Showing posts with label Terror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terror. Show all posts

January 1, 2015

Exchange


I'd walk with you to the gallows
in sunshine or rain,
If you could exchange your sorrows
for love and rid pain.

I'd walk with you to the cliff

braving storms and waves,
If you could exchange your past
and rewrite it again.


I'd walk with you through fire,

or on burning coal and nails
If you could exchange your scars
and paint your life again.

I'd walk with you to die,

just to add one more moment,
If you could exchange your death,
and live once again....




Gyanban Thoughts : This new year,I start by dedicating a few lines to those departed,those broken hearts and endless tears of lost lives and relentless pain.If we could just turn back time once and save so many lives....#Peshawar,#Malysia airlines,Air Asia,Terror attacks and many more.... 

April 18, 2010

Vestige


'All we see of someone at any moment is a snapshot of their life, there in riches or poverty, in joy or despair. Snapshots don't show the million decisions that led to that moment'.....'Of course there’s destiny, but destiny doesn’t push you where you don’t want to go. You’re the ones who choose. Destiny is up to you.....'


Richard Bach couldn’t hold Maya’s attention on his bestseller ~ "One"...and Maya looked up.


A broad forehead, short crew-cut hair, sharp nose ,deep dreamy caramel colored eyes, an even green stubble, thin long fingers, taping gently on the chin, that was Gaurav Mishra…looking intensely into the deep doe eyes, the cute small blunt nose, small forehead ,peaking nape, shoulder length layered locks, and strawberry moist lips.


The class of ‘99 ‘s top two graduates, from the prestigious Indian Institute of Mass Communication, Gaurav Mishra and Maya Menon went on to join Times of India together. Their friendship and respect kept growing even when Gaurav joined rivals The Statesman, or The Indian Express.


Over the years they had kept in touch over letters, ‘snail mail’ as Gaurav would call it. But that was his way of saying ‘I like you enough to take the effort to pen a letter rather than type one out’. ‘Typewriters of keyboards could never convey that.’ Gaurav thought as he posted the beige envelop.


Garuav was back in Mumbai, with a new job, this time with Reuters. Money was good and the assignment exciting. His research work with IDSA had helped him bag this job – needless to say, he was super excited, and who else could he share this with other than Maya.?


As he closed the red velvet box,he thought ‘what would Maya’s reaction be when she see’s the ring?’


A Hectic schedule, meeting deadlines and a slight fever, did not permit him to think much further or send the customary beige envelop to Maya before he arrived in Mumbai. So once aircraft door unlatched, he flipped open his mobile resorted to a text message…


‘meet me at the café after cancer…and before virgo…after 8 and before 10 !’ Gaurav keyed in trying to sound cryptic.


Maya’s eyes lit up the moment she saw the message on her mobile, and she knew exactly what he meant. She had written about her favorite café in almost every letter to Gaurav. After all, that was her best company after office. Always welcomed her with open arms, served great food, and all the old waiters knew that Maya did not like salt in her scrambled egg.!


That Wednesday night she went to her favorite café a little early, just to make sure, she finished the book before

Gaurav came, she got a cozy place to sit and was reading the final chapter of Richard Bach’s bestseller ‘One’.

‘wow someone’s wearing Elizabeth Arden’ -a deep baritone resonated in her ears.

‘and you seem to have graduated from Polo green’ Maya retorted.

‘ah- so you remember – hmm true – this is Bvlgari –Aqva’

‘good it’s nice’ said Maya gently inhaling the fragrance.

‘well what brings you here Mr.hot shot expert?’ Maya continued.

‘Well someone at Reuters thought I do a pretty good job,and could do something even better here in Mumbai’ Gaurav spoke with humility.

‘No way.Tell me you re kidding? Reuters offered you a job in Mumbai ?’ Maya’s eyes twinkled.

‘I am not kidding you, looks like we are going to meet a bit more often than before.’ Gaurav said reclining back into his chair.

‘So it seems.’Maya said suddenly sounding a bit serious.



Well congratulations Gaurav - you know , you and I have always competed professionally, and I have always respected you for the integrity that you bring to your work…I haven’t done too bad for myself either, but I always knew you were meant for something bigger.’ Maya said reclining back to her chair.


