A long time ago,in a city....

I got up today.Dressed for college,cursed the college time table and got out of the house.I spend a regular day,trivial occurrences interwoven with mundane circumstances;pointless conversations concocted with petty tricks,emotions not quite genuine getting lost with mirthless smiles.
It was only on my way back,wallowing in self pity,that I chanced a glance at my watch and realized it to be the 11th of July,or the watch proclaimed,the infamous "7/11".It was on this day,two years ago,that Mumbai was ripped apart by seven horrendous blasts that changed the socio-political scenario of the nation forever.Though I never have lived in Bombay and in general have a very limited idea concerning the outline of the city or its people,than what Bollywood and its closest living relative,the news media affords us to have,I had and still have a considerable number of friends and people I love who reside in "the city of dreams".

I returned home and turned on the television.C.B.I''s magnificent success in an open and shut case after months of mud splashing and shadowy speculation in the media seemed to have caught the nation's imagination,gripped its psyche.People seemed ill-disposed to recall something so profoundly and evidently painful on a day of such revelling glory.A single news channel dared to air a story about a person who has been in a perpetual state of injury induced coma since the black day.Of course he was poor,he had no money to pay for his treatment hereafter and had,in short,no right to live.The channel promptly relegated the piece to the back benches.Not for him, the magnanimity of the nation witnessed in the outpouring of grief or the flooding of relief money.There was no resilient spirit that would help him stand back on his feet again.

"One of the nation's worst human tragedies,with over 200 people killed,The Mumbai massacre ranks internationally as one of the most gruesome acts of crime ever..."screamed one reporter stationed to cover the condolence meetings.I sincerely wish she meant the empathy,absent from her voice.A meeting "to remember the martyrs " culminated with the principal speaker concluding that "the central government was a complete failure and the Samajwadi Party was being opportunistic."He stood beside a lady who had lost her son and husband,both wage labourers,as he waxed eloquent how the government had no moral right to continue.

It is easy for me to don the critical eye.It is even convenient.After all,I was,in no way,affected me,snug as I was in front of the television,both then and now.No Concern of mine emanated from a genuine exigency,just plain curiosity and outrage.But it is indeed depressing that things haven't looked up for those whose lives were truly affected by the blasts.Who lost everything they had or perhaps still have a crippled brother at home,all to a unnamed Jehad,a war they were never a part of.Sadder still,perhaps,is the fact they look up towards us,the society,the people unscathed,rich,Outwardly sympathetic with hope in their eyes.Perhaps they think all the soundbite does mean something.perhaps the next C.M. visit might yield a hospital bed for their father.Or Barkha Dutt's riveting commentary might mean something other than a dozen mikes poking into their faces.
They hope that their tragedy will mean something else than general knowledge question in the years to come;a benchmark for future genocides.They hope that they will somehow get a slice of the amazing spirit of the "city that never stops".Maybe they hope us,people who see them but don't notice to sit up today and think.The sad thing is that it seems they are hoping in vain.