It was a cheerful day that dawned. The chirpy, windy morning did not betray the events that were to unfold later that day. Children walked to school grumbling about the heavy homework, office goers cursed the crowds in the local trains, a few bitched about their bosses, happy to be away from prying ears, grannies discussed the latest twist in the daily soap, grandpas remembered the generation that once was…. All in all, it was an uneventful morning, or at least, as uneventful as mornings can be.
Evening. A whoosh of relief wiped across the mass of humanity as it worked towards winding up the day, as it made its way back home. Soon a son would meet his mother, lover counted minutes before he would be joined by his girl, a husband would meet his better half, a child awaited the warm, love-filled embrace of his mother. Everyone worked towards reaching one common goal. The day was in perfect synchrony with plans.
And then the night unleashed terror. Bullets flew. Heartbeats quickened. More bullets flew, a grenade or two ripped. Ripped lives apart, dashed hopes, caused many a tear to be shed.
Lives were lost, it matters not how many. Some quick thinking, a lot of action, invaluable sacrifices. Still, the drama continued for about 60 hours.
Mumbai is a city that has a reputation of never slowing down. But that fateful day, heads drooped, and the mind, not fully registering the impact of what had happened, gave no more directions. Time stood still, as the city united to weep and pray for the ones lost.
The son never returned home, the husband lost his wife, and the child would never get the much needed embrace now. The lovers watched in horror and shock, and desperation made them walk on a path to a better tomorrow. It was on this day, five years ago, that it all started