Mumbai is burning! he said as he poured himself another drink. We were at a local bar in Andheri. There was a television mounted high up on the wall behind the manager's counter. It was showing a report on Kasab's trial, when this person on the next table started staring at the television with a rage. Most of the others in the bar ignored the guy because he was inebriated. But this was not just another drunk guy. The guy was in late 50s, with half of his hair turned gray. His face had a character grown in it with every wrinkle on his face trying to tell a story. A story that turned that night into a dead silence.
'Calm down uncle. Don't worry. Kasab will get a death sentence.' I said in a friendly voice to calm down this drunk man who I thought could have created a scene. He turned his head towards me and looked straight down my eyes, with an anger. That really gave me shrills for a second. Why did I take this on to me? I thought. 'And then what? Will Mumbai stop burning?' I took a while to understand the question. It seemed like a rhetoric, but this guy was waiting for a response. Besides, Mumbai was burning a year ago when Kasab massacred innocent people at the Taj Hotel and other areas in town. 'I am just saying ...' I was interrupted before I could finish. He got up and moved next to my friend on the opposite side of our table. For the next half an hour we were just the audience to a drunk man, with a heart full of pain, frustration and anger and a growing rage towards this city of dreams.
Mumbai has been burning for a while now kid. And it wasn't Kasab who started it. And it's not ending with his death sentence. Mumbai will continue to burn. You know why? Because we can't do anything about it. And even if you try, they will not allow you. [laughs sarcastically]
'Mumbai is burning! Nana, Mumbai is burning! And the Muslims are around the corner killing every Hindu they find. They are coming to kill people in our chawl!' My younger brother came running with this news after the 1992 blasts. I was quite young then, with warm blood running in my veins. I went down with many other young men from our chawl like soldiers on a mission to guard our families. It was the worst war of religions Mumbai had faced since 1947. We were around 25, each equipped with a hockey stick or a cricket bat. We stood by the gate of our chawl creating another wall. I could still feel the adrenalin when I think of that moment. Just then we heard screams from around the corner. We all stared down the road expecting the worst. And worst it was. A man tumbled and fell down near the corner. As he fell down, his head separated from his body and rolled down right in the center of the lane. My hands went numb. Suddenly the weapons in our hands, hockey sticks and cricket bats, seemed meager. We felt weak. Three of the guys ran away, while a couple of them went back in the chawl and came out with knives, hammers and spades. We were still weak in front of the swords. They killed six of us before the police arrived. But their lives did not go in vain. We managed to hold back the mob and keep our families safe. I lost mine though. My brother. He took the blow from the wildly swung sword of the leader of the mob, Abdul Qadir, brother of the then corporator. It slit his throat and the blood came out rushing like a tap left open. He could not scream and I could not help. Within moments his body went pale leaving him dead in the pool of his own blood.
Few days later, I filed a case against Abdul Qadir to get justice for my dead brother. Nothing happened. He was saved. You know by whom? A Hindu! A fucking Marathi Maanus! A minister who got the case closed for a few seats and Muslim votes that were assured to him by Abdul's brother. That's when I realized it wasn't a war of religions, it was a war for powers. Abdul is an MLA now. I feel like killing myself whenever I look at his posters by the road side.
I somehow managed to pull myself out from the dreary memories of those bloody events. I had two beautiful kids. Tanmay and Sakshi. Tanmay has grown into a man now, just like me when I was young, with warm blood. Sakshi [his voice sunk] she was an angel. Beautiful as her mother. She had just turned 18 that day when she went out for a party with her friends at Juhu. The girls were returning back home when they noticed a bunch of guys were harassing a girl in a secluded lane near the beach. The girl seemed from a rich family. Sakshi along with her friends walked into the lane keeping a safe distance from the scene so that if the guys made a move towards them they could run away. She screamed 'Hey! Leave her alone! I have called the police. Go away! Leave her!' What she didn't realize that a part of the gang was standing and entrance of the lane, from where she walked in, keeping a watch and looking out for trouble. They had moved in now blocking their way out. They started screaming out loudly and soon started crying. There were bystanders, and they did their job. By being just the fucking bystanders. Sakshi was brought home by the police, clothes torn and dried blood on her legs. All the girls were raped that night.
