One call

Today is a beautiful day, I thought.

I was standing at the door of a Borivili fast. The sounds of the boogies and the wind pleasantly interrupted the music playing through the i-pod plug-ins. As Mumbai flew fast, drops of rain brushed against my face. I pushed myself forward, to feel the wind blow harder.

Train travel- one of the many things I will miss, I thought, as I looked at the Visa I had just received. The train hooted as another train crossed on the adjacent track in a quick blur. I drew myself back. Huge skyscrapers of Worli and Parel have always fascinated me. Mumbai will continue to surprise me always.

Soon I was home. Yes, I was one of the lucky ones to say that today. I had survived another terror attack.

Entering my house, I read the unread message I missed 10 minutes back. “ Are you home? Blasts. Watch news.”

Blank. Cold. Shaky.

What’s more, I was painfully familiar to that feeling. This was the fourth time. Train blasts, blast in Vile Parle, Taj Attack and now this. My home had opened to terrorism once again.

I looked around. Everyone was home. Messages were pouring in. I turned on the News channel.

One horrible thought caught my mind. Dadar! It’s Wednesday. Shit!

Speed dial 9. Go through please.

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

Dialled again. And again. In vain.

I had soon lost count of the number of times I redialled. It was a reflex now. I was pacing around the house. News channels kept increasing the death toll.

Forty five minutes and 5 undelivered messages later, I was still calling. And now I was praying.

I remembered the last meet. The last words I said. There was so much more to be said.

I remembered the times I fought. The times when I have been an utterly ridiculous and unreasonable child. The times when we have laughed and teased. I remembered it all, in a blur. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. The call wasn’t going through.

Networks are jammed, I tried to convince myself. It is going to be alright soon. It didn’t help. I redialled.

It is amazing how you bypass every thought of anger, every inhibition, erase every bad memory, forgive every mistake as you desperately want to reach that person and find out if the person is safe. Everything else seems so insignificant.

There was another part of me, already fuming with anger. It had happened again. And it would happen again in a couple of years. It’s so easy to bomb crowded places of Mumbai and get away with it. World leaders will condemn it, the Government will accuse the lovely neighbour of involvement, lovely neighbour will only deny, halting the Aman ki asha again. Mumbai will keep its date with its offices on the following morning. Trains will still be stuffed with people in rush hours and today will be forgotten. By all those who could get through the phone calls. I was still redialling.

One hour into frantic calling, I began with the ‘what ifs’. This could not be the end. It didn’t fit. I am just freaking out for no reason, I explained myself. And redialled.

Such times of crisis bring you closer to your true thoughts they say. You are working on instinct and you realize what you really want. What you really care about. And you cannot deny that.

There are so many more ways to torture that I haven’t tried yet, there are so many tantrums yet to be played. I smiled.

Death toll had reached 17 now. Phone lines were slowly opening. Now you are just messing with me God, I shrugged.

One call is all I wanted.

One call.

May God give the strength to those whose calls were never returned. Let justice prevail.

Praying for a safer, happier Mumbai.