The Thursday

Some bombs blew up in some part of the town yesterday. Here I am en route to office today, fodder for evil, like a meek goat to the butcher. Realizing its a fight between death by starvation or by bomb is no comfort either. Which one will u have, Ma'am? Ah, bomb, excellent choice if I may say so. Our chef makes a brilliant version of it. A little IED here and lots of ingenuity. Do not worry though no one is going catch anybody in this town of millions.

The station's not as crowded as usual. Some wives have made their husbands stay at home and some husbands have asked their wives to rest at home. Remainder poke their heads one by one up the stairs on to the platform. No unattended bags here. They won't attack just the day after the previous attacks? They did blow up 3 consecutive bombs but still. We all will die one day won't we. Haha.

Too many new faces in the station today. All dressed for office. There is a guy in informal dress though. A red henna dyed beard. He looks shifty, wonder what's going on in his mind.

Trains are late and scarce today. A slow one creeps in slowly and is quickly occupied. The coach is full of people. That guy gets in too. Here begins the journey that might not end. Too many new faces in here. I am afraid. Having thought about it last night, I have concluded I am afraid of death. Afraid of dying. I do not wish to die. Held at the gun point I would be the one grovelling and begging for mercy. Whenever I think of myself in a blast, I prefer being the one who just survived.

Second station arrives and I am pretty sure now I do not want to die. Kill them instead. Kill those nameless faceless entities that I can forget within minutes. I try to push to the center. Let the others act as shield for me when it goes off. Let them cushion the effects of the explosion.I do not want to be a statisticians delight, a number. I do not want to be the dead body that increases the death count to 20. No one likes the dead. I do not like them. I sometimes have this nightmare where i am buried alive in a coffin. The curse of not dying. The train does eventually get crowded. People pushing against me. Which push will trigger the bomb? I try not to touch anyone. A Herculean task in this over crowded city.

Third station and by now there are so many people in here. So many faces to be figured out. Which one is from SIMI and which from ISI? Is that bearded guy from LeT? I scan for bags big enough to carry a bomb. There a suitcase on the carrier. It could carry a bomb. I stare at it and the people near it. A man stands up, fidgets with it and sits back down. Ah, if that suitcase blows up and I survive I could give a sketch of the terrorist. Strange he does not look like a Muslim though. Maybe he is. You never know. Unlike usually, breathing does not come naturally now. I make an effort, for how much longer i have no clue.

Here cometh, Kurla. The land of the leftovers. The crowd goes berserk. Everyone gets down. Everyone gets in. You know whats wrong with this country. Muslims. Why didn't they all go to Pakistan? Wasn't that the logic behind partition anyways? I am afraid of bearded people now. And the skull cap. Which one will blow up, I wait? I don't want to die. I have Muslim colleagues, mind you. I fear I couldn't vouch for them either now. You never know with these people. There's a hidden evil in each and everyone of them,. Blowing up like crackers at random places. I wonder what do they think. When they blow up will it matter i like Urdu and read Urdu poetry? What about having read so many books? Does that count? Ah, what's the point to it. There is none.

Fifth station and I no longer care what they think. I don't wish to know their demands. Take all that you want. Let me live. The person next to me is gazing around, maybe he is checking out his victims. Making sure his death is worthy of at least some condolence from the American president. There's an eerie silence today. No one seems to be smiling or chatting. No one mentions the previous nights events. As if the mere mention of it will cause it to re-occur. I do not talk either. What if it does? I do not wish to know. I do not wish to travel but I am too afraid to be afraid. It will become normal, I placate myself. The narrator never dies, I should narrate something.

At the sixth station a man just jumped from our coach on the platform. People stared. A lot was left unsaid. Did he leave something? A furtive glance roamed over the luggage area. A questioning look on every suspicious bag. I wonder what does that thin man standing at the door do after his office hours? Prime minister asked us to be calm. What was anyone going to do anyways? Will the bombers listen to his request? I do not wish to blame anyone. I have had friends from every community. I realize chemicals do not understand religion. Let the dormant fears and prejudices lay where they belong, in the deep crevices of my heart. Let them lay still until I need someone to blame for situations where I myself am powerless. Do not just end my existence. Do not let the sole reason for my death be my fate. I never realized I would get this afraid. I always thought I wouldn't care. Maybe one does when his own life is at stake. The train approaches the last station, my destination.

Dear CST, majestic and humble. Huge but not as vulgar as the Delhi station. There's something calm about it today. Some platforms lay barren. A circus no one attends. 8 policemen on one platform some sitting, some strolling. What is a man supposed to do in times like these? I walk on to my office.