Around 8p.m. on Saturday evening, twohours after the bomb blasts. Two hours after the text messages started floodingcell phones with warnings. "Bombs in crowded markets tonight, stay away."
On this bus, from New Delhi Railway Station to Noida, which would have passedPaharganj an hour or so after the blast, no one seems to have heeded thewarning. Almost everyone I can see is carrying Diwali gifts or sweets of somedescription.
No panic, no raised voices, the bus is as crowded as it usually is at this time.Some people stare out of the windows, some people talk on their cell phones.Some simply talk to the people around them.
"What a time they chose. Saturday evening, just before Diwali and Eid."
A man sitting across addresses his conversation to the bus at large, as oftenhappens when discussing cricket. No anger, no rancour. What sounds like a noteof weary admiration at the sheer cunning of it.
The radio is playing on as usual. Except that in the breaks between songs, thedeejay gives the mobile numbers of people to contact for O-positive blood.
In Noida the police get on for a check and get off. Rabbi Shergill plays on theradio. An apt requiem for terror. Or its victims.
Na main Arabi na Lahori
Na main Hindi shehr Nagauri
Na Hindu na Turk Pishauri…
On this bus, on this night, Delhi is a strong city, an unshakeable city, whichcan shrug off terror and get on with it. Tonight this city’s name is notderived from dheeli. (Dilli ki killi dhilli hai is the foundational mythof this city. The story involves Anangpal Tomar, the Sheshnag and the IronPillar; but the gist of it is that Delhi hukumat has always been a bit of apushover, falling to the first pyromaniac.)
Then I get to my sister’s place and watch TV. Watch the camera movementsjerking with terror, news reporters as headless chickens. On all the TVchannels. Rapid channel flicking turns to deep sorrow and anger. Dehli Dilli(Delhi shaken) goes the smart aleck pun on live TV. Delhi trembling with fear.That panicked city on the TV is not my city. That city exists only on the planetof ‘breaking news’.
The true heroes of this city were not just at the blast sites that day buteverywhere else as well. Everyone who took public transport after the Govindpuriincident became news. Everyone who went back to work or life or buying crackersfor Diwali. Everyone who made this city so different from London coming to astandstill after the blasts on July 7.
If only our news channels would visit this city, on this planet, occasionally.And sometimes board a bus...
This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, November 30,2005
