Walk of Life

“They came from within the platform 13. At first, I thought it was just a celebration for some VIP who was either alighting or leaving for an outstation trip. Or maybe even a baaraati ( wedding procession)”. Sanjay Singh is in his mid-twenties, I assume, and even as he recounts the sequence of events that has changed India that terrible night, he is scurrying back and forth from his counter preparing a sandwich for a customer. It is exactly two weeks since November 26^th 2008.

“The noise was deafening. Initially we could not comprehend what happened. But then I saw two men just spraying bullets all over. And people just fell and died, one on top of the other”. His face is remarkably imperturbable for a young man who saw death at such close proximity, and he speaks with a detached sense of helplessness. “All of us ducked under the counter. But our manager took a bullet, but he is out of danger”. I look at the window panes of Refresh Food Plaza at the CST , and there are several bullet marks creating an eerie shattered design at different places on that glassy exterior, a frightful reminder of what transpired when two men walked in and played havoc.

This morning I walked into CST , that perennially busy terminus that transports thousands of Mumbai’s work-force with clockwork precision daily, and also inter-links its big dreams to the rest of India. The last time I visited CST was when taking the Deccan Queen to my favorite week-end destination Pune, but even that has become infrequent as the expressway has become a convenient alternative. But I have traveled from CST on the same platform 13 , taking the Geetanjali Express to Howrah via Tatanagar. It has been several years since, but the nostalgia lingers on.

“As the terrorists moved towards platform 7 and exited through towards Cama hospital, we escaped from the back-door. But we felt sorry, as we could not turn back and help those who were lying dead behind us”. There is touching sadness in his voice, a regret , that unknown to him reflects his courage, his compassion. Bullet shots narrowly missed his head , and he knew that they were fortunate. “But I feel sad for those who fell innocent victims to the attack. They were just huddled up together in the vast open space in front of the restaurant opposite platform 13, large families in a convivial spirit, unaware that they shared a common date with destiny”.

“I saw a woman feeding her child being shot at close range. They put like ten bodies on top of each other and managed to send them to hospitals”. The scars will remain long, it is a human stain that will not obliterate itself , perhaps ever.

It is peak-time now, and crowds throng CST , particularly in the suburban sections. Mumbai is in it’s magical confluence , an intermingling of it’s innumerable colors, it’s almost impentrable complexity. There is a focused stride in every commuter , a clear destination ahead , an appointment to keep. There is little margin for error. The sun is shining, the buses are lined up , there are queues for taxi-sharing , and Mumbai is exhibiting it’s trademark energy. Life must go on.

A couple of cops are huddled in the middle , and platform 13 is completely empty this morning. “But when it gets dark, I get scared. I begin to recollect everything again in detail. And the fear of the unknown , the unpredictable takes hold”. I nod. There is nothing else I can do but try and empathise with what he experiences day in and day out.

I thank and say a bye to him, Sanjay acknowledges the same and quickly moves on to address another customer . It is just another day at the counter for him, as he joins the faceless millions who define this fascinating metropolis.

I don’t think he has any bitterness about the fact that the media completely forgot that they existed at CST or that the protestors had no candle lights for them. It is irrelevant . India’s common man is truly uncommon.

As I leave CST , with every passing minute and arriving train, the people of Mumbai take another step into an unknown future. But they face it, with immense fortitude and fearlessness. They have done it before and they are doing so now.

I may have sauntered in today into CST , one lonely self-guided visitor as part of terror tourism, but for them it is just a walk of life.