Their eyes met each other with warmth, respect and expectancy.


Gaurav slid his hands in his right pocket to feel the velvet box again.

‘will you meet me again? Gaurav inclined.

‘again ? as in tomorrow? But we have just met’ Maya said sounding surprised.


‘Shhhhhh’ Gaurav interrupted her with an extended index finger and placed it on her lips.

‘I mean can we keep on meeting?... for rest of our lives.?’ Gaurav looked intensely into Maya’s eyes.



There must ve been 200 people in the café, but they could only hear their own heartbeats. The world around them had blurred, the sound muffled and their eyes locked. Gaurav took out the velvet box and kept in on the table.




The next moment, his table was smashed and the diner was flung aside. It seemed like a blast and something hit him hard on the back. Panicked ,Gaurav tried to run without looking ,he bumped into bodies falling, and blood splattering everywhere. He fell down, as the first bullet hit him on the back.
Café Leo was gripped in fear, fatality and frenzy.


It was followed by a blast…or so he thought. As the mayhem continued, Gaurav regained some of his senses and scampered to the nearest exit.On his way out another stray bullet lodged in his right arm. Shrapnels tore in to his skin. He kept dragging his feet trying to get out on to the main road, he touched the wound and found it was bleeding profusely. He had to act quickly.


Gaurav screamed ‘Help me, help me please.’ In fear and desperation.
But no one came forward. His legs felt heavier, the world around him was spinning, and a shooting pain ran through his body. He tried to drag himself ahead, but he was losing the battle to bleeding and consciousness.
As he lay there semi conscious he suddenly felt being dragged by someone. He was not in a position to resist or react.


The next thing he heard was a screeching car stopping just close to him, people screaming –
‘he’s been shot - take him to JJ hospital quick.’
Gaurav could still hear the gunfire in the street and the stranger in the cab seemed to say there was some sort of gang war going on. ..and that’s when it hit him.


What happened to Maya?
He tried to scream her name, and gesture the car driver to stop..but too much blood had been drained, and he lost consciousness.When he woke up next, he was in the hospital.

The doctors at the hospital were reluctant to admit Gaurav,he had no identity - his proof of existence was lost in the chaos that ensued in the shootout.
'A criminal case' one doctor opined, 'needs to be registered first'.
The last bit of life was pushing hard to get out of Gaurav's body.
Just then the news about Mumbai attacks was aired on the TV installed in the lobby.

No more questions were asked.


Though It happened on November 26th, it wasn’t until 2nd December that Gaurav was in his senses again. He had been in a coma like situation for the last 6 days. Completely disconnected with the outside world.
Newspapers, headlines, and news channels screamed - 170 people died in Mumbai terror attack. Somewhere in the clippings he saw Café Leo massacre - 120 injured and 30 dead. Some unidentified bodies were being taken for cremation.

The authorities had already prepared the list of the dead and were flashing it on TV ~ Gaurav Mishra,29,Reuters correspondent,Kate Zimmerick,27,Rehman Hussain,33,.....

Luckily,Gaurav’s bureau chief had found him out, the stranger that brought him to the hospital,had the presence of mind to dial the last number from his mobile...


Back in the hospital dormitory,Gaurav tried desperately to call Maya…as the phone kept ringing…his heart sank. Realizing the inevitability he made desperate attempts to The TOI office – but no one had heard anything from her. Gaurav was feeling choked.He couldn’t save her life. Being selfless under pressure was a tough thing to do.It was becoming increasingly clear to him that Maya had been a casualty of the attack and her body was probably not identified before being cremated.

It was painful in the first few weeks, but Gaurav’s new colleagues gave him immense mental support and urged him back to work.


A few days later, about 60 kms away in Thane Regional Mental Hospital,a group of trauma patients sat together staring blankly at the walls, the ceiling and sometimes themselves. Some laughed,some cried and one even read a book - One - by Richard Bach and the beige envelope as a bookmark on page 26,which had a TOI news paper clipping –
‘Gaurav Mishra’- Reuters correspondent found dead in Café Leo attack, identified by his newly issued identity card found near the attack site’.


