It was around 1.30 PM, Wednesday, November 26 that the first email alerts of the terrorist attacks in Bombay (Mumbai) began flashing on my computer screen. I was at one of my favorite Upper Valley coffee spots-Crow’s Corner Bakery and Cafe in Proctorsville, Vermont-working on my next book, a book of memoirs; as luck would have it I had just finished the chapter on Bombay, where I was born, when the attacks began. That made for a truly surreal experience. I watched my computer screen in shocked silence as the gruesome story developed.
Gunmen attack one of the cities iconic landmarks, the Taj Mahal Hotel. The Taj is a gorgeous Victorian building that overlooks the Arabian Sea. So the story goes, it was founded over a century ago in a bout of anger by Mr. Jamsetji Tata, founder of one of India’s great business conglomerates, when he was denied admission to Watsons, a “whites-only” establishment. Next door is the Royal Bombay Yacht Club, yes it still uses “Royal” in its name, by choice, 60 years after India fought for and won its Independence from England. My wife Deborah and I have had many a lazy lunch there in the gloriously sited Sea Lounge where window seats overlook the entire harbor and immaculately clad bearers (never waiters) in white tunics with red shashes serve on gleaming silver platters. Now people are getting killed where we sat and watched Bombay’s unending parade of humanity go by.
Hostages taken at the Oberoi Trident Hotel. This hotel is at the tip of Marine Drive, a two mile long curve of land that follows the arc of the Arabian Sea here; the Drive begins almost where my parent’s apartment used to be and along it are some of Bombay’s choicest apartment buildings. The Oberoi i
s situated at the end of the curved drive. During our frequent visits to Bombay, my wife and I jogged all the way to the Oberoi where we ended our run with fresh coconuts, cut open for us by a coconut vendor who sat on the walkway along the hotel. Nobody ever thought about terrorism just a few short years ago, when Deborah and I were last there. Bombay was as it has always been, sunny, warm, bustling, and virtually a New York on the Arabian Sea-all deal making and rags to riches; outward looking, cosmopolitan. Other places in India may look inward, but Bombay never has since it came into its own as a center of the global trade now four centuries ago.
Shots fired at the Victoria Terminus train station. Another famous Victorian edifice of Bombay. Built in 1878 during the height of the British Raj, it is about a mile from the Taj Mahal Hotel. British military units would land near the Taj, get into formation and march up to the VT-as the station has forever been known-to go “up country” or to the “moffusil” as the English called the rest of India outside Bombay. A million commuters come through VT every day. It is always packed. Multiply Grand Central Terminal in New York at rush hour by 50 and you might get close to visualizing the crowd of people walking through VT. The idea of terrorists loose in its vast gothic inside with assault rifles and grenades is mind numbing and the stuff of horror movies.
Reports of gunshot injuries at the Metro Cinema. The Metro cinema is less than a mile from VT, and is around the corner from St. Xavier’s High School where I studied. During my student days theatres in Bombay were exclusive to a distributor, the Metro was the place to go for MGM films. I remember seeing Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward in The Long Hot Summer there in the late fifties.
Taxi blown up on causeway to airport. This explosion would have been around fifteen miles from the Oberoi. Bombay
’s Santa Cruz airport is almost at the northern fringes of the city. Flights from the West usually land in Bombay in the middle of the night. This causeway separates the huts and campfires of the destitute that ring the airport from the beginnings of urban Bombay. So the terrorists were determined to create panic throughout the great city.
Terrorists in rubber boats, grenades, hijacked police cars shooting at civilians, American and British citizens being hunted down in the hotels, Army and Navy commandos and snipers shooting into luxury hotels, panic in the teeming city of 17 million. Incredibly, almost 20 hours after it began hostages still being held at the Oberoi. A wonderful, vibrant, ancient city has been turned on its head. My closest friend from boyhood days writes: “Terrible times. Glad we have only fifty years to go,” referring to our expected lifetimes.
It will be a sober Thanksgiving today as we join friends in Reading, Vermont.
We will think of other friends across the world that are not carving turkeys, but ducking bullets, burying the dead, and lamenting a Bombay that has slinked away at the blink of an eye.