Last Saturday afternoon, on December 27th to be precise, we went over to the Taj Mahal hotel for lunch. The drive into the hotel was now from its rear-side, originally conceived to be its grand entrance. It seemed so strange, it was a month after the horrific siege, and the Taj was barricaded from all sides , like a protected sacrosanct monument wary of being sullied. A tall magnificent structure loomed large over its historical heritage cousin, both looking out in almost melancholic desolation outward towards the Arabian Sea. People , both our local onlookers and foreign tourists, pointed upwards towards the hotel’s dome and upper floors, where all the madness unleashed on unsuspecting innocent guests just a few weeks before.
The car was frisked by disciplined security-folks, perhaps aware of how their task was now one of the most valued and respected, no longer just an irritating formality that had us all cussing under our breath. It seemed such an incongruous irony, but far away in the distance people had their backs to the famous Gateway of India as they clicked furiously on their digital cameras at where they believed were the battle-zones in the now destroyed Wasabi restaurant.
At the entrance, I meet the simple smiling gentle guards who are perennial faces that greet you with big smiles whenever one goes to the hotel. Upon enquiry, one is relieved to know that some of the other familiar staff who are not there today are fine and survived the tragic events. As we walk into the Taj lobby, it feels surreal, indescribably unnerving, and virtually incomprehensible that it is the same place that had seen unexpected bloodshed, and had come close to being the killing-fields. That it had looked like a remote , far-away inaccessible zone , a dangerous mine-fest on television cameras as fires engulfed the sixth floor, loud grenades exploded, and security forces surrounded the threatened hotel to flush out four deranged men on a destructive mission. Mr Ratan Tata’s team have done an incredible job of amazing resuscitation in ensuring that the great hotel is ready to welcome a new year ahead, even as it comes to terms with its incalculable grief.
We go to the Shamiana, the coffee shop, where it is heartening to see full-tables, guests chattering away, the buffet possessing its usual seductive entrapments , the warmth of the staff , vintage Taj. In a way nothing has changed, and yet so much has. One can see people consciously speak in softer tones, the conversations much subdued in decibel levels , with none of the usual natural cacophonous impact. It appears that everyone is experiencing an inexplicable curiosity, an unfathomable emotion. Exactly a month ago on November 27th it was a coffee shop that had seen bullet-shots through the glass into the open kitchen. Eric’s best friend had died that night.
Eric is a tall, big man with the most humble expression and tender gentleness that I have recently seen. When he asks us if we want more watermelon juice, it is almost impossible to decline that warm inquisition. As we gradually get going, we talk of something we have not done before. My daughters promise me that they will not waste food, not heap delicacies in enthusiastic hurry , and then leave them in pursuit of another round of fresh experimentation. It is strange, but 26/11 has inculcated a subtle yet definite appreciation of everything around us, the indecipherable nuances of life are being better understood.
I ask Eric if he was there that fatal night of 26th November. He says he was fortunately off-duty , but his best friend was not so lucky. The terrorists were dressed in dark colored outfits , and perhaps when they came in with their murderous intent, he walked right into their firing range, not sure if their attire made him misjudge them as the hotel service staff.
” His body was in the hospital for four days, and during that period my wife too was in the hospital. So I spent all those days shuttling between hospitals, day and night, while consoling the bereaved family of a friend who was suddenly gone”. The sadness in his voice is of immense magnitude, but he speaks with a quiet restrained exposure. You can understand his anguish, his pain, the unspoken trauma. But he has accepted his destiny, and has moved on to do what he best knows—-serving his customers.
My daughter tells me not to use my Taj card and use free points in exchange for the meal. I did not intend to. But I am overwhelmed by her sweet thought of such tender sensitivity. “ We must pay, and not look like we are here for exchanging loyalty points and expecting freebies”. It is a touching testimony to the fact that , unknown to me, and perhaps even to herself, she has grown beyond her teen years, in just a month.
Eric gets us some coffee and tea, as we linger on over the meal , perhaps the longest that we have lunched at the Shamiana. The crowd has moved on, and many have replaced them , the usual buzz still prevalent in the first signs of wintry sunshine emanating from the quiet pool-side.
I watch Eric as I sign the credit card bill. He has been courteously enquiring of all the guests under his charge, moving on from table to table, nodding to confirm that he has understood their order, making eye-contact with the first hand that goes up with a request. Unknown to several , he lets his personal struggles be within him, as he goes about his job with a modest smile with utter simplicity. He is an epitome of all things good, gentle, humble and courageous in the face of personal adversity, that in a great way symbolizes the Taj itself. We say bye but promise Eric that we will return—-soon.
On the way out, I see a Page 3 celebrity of immaculate pedigree walk in , concealing her countenance with dark glares so big it looks like a solar eclipse, famous for providing dubiously myopic suggestions to the GOI to destroy terrorism. No, Eric will never be on your friendly TV channel. Ever. But yet there is a lesson for all of us from such unassuming down-to-earth people like him that we encounter every day and know so little of. Or care about. We all need to do what we must do to the best of our abilities, quietly, selflessly, honestly, with dedication, every moment understanding and appreciating the sensitivity of others. I guess if we just do that , everything else will automatically fall into place. No blame -game, no mindless accusations, no vociferous protests, no vested interests, no pontifications, no intellectual humbug. No , we do not need no magical solutions. No divine miracles. We just need to look within.
Thank you, Eric, and to all those millions like you , unknown and unheard of , who make this country great.
Happy New Year!
Posted on June 18, 2009 by Sanjay Jha
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