We filed a case against the guys, all the guys the girls could recognize. They were all sons of big-shots from Mumbai's richest lot. They all got bailed out. The cases were closed due to no evidence. You know who saved them? The girl who was being raped initially, who Sakshi and her friends tried to save. You know why? She was the daughter of another big-shot who totally put the case under covers without letting her daughter's name out in public. Like it never happened. As if his daughter was never raped. [snaps his fingers] It was that easy for him. But what about my daughter? Who would marry a raped girl from a middle-class family? This thought tortured and tormented my child every day after the incident until one day she decided to put an end to it. She walked down the same lane where she was raped, and she kept walking. She kept walking until she met the sea, which grabbed her into it's depth with a huge roaring wave.
The next day, my hands started shaking as I covered my child with logs of wood. It's not easy to light your loved ones on fire even when they are dead. I could not believe my family was halved in one day. We were four before, now we were just two. Yes, just two! My wife couldn't bare the shock of her daughter's death. She died of a massive heart attack as soon as the news was delivered to us by the police that our daughter's body was found by the shore. I couldn't believe half of my family was watching the other half being burnt to ashes, helplessly. It was devastating.
Since last few years, it's just been the two men at home now. I have learned to cook and so has Tanmay. But he prefers washing the dishes as he doesn't want me to do that work. He is my only hope and the only reason to live for. He doesn't like me drinking, but he doesn't stop me too. He knows ... I know.
[looking at the television in anger] We were at Colaba, feet away from Leopold when this motherfucker blew it up. We ducked down hiding ourselves behind a street-side handcart. Tanmay peeped out from one side. Two guys had flung a couple of grenades into the restaurant and had now ran up the stairs into the restaurant firing rounds of bullets blindly. He turned to me and said 'Anna, they are killing people there. They've blown up the place. They are burning Mumbai Anna! Our Mumbai is burning! We need to help them.' My eyes were wide open with shock, terror and fright. I looked at Tanmay. His eyes had the same rage of a warrior, as I had back in 1992. I held his hand as tightly as I could. I could feel the warm blood rushing through his body. If I let him go now, I might not see him again, just as my other family members. I was weak now. I would not be able to take another ruthless blow from life.
My feet went numb and I was drenched in sweat. My arms started shaking as I held on to his arm and started crying. [a tear trickled down his face as he narrated] 'Let it burn son! Let it burn!'.
'Calm down uncle. Don't worry. Kasab will get a death sentence.' I said in a friendly voice to calm down this drunk man who I thought could have created a scene. He turned his head towards me and looked straight down my eyes, with an anger. That really gave me shrills for a second. Why did I take this on to me? I thought. 'And then what? Will Mumbai stop burning?' I took a while to understand the question. It seemed like a rhetoric, but this guy was waiting for a response. Besides, Mumbai was burning a year ago when Kasab massacred innocent people at the Taj Hotel and other areas in town. 'I am just saying ...' I was interrupted before I could finish. He got up and moved next to my friend on the opposite side of our table. For the next half an hour we were just the audience to a drunk man, with a heart full of pain, frustration and anger and a growing rage towards this city of dreams.
Mumbai has been burning for a while now kid. And it wasn't Kasab who started it. And it's not ending with his death sentence. Mumbai will continue to burn. You know why? Because we can't do anything about it. And even if you try, they will not allow you. [laughs sarcastically]
'Mumbai is burning! Nana, Mumbai is burning! And the Muslims are around the corner killing every Hindu they find. They are coming to kill people in our chawl!' My younger brother came running with this news after the 1992 blasts. I was quite young then, with warm blood running in my veins. I went down with many other young men from our chawl like soldiers on a mission to guard our families. It was the worst war of religions Mumbai had faced since 1947. We were around 25, each equipped with a hockey stick or a cricket bat. We stood by the gate of our chawl creating another wall. I could still feel the adrenalin when I think of that moment. Just then we heard screams from around the corner. We all stared down the road expecting the worst. And worst it was. A man tumbled and fell down near the corner. As he fell down, his head separated from his body and rolled down right in the center of the lane. My hands went numb. Suddenly the weapons in our hands, hockey sticks and cricket bats, seemed meager. We felt weak. Three of the guys ran away, while a couple of them went back in the chawl and came out with knives, hammers and spades. We were still weak in front of the swords. They killed six of us before the police arrived. But their lives did not go in vain. We managed to hold back the mob and keep our families safe. I lost mine though. My brother. He took the blow from the wildly swung sword of the leader of the mob, Abdul Qadir, brother of the then corporator. It slit his throat and the blood came out rushing like a tap left open. He could not scream and I could not help. Within moments his body went pale leaving him dead in the pool of his own blood.