"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly." - Richard Bach











Gyanban Thoughts –

  • This story is inspired by a true incident.
  • You might want to read 936 Words.
  • Vestige means a mark, trace, or visible evidence of something that is no longer present or in existence.
  • Sourav Mishra was one of the first victims at Café Leopold shootout.
  • IDSA stands for Institute of Defense and Strategic Analyses.
  • Sourav Mishra is a bio-terrorism expert.
  • He was shot in the back and proclaimed dead by authorities.
  • His name was featured in the first list of casualties at Leopold Café.
  • He survived the bullet injuries and lived to tell his story.
  • The stranger who took him to the hospital was a tea stall owner nearby.
  • Maya's character sketch had some references from the Amy Bishop case.
  • Richard Bach in his famous book ‘One’ talks about parallel existence.
  • Illusions - the Reluctant Messiah is a must read as well.

Call it disaster tourism if you will, I clicked this photo of Leopold Cafe, on my recent visit. It was one of our hangouts after work, a decade ago. I sat in the coffee table and visualized the entire episode of 26/11.It still gave me a jolt.the walls were still screaming, the table still weeping,and the empty chair still accommodating yet another stranger...who would come along some day and cry with them,feeling the pain of the innocent lives lost...and so many lives traumatized for life...yet the spirit floats,and sometimes.... hangs around those bulleted walls.

November 27, 2009

26 mixed feelings...


Mixed are the emotions that arise,
Mixed are the arguments that rise.
Mixed are the thoughts that summarize
Mixed are the lives that survive..

Mixed are the pains that remain,
Mixed are the hearts that drain,
Mixed are the blessings that people get,
Mixed are the redemption's that await.

Mixed are the roads that some take,
Mixed are the stops that some make,
Mixed are the forks that coincide,
Mixed are the paths that decide,


Mixed are the beliefs that question
Mixed are the question that notion
Mixed are the answers that define,
Mixed are the fates that fight the crime.

Mixed are the innocents that reside,
Mixed are the residents that hide
Mixed are the races that help
Mixed are the faces that whelp.

Mixed are the loved ones that remain
Mixed are the corpses that lay strewn
Mixed are the tears that dry
Mixed are the fears that cry

Mixed are the dates that bring terror
but same is the blood that spills,now and forever...

November 5, 2009

936 words










It is a regular Wednesday evening, workday was as usual,the rocking motion of the bus quite usual, the weather usual .6 people start their journey back home.Their middle-class lives did not permit them to have a private means of transport.Over the years some of them really didn't mind it.

Bijoy,an enterprising young man, a misfit with his sitting -on-the-rock-smoking friends,had packed his bags on his uncles confidence in him,and came to the dream city to make it big.His job in a startup was not a high paying one,and as the bus neared the railway station he thought "beggars are not choosers".

Harnam hated the fact that his father wanted him to take over the Tyre dealership.He wanted to sing.Sing to the world and hypnotize,mesmerize them with his golden voice.Tomorrow would be his big day afterall he was shortlisted earlier today for the next round of auditions in a reality show on TV. Maybe this was it.One more round and he would be on live shows...he slipped into a make believe world as the train approached the final destination.

Aalia was rather reluctant to wear the hijab,not that her parents insisted,but thought it would be more appropriate in the society they lived in.She was secretly doubling up as a junior artiste to break free from the endless middle-class mentality.She needed that one break alongside a top heroine,maybe as her sister if she was lucky.Her rickshaw jerked to stop and so did her thoughts about tomorrow.Ronald was waiting just at the right spot.A struggling assistant director, quiet boy from the same colony as Aaliya,they’d bumped into each other in a studio a few weeks back...Since then,they shared their dreams, pains & fantasies of how they’d make it out of their hell hole into the big world of glitz and glamour.They'd found hope.

Anahita had just broken off with her boyfriend & the first thing that came to her mind was Vodka Martini..her faithful old companion,who stood by her always.The ambience of the bar added to her nostalgia. As she remembered the previous 3 occasions.But her real dream was to be high up in the skies.Being an Air hostess would mean an end to her boring mundane regular life.

