Gory but Surreal nevertheless!

Follow us:WhatsappFacebookTwitterTelegram.cls-1{fill:#4d4d4d;}.cls-2{fill:#fff;}Google NewsWe are all destined to be somewhere, sometime to do something ... so i believe. Why? Its the logic of the seamless interweaving of the time and space fabric...the logic of the incomprehensible fourth dimension...

18:27 pm and i was briskly making my way to the platform no.2 at Mahim junction...headed for Bombay hospital to fix a crick in the neck...greeted with 2 curious burps ...loud enough to drown out any other sound...gastronomical or otherwise. burps that swallowed a city whole....as it build from 2 to 7 ...in 11 minutes it had eaten into the gathering reserve that Mumbai had built over 13 trying years...

and all that fat slob of jehad could emit after that meal was a noisy belch... the platter it had polished off left a lot of leftovers for the mangy dogs... blood, smatterings of blood...flesh ripped out of life... vacant stares ... bewildered on dead/dying faces.... man and material both lay inanimate, lining Mahim Junction in a gory celebration of a terrorific war of ideology....whose war? whose ideology... curious. Investigations are on they say.

An eyewitness account ... a TV channels messiah... a TRP boomer machine... the eyewitness's nightmare.
And the eye has very little to do with it. the body copes somehow...the physical blow of a blast is something no channel...no eyeball... can ever capture...its a pushing in of skin that is indescribable in words. Its stunning in its grim silent finale. And for so many of us at mahim on 7/11, that sound will ricochet along the corridors of our eardrums, beating an ominous rhythm for sometime at least.

The pandemonium is predictably calculated...indian in its bearings and very slow in its buildup...right to its followthrough when the grieving men who walk the political corridors do their anaesthetic rounds.... and we the watchdogs chase and bark from time to time...sniffing.

I am a 1st class local commuter... i usually line the doors of that very compartment that was split wide open like a banana peel that evening. i am back to doing my routine...and the change is screaming out loud. We are all shaken up. Badly. Not a whisper... every soul is looking out of the compartment window...compartmentalising their new found lives into the pre and post - 7/11... a hush up job that is like a secret pact of the KKK.

This city is too old to be ravaged so often. This isnt a pity plea...but its heritage. Its ancestral... its like the home you have back in the interiors of your native town which your forefathers built for tradition and the future that never lived in it... but we live in this ricketty crumbling mammoth... this chance created chance erected ...

From pebble crunchers to pebble eaters this city is a surreal picture of that invisible ink that smears gravy thick all along its walls shouting out abuses at its invaders.
This city needs a miracle...and revenge.
first published:July 20, 2006, 09:14 ISTlast updated:July 20, 2006, 09:14 IST
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