Few days later, I filed a case against Abdul Qadir to get justice for my dead brother. Nothing happened. He was saved. You know by whom? A Hindu! A fucking Marathi Maanus! A minister who got the case closed for a few seats and Muslim votes that were assured to him by Abdul's brother. That's when I realized it wasn't a war of religions, it was a war for powers. Abdul is an MLA now. I feel like killing myself whenever I look at his posters by the road side.
I somehow managed to pull myself out from the dreary memories of those bloody events. I had two beautiful kids. Tanmay and Sakshi. Tanmay has grown into a man now, just like me when I was young, with warm blood. Sakshi [his voice sunk] she was an angel. Beautiful as her mother. She had just turned 18 that day when she went out for a party with her friends at Juhu. The girls were returning back home when they noticed a bunch of guys were harassing a girl in a secluded lane near the beach. The girl seemed from a rich family. Sakshi along with her friends walked into the lane keeping a safe distance from the scene so that if the guys made a move towards them they could run away. She screamed 'Hey! Leave her alone! I have called the police. Go away! Leave her!' What she didn't realize that a part of the gang was standing and entrance of the lane, from where she walked in, keeping a watch and looking out for trouble. They had moved in now blocking their way out. They started screaming out loudly and soon started crying. There were bystanders, and they did their job. By being just the fucking bystanders. Sakshi was brought home by the police, clothes torn and dried blood on her legs. All the girls were raped that night.
We filed a case against the guys, all the guys the girls could recognize. They were all sons of big-shots from Mumbai's richest lot. They all got bailed out. The cases were closed due to no evidence. You know who saved them? The girl who was being raped initially, who Sakshi and her friends tried to save. You know why? She was the daughter of another big-shot who totally put the case under covers without letting her daughter's name out in public. Like it never happened. As if his daughter was never raped. [snaps his fingers] It was that easy for him. But what about my daughter? Who would marry a raped girl from a middle-class family? This thought tortured and tormented my child every day after the incident until one day she decided to put an end to it. She walked down the same lane where she was raped, and she kept walking. She kept walking until she met the sea, which grabbed her into it's depth with a huge roaring wave.
The next day, my hands started shaking as I covered my child with logs of wood. It's not easy to light your loved ones on fire even when they are dead. I could not believe my family was halved in one day. We were four before, now we were just two. Yes, just two! My wife couldn't bare the shock of her daughter's death. She died of a massive heart attack as soon as the news was delivered to us by the police that our daughter's body was found by the shore. I couldn't believe half of my family was watching the other half being burnt to ashes, helplessly. It was devastating.
Since last few years, it's just been the two men at home now. I have learned to cook and so has Tanmay. But he prefers washing the dishes as he doesn't want me to do that work. He is my only hope and the only reason to live for. He doesn't like me drinking, but he doesn't stop me too. He knows ... I know.
[looking at the television in anger] We were at Colaba, feet away from Leopold when this motherfucker blew it up. We ducked down hiding ourselves behind a street-side handcart. Tanmay peeped out from one side. Two guys had flung a couple of grenades into the restaurant and had now ran up the stairs into the restaurant firing rounds of bullets blindly. He turned to me and said 'Anna, they are killing people there. They've blown up the place. They are burning Mumbai Anna! Our Mumbai is burning! We need to help them.' My eyes were wide open with shock, terror and fright. I looked at Tanmay. His eyes had the same rage of a warrior, as I had back in 1992. I held his hand as tightly as I could. I could feel the warm blood rushing through his body. If I let him go now, I might not see him again, just as my other family members. I was weak now. I would not be able to take another ruthless blow from life.
My feet went numb and I was drenched in sweat. My arms started shaking as I held on to his arm and started crying. [a tear trickled down his face as he narrated] 'Let it burn son! Let it burn!'.
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