Tahir had joined a progressive political party earlier in the day.Representing the minority in true spirit,not war mongering, no unnecessary drama, no bias.He had found a mentor and was happy he could now contribute to the country he had benefited from all these years.He was walking past a popular bar,barely able hide his grin and excitement about his new found sense of direction.He couldn't wait to reach home and share it with his father,who had sacrificed his leg in the line of duty for his country.And then it happened.

Bijoy looked up at the big round clock - 9.33PM, the fast local would arrive in about 3 mins.The wait seemed long and tiring as he realised he would be exactly at the same location in less than 15 hours.Feeling thirsty he went to a nearby juice stall.The train was rolling to a slow stop,as Harnam alighted from the running train.The station was packed and crowd ready to barge in like a tidal wave.On his way out he bumped into a man drinking juice nearby.It spilled on to him, surprisingly both did not react.They looked into each other’s eyes,something quite inexplicable connected them.They were about to find out.

Chivalry was expensive for Ronald.But he payed the rickshaw fare for Aaliya inspite of her protests.They headed to platform 1.The train taking them back to their hell –hole had but a 2 hour of peace in between.It was their dream –run. Aaliya said “let us check our fortune today.”The one rupee coin went in the clunky weight reading machine,and out came a ticket which read 57kgs to her delight.Below it- the future prediction – This is your time.Live every moment,tomorrow will bring a new perspective.Aaliya crossed her fingers and gave a small tug at Ronalds hand showing him the ticket.

Anahita still felt low even after a couple of drinks.She decided to go back home..but just as she was about to get up the bartender offered his regular customer one on the house..She thought one more drink and I’ll go back home,sleep it off, and tomorrow will be a new day. This will not be so difficult.Hang in there.! Little did she know what a few minutes could do to her future. Finishing her drink she started to walk out of the door,she saw a young man walking with a strange look in his eyes,talking to himself.Their eyes met,and her heart skipped a beat immediately...Anahita was transfixed at Tahir as the moonlight fell on his face.Something told her he is the man.This is it.

Just then two men,who were waiting in the dark watching, alighted from the parked taxi.Tahir turned his head to see guns in their hands,his instinct made him jump in front of Anahita to push her away.They opened fire.The explosion of bullets into her beautiful starry eyes preceded her fall to the ground.Tahir’s blood spurted on Anahita’s forehead when another bullet pierced his temple.

Aaliya and Ronald heard gunshots and people started panicking.It was chaos.Her heart beating fast ,mind confused, made it difficult to decide which way to go.Ronald screamed at her to shake her up from her stupor."Run"he said pointing towards the waiting train compartment.The bullets chased them from behind.Aaliya collapsed near a juice stall before reaching the safety of the compartment.Bijoy was shot in the back, Harnam’s body was punctured, he lay there still,did not react at the sight of blood and a dead woman in his arms..Ronald fell down seeing the big clock strike 9.36PM.

On 26/11 B. H. A. R. A.T. had died.




Gyanban thoughts - this post is dedicated to the departed...

it is a request to them...
to stop this mayhem...
what will you gain...
with so many lives lost in vain...
don't redefine the creator...
make Him look like a destroyer...
He is there for you and me...
If only you would see...
He would not have wanted this...
Flowing blood can never get bliss...
You too are loved by Him...
Open your eyes and close your whim...
Stop yourself from another sin...


July 7, 1997

Port of Mystery

Will you take me away to a far off land,
gently walk on pebbles ,dews or sand,
where the flowing river touches your feet,
where the blowing wind whispers sweet,

Will you show me the way,
to swing dance and sway,
Will you walk with me to sunset,


to the land of mystery
where there is death only of misery,
where no unborn is slaughtered,
where no soul one is murdered,
where there are no smoking guns,
where innocence is not on the run,
where no danger lurks in the dark,
where no terror awaits you in the park...

is there such a port in history ?
or is this the port of mystery ?



Sands of time

The scorching sun follows me Hot dunes burn my feet I know you are waiting for me As I leave the last oasis. A grain of sand tears my skin T...