears. The bubble did burst. Bullets had blown apart my hope like it did shatter the shoddy sheet the officers wore in the name of a BULLET PROOF JOCKET. The way I cried that moment was unbearable for my mum to even hear on phone. I wailed so loud that the walls of my house echoed my pain. That Karkare sir was no more was something I couldn’t but was forced to believe. I howled in grief for that was all I could do.
My faith , my pride and my sense of security all came crumbling down faster than a pack of cards. It was difficult to live the attack in ones living room.
That it was meant to happen appears to be more of a call of a few fools than fate. Why else would the most qualified cops of the Mumbai police who had even served RAW enter a terrorist attack zone clad in a bullet proof jacket that would give in to maybe even plain lathi charge and helmets that were more of a joke than anything else.
I relived that experience tonight as I saw, what I think is the worst yet most true to life nightmare, a series of blasts rocking yet another city . I saw myself as a part of the public that tried in vain to help only to be victimised for doing so.
Someone within was involved. For no outsider can do the kind of harm an insider can. And that’s a truth.
The worst of harm comes from within. The most painful and destructive relationships are those that are closest to heart. And the most terrible always happens from within that shield that each of us call our own. So this terrible attack too could not be carried out by a completely outside agency without the aid of a few Indian bastards . The great Indian bastard is a rare one but these I guess these days are out there at a hand stretch.
The pain the scare that I relieved in the form of a nightmare will be the only gift for the generations to come. For even after a year, as nation we can’t boast of any better security, any concrete action or even a simple strong stand to stall the recurrence of such crimes to humanity. We just dutifully tag them tragedy within a few hours of their occurrence and close the chapter with a few placards, candles and tears.
The only thing we do is patch the loopholes unearthed after every such attack with sawdust. A crucial bullet proof jacket goes missing. Yet we are plain ‘sorry for what happened’. A few are sacked for negligence, the routes used by the attackers are all cut off or their security beefed up like those be fools to go the same way next time. And to top it all we give a FAIR TRIAL to the only terrorist alive. We struggle to get him a lawyer, shell out crores of rupees of the taxpayers hard earned money to ensure that a bastard lives a royal and secure life behind ‘ bars’ . I do not call him a bastard out of anger. But I guess that’s what anyone with logical reasoning would call a person who doesn’t know who he belongs to. The father (nation) refuses to acknowledge the son of the soil. What else would you call him?
But in India it’s different . We go by ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’ we treat even a terrorist in the best way possible. After all he helped us curb our exploding population of a fruitful hundred core by 200-300 people in just a matter of few hours. He deserves all our hospitality.
A few years of trial, ‘fair trial’ I’m sorry, and few more years of public eyewash till it’s all forgotten. For there’s always a next time; a new terrorist attack and a new tragedy. Mumbai, Hyderabad, Bangalore....it’s just the venue that changes, the events always serve the same cause.
Compare KARKARE and Kasab and you definitely conclude that in the current situation it’s better to be the latter. You see he gets a fair trial at least. The former just got an unfair death.
(As part of the adult franchise of the world’s largest democracy all that you and me can do is let these pent up emotions flow.
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