Typical Human Spirit - die, cry, shout and then move on!

Its been sometime now that the Mumbai terror attacks took place. The smoke from the Taj has settled, the debris cleared, the news channels have returned to their regular news along with numerous commercial breaks and the candle lighting has come to a stand still. People have resumed their regular life, even in Mumbai and the outcry from public is rare now.

The few who had decided not to let the steam fizzle, not to let the anger die are being questioned as to why cant they move on with their lives, like every one else has. Maybe people should move on, maybe they shouldn't. I have no real opinion on this but when I read sporadic excerpts from the survivors from that fateful night, I ask myself, can we except them to forget? And if they can't, why should we?

Here is a spine chilling narration from Michael Pollack, general partner of Glenhill Capital. Read this and decide for yourselves if we really can allow ourselves to be so passive that even something like is so soon forgotten.

My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in a world-class hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freed us. My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express my gratitude and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai, who sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They,along with the Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this tragedy.

My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, thecouple with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma, both Bombay girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away there and at the Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target.

The four of us arrived at the Taj around 9:30 p.m. for dinner at the Golden Dragon, one of the better Chinese restaurants in Mumbai. We were a little early, and our table wasn't ready. So we walked next door to the Harbour Bar and had barely begun to enjoy our beers when the host told us our table was ready. We decided to stay and finish our drinks.

Thirty seconds later, we heard what sounded like a heavy tray smashing to the ground. This was followed by 20 or 30 similar sounds and then absolute silence. We crouched behind a table just feet away from what we now knew were gunmen. Terrorists had stormed the lobby and were firing indiscriminately.

We tried to break the glass window in front of us with a chair, but it wouldn't budge. The Harbour Bar's hostess, who had remained at her post, motioned to us that it was safe to make a run for the stairwell. She mentioned, in passing, that there was a dead body right outside in the corridor. We believe this courageous woman was murdered after we ran away.

(We later learned that minutes after we climbed the stairs, terrorists came into the Harbour Bar, shot everyone who was there and executed those next door at the Golden Dragon. The staff there was equally brave, locking their patrons into a basement wine cellar to protect them. But the terrorists managed to break through and lob in grenades that killed everyone in the basement.)

We took refuge in the small office of the kitchen of another restaurant, Wasabi, on the second floor. Its chef and staff served the four of us food and drink and even apologized for the inconvenience we were suffering.

Through text messaging, e-mail on BlackBerrys and a small TV in the office, we realized the full extent of the terrorist attack on Mumbai.We figured we were in a secure place for the moment. There was also no way out.

At around 11:30 p.m., the kitchen went silent. We took a massive wooden table and pushed it up against the door, turned off all the lights and hid. All of the kitchen workers remained outside; not one staff member had run.

The terrorists repeatedly slammed against our door. We heard them ask the chef in Hindi if anyone was inside the office. He responded calmly: "No one is in there. It's empty." That is the second time the Taj staff saved our lives.

After about 20 minutes, other staff members escorted us down a corridor to an area called The Chambers, a members-only area of the hotel. There were about 250 people in six rooms. Inside, the staff was serving sandwiches and alcohol. People were nervous, but cautiously optimistic. We were told The Chambers was the safest place we could be because the army was now guarding its two entrances and the streets were still dangerous. There had been attacks at a major railway station and a hospital.

But then, a member of parliament phoned into a live newscast and let the world know that hundreds of people--including CEOs, foreigners and members of parliament--were "secure and safe in The Chambers together." Adding to the escalating tension and chaos was the fact that, via text and cellphone, we knew that the dome of the Taj was on fire and that it could move downward. At around 2 a.m., the staff attempted an evacuation. We all lined up to head down a dark fire escape exit. But after five minutes, grenade blasts and automatic weapon fire pierced the air. A mad stampede ensued to get out of the stairwell and take cover back inside The Chambers.

After that near-miss, my wife and I decided we should hide in different rooms. While we hoped to be together at the end, our primary obligation was to our children. We wanted to keep one parent alive.Because I am American and my wife is Indian, and news reports said the terrorists were targeting U.S. and U.K. nationals, I believed I would
further endanger her life if we were together in a hostage situation.

So when we ran back to The Chambers I hid in a toilet stall with a floor-to-ceiling door and my wife stayed with our friends, who fled to a large room across the hall.

For the next seven hours, I lay in the fetal position, keeping in touch with Anjali via BlackBerry. I was joined in the stall by Joe, a Nigerian national with a U.S. green card. I managed to get in touch with the FBI, and several agents gave me status updates throughout the night.

I cannot even begin to explain the level of adrenaline running through my system at this point. It was this hyper-aware state where every sound, every smell, every piece of information was ultra-acute, analyzed and processed so that we could make the best decisions and maximize the odds of survival.

Was the fire above us life-threatening? What floor was it on? Were the commandos near us, or were they terrorists? Why is it so quiet? Did the commandos survive? If the terrorists come into the bathroom and to the door, when they fire in, how can I make my body as small as possible? If Joe gets killed before me in this situation, how can I throw his body on mine to barricade the door? If the Indian commandos liberate the rest in the other room, how will they know where I am? Do the terrorists have suicide vests? Will the roof stand? How can I make sure the FBI knows where Anjali and I are? When is it safe to stand up and attempt to urinate?

Meanwhile, Anjali and the others were across the corridor in a mass of people lying on the floor and clinging to each other. People barely moved for seven hours, and for the last three hours they felt it was too unsafe to even text. While I was tucked behind a couple walls of marble and granite in my toilet stall, she was feet from bullets
flying back and forth. After our failed evacuation, most of the people in the fire escape stairwell and many staff members who attempted to protect the guests were shot and killed.

The 10 minutes around 2:30 a.m. were the most frightening. Rather than the back-and-forth of gunfire, we just heard single, punctuated shots. We later learned that the terrorists went along a different corridor of The Chambers, room by room, and systematically executed everyone: women, elderly, Muslims, Hindus, foreigners. A group huddled next to Anjali was devout Bori Muslims who would have been slaughtered just like everyone else, had the terrorists gone into their room. Everyone was in deep prayer and most, Anjali included, had accepted that their
lives were likely over. It was terrorism in its purest form. No one was spared.

The next five hours were filled with the sounds of an intense grenade/gun battle between the Indian commandos and the terrorists. It was fought in darkness; each side was trying to outflank the other.

By the time dawn broke, the commandos had successfully secured our corridor. A young commando led out the people packed into Anjali's room. When one woman asked whether it was safe to leave, the commando replied: "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear. The first bullets have to go through me."

The corridor was laced with broken glass and bullet casings. Every table was turned over or destroyed. The ceilings and walls were littered with hundreds of bullet holes. Blood stains were everywhere, though, fortunately, there were no dead bodies to be seen.

A few minutes after Anjali had vacated, Joe and I peeked out of our stall. We saw multiple commandos and smiled widely. I had lost my right shoe while sprinting to the toilet so I grabbed a sheet from the floor, wrapped it around