I am ...

I waited for the signal to turn green. The traffic was progressing at a slow pace but I was less than a kilometre away from my destination. I looked at the horde of people crossing the street and wondered what must be going on in their minds. This place was always teeming with people. When I was here last month and again last week, the crowd seemed to reflect the nearby sea. Seething and pulsating … never calm. The honks suggest that we are ready to move. I think it is going to take me more than 10 minutes to cross these final 200 yards. This humid climate is making me sweat all the more. I place a call from my mobile making sure there is no traffic cop around. As I speak into it, I see an Astra pull out from the kerb. I immediately slide into the space. I check to make sure that it being an odd date, I am on the correct side of the street. I certainly cannot afford for the car to be towed away. I get out, lock the car and walk quickly ahead. I open the passenger door of the Astra, get in and it drives away. I place another call from my mobile and confirm that my work for the day is done. I am ... one of the many sleepers, who wait to be called out when it is our turn to contribute to the cause. ______________________ I got the third call just a few minutes ago. The cars were in place. All I had to do now was to wait to get the green signal from the big boss. The moment will be anytime now. The past few weeks of hectic activity … surveying the sites, choosing the right sleepers, co-ordinating the loading of the materials. It has been pretty stressful and unnerving. I can't say that I am not worried during the final moments. Anything can go wrong at the last moment. Keeping an operation like this under wraps is never easy and there can be a whistleblower, who can leak information to the police. I am keeping my fingers crossed that the precautions we have taken stand us in good measure. It is close to 7 and as expected my mobile rings. I pick up to hear a single word being spoken from it. I make my way to the box on the corner table and open it to reveal three devices. I pick them up one at a time and press the buttons. I replace them in the box, go to the bar and pour myself a stiff drink. That's the only thing that can calm my nerves now. I gulp it down in one go, sit down on the sofa and switch on the TV. All I can do now is to wait and watch for the news to roll in. I am … a terror lieutenant and I have just wrecked havoc on this city. ______________________ While the call got me to swing into action and join my fellow officers in the squad vehicle, my mind went numb. Yet another attack meant to cripple this city. Three blasts detonated at three of the busiest market places … obviously meant to cause maximum damage. I have been part of the squad for five years now and till date, a red alert always make me wish that it is not a post-operative call … and thrice my fears have been confirmed. We reach Dadar and are waved in through the barricades. The mayhem is never different. The carnage does not have a different face … just a different place and different victims. I don my gloves, switch on my equipment and get to work. I am … an explosives expert in the ATS. I am great at my job … but I wish that there comes a time when the squad does not have a need to exist. ______________________ I watch the news unfold on television. The news presenters are recounting the horror, rattling off the number of fatalities and casualties. The grim news is being looked at in shock by my entire family. My wife is sobbing as memories of 1994 come flooding into her mind, I can guess. I cannot see any more and get up to retire to my study at the far end of the house. I close the door and make sure it is locked from the inside. I open the bottle of my much prized single malt and pour a large peg over some ice cubes. I sit on my lounge chair and take a lesiurely sip. Am I drinking in grief? No … it is a toast to my victory. I pick up my mobile and make a call. “It is done. Wait for a few weeks and then go for the kill.” I listen in silence as my assistant reconfirms the details. I hang up and say “Cheerssss” to myself. I am … one of the topmost real estate developers of this city and the habit of making millions has left no trace of anything called as a guilty conscience in me. ______________________ Chaos reigns supreme at party headquarters. The floors below are buzzing with frantic activity. But I am in the strategy room on the topmost floor, with Sir and his two political advisors. Sir is calm, while he looks at the muted television. The advisors run through various ideas but there is no opinion forthcoming from Sir. Having known him for so long, I am sure his sharp mind is toying with a multitude of ideas, analysing every aspect of the circumstance to come to a final decision. I watch as he pulls off his spectacles, exhales a breath of air on the lenses, wipes them with his handkerchief and puts them back on. As he looks at me, I know that the decision is made. “No … not the religion angle this time. We have too many leaders from the community and we cannot afford to displease them.” “But Sir ...” “Target the migrants … bring out the statistics over the past few months. Cook up a story. Make this a migrant issue. Release some statements to the press immediately and make sure this gets flashed on the news channel in the next few minutes.” The strategy is outlined in the next five minutes and we all leave to execute Sir's commands. Do I agree with Sir's decision? I do not have a choice. I am … the right hand man of an extremist political leader. I am trained to follow instructions, irrespective of whether I agree with them or not. ______________________ When I left my house today morning, the only thing on my mind, as is every morning, is to make sure I catch the 07:42 local train. My life is a schedule of clockwork I have to abide by. I run according to my watch in this fast paced city. I have a specific bus to catch, a specific train to get into, I take my lunch at a specific time for a specific period, I leave office at a scheduled time, I catch a specific train back home. If I miss any of this, my schedule goes for a toss. I live to work and I work to live in this city of dreams. Every time there is an attack on it, my schedule does get hampered. But ... only for that day. The next day I am back to my work and back to my schedule. Can I afford to sit at home worrying about what might happen tomorrow? No. I have to step out of the house because I have a family to feed. They call it resilience ... I call it need. I am ... the common man. I am vigilant. I am resilient. And today I am lying mangled and dead ... a victim of the blast ... a victim of my need. ______________________ I am the one who is often heralded by many beautiful appellations. I am the City of Dreams. I am welcoming. I am all absorbing. I am cosmopolitan. I am forever awake. I am a throbbing, pulsating being that is full of life. A life that is made of everything that defines me ... the people, the sea, the roads, the trains, the gardens, the highrises, the affluentia ... the slums, the grime, the chawls, the mills, the bourgeoisie. I stand tall ... I stand proud. Despite the crippling attacks that are inflicted on me time and time again by the miscreants. I weep for the children that I have lost. I weep for the heritage that has been marred. I bear the scars of torture and I shall bear them forever. I imbue the spirit of the Mumbaikar. I often wonder whether it is resilience or apathy and hope that it is the former. I know that I will have to smile through my tears. I will have to move on ... and wait until it happens again. I wish for it to stop. I wish for a peaceful future for my children. I am ... MUMBAI. And I hope that my dream does not remain a just a futile attempt at wishful thinking.

TUSHAR PAI