One Year Later, Terror On Thanksgiving

We are in Panama city, Florida. It is thanksgiving weekend and we are on another one of our spontaneous vacations. There is holiday spirit all around us with Christmas break coming up, lights and decorations everywhere, cheerful faces all around. We are relaxing in our hotel room looking forward to jet skiing and swimming with the dolphins tomorrow.

I am channel surfing and stumble upon a CNN special by Fareed Zakaria entitled "Terror in Mumbai". We realize that it has been a year today since that terrifying night in Mumbai. As we watch, Mr. Zakaria resurrects that night with actual footage of the shootings, phone conversations between the terrorists and interviews with surviving victims and witnesses.

What I realize with equal shock and disbelief is that I was there that night, within miles of where the horror unraveled, and yet I am seeing everything for the very first time.I had arrived in Mumbai 2 weeks ago and we were getting married within a month. My husband, who was still in the US at that time had spent his entire thanksgiving weekend watching the live coverage of the incident. So none of what Mr. Zakaria is saying is news to him.

I can hear the pain and anger in Zakaria's voice. Mumbai is after all his city as well. It is my city too and we see it being ravaged and plunged into fear by a handful of ruthless gunmen. I don't know what I feel more - hate towards the coward terrorists, disgust at the lack of control by the police, deepest pity for the victims and their kin, or utter helplessness for myself. At the end of the one-hour program I am quiet. I have retreated within - lost, confused, trying to make sense of what I have just witnessed. My husband lets out angry words which is what I would have usually done as well.

The next day we go about our vacationing activities. But the images from the night before stay on. I keep seeing the face of the 12 year old muslim boy who had lost his entire family in front of his eyes and still maintaining his sanity, sadly questioned "what did my family ever do to the terrorists?". And the old gujarati mother who with tears in her eyes said "I put my son's head in my lap after he was shot, poured some water in his mouth and waited for him to say something, but he never did". And the babysitter shielding the 2 year old jewish boy who was harshly awaken by the sound of gunshots and walked to the living room to the dead bodies of his father and pregnant mother. And a young marathi father pointing to his 5 year old daughter and saying how she frequently tells him "look father - mother is smiling at us from within her photo on the wall". And the few brave soldiers who gave the ultimate sacrifice instead of running and hiding like so many others.

I feel helpless. I want to do something but don't even know what. If I could I would go up to that 12 year old boy and comfort him. If I could I would seek out that terror mastermind who directed the trained gunmen through a cell phone from within his safe haven in Pakistan and bring him in front of the surviving victims so they could do with him what they please.

But we forget - all of us. And we move on. For some reason that I don't comprehend, this is supposed to be better than lingering over something tragic. We complain about minor inconveniences and deadlines at work.

Phil Collins makes more sense now than ever before. It IS just another day for you and me in paradise.