Terror In Mumbai

I probably should have written this piece last week, when the topic was red hot; but it was too close to home, too personal. I thought a week would give me time to cool down; to approach the tragedy with a more rational perspective. I was mistaken.

I am still bewildered, horrified and, above all, I am mad as hell. Those bastards attacked my city; even worse, they desecrated my neighborhood. Yes, nine out of the ten sons-of-bitches are now dead, but that provides only grim solace.

The terrorist attack on Mumbai has been played to death on both Indian and international television channels; so I won't go into details here. The bare facts are these. A group of 10 terrorists in a Zodiac, landed on the shoreline of South Bombay (Mumbai). They stormed into two 5-star hotels, shooting and killing indiscriminately. They also attacked a Jewish Centre and shot and killed scores of innocent victims in the city's main railway station. The terrorists announced their presence at the Taj - and for me - with the rattle of AK-47 spitting bullets. Most of the citizens of Bombay watched the 60-hour deadly denouement unfold in real time on their television sets. I had a ringside view. According to eyewitness accounts of the very few survivors of the bloody carnage, the terrorists were young men in their early twenties, who seemed to have no other agenda but to indiscriminately butcher whoever they could find. The age and sex of the victims did not matter. The only thing that marked them for death was that they were human beings. The bad guys took some hostages, but made no real demands. All they wanted was to kill. Hotel guests and visitors were lined up against the wall and executed firing squad style. To add a final macabre touch to an already grisly situation, the terrorists videotaped the bodies as they lay.

For me, South Bombay is the original Bombay - when the population was a mere half million. It is a place of graceful colonial buildings, promenades and shady by-lanes - an oasis of tranquility, if you will, in a city that always seems to be in a rush. It is also where two of Bombay's oldest and grandest hotels - the Taj and the Oberoi - are located. More personally, it is the part of the city I was born in - and where I've spent most of my six decades on this planet. The Taj - just a stone's throw away - is an old and dear friend. It is where I've had my hair cut for the past 30 years; and whose pastry shop I visit every Saturday to pick up chocolate éclairs and other confectionery goodies. It is where I had my first lunch date with my wife-to-be, at the Ballroom, 34 years ago. It also happens to be one of the most iconic hotels in the world. Today, it is a hollow, burned out shell of its former glory. It is crying out in anguish - and I am weeping with it.

Remember that famous FDR quote about July 7, 1942? Well, November 26 will henceforth be referred to as Bombay's day of infamy. By a strange quirk of abysmal coincidence, it also happens to be my birthday. God may have abandoned Bombay that fateful Wednesday, but He was looking out for me. My wife and I were scheduled to celebrate the big day at the Masala Kraft restaurant in the Taj. We had even made reservations. For some unexplained reason, my wife developed a splitting headache that night. So we decided to skip the restaurant; and order pizza instead. If we had gone, I would probably be communicating this to you from heaven - or the other place.

The most heartbreaking moment was when I saw flames leaping from the venerable monument - and thick black smoke spiraling outwards. This was my Taj - Bombay's Taj - and she was being brutally assaulted like a virgin screaming in agony, as he was raped by a bunch of gang bangers. And there was nothing I could do, except look on in impotent rage. The trauma finally ended early on Saturday morning; but nothing will ever be the same again. The grande dame of Apollo Bunder has been grievously violated. She will take more than a year to regain her former glory. And even after she does, it will no longer be a great place to hang out in. There will be security guards, metal detectors and sniffer dogs. No more strolling into the Sea Lounge for the to-die-for Cafe Viennois; or just parking myself in the lobby for a blissful hour, soaking in the refined atmosphere of wealth and privilege. My second home will become a fortress. I will no longer feel welcome.

This is the real scourge of terrorism. No matter how many terrorists we kill, they have already won. They have won because they have changed the way we live. They have made the previously unacceptable a necessity. They have forced us to retaliate and involuntarily enter their dark world. They have robbed us of our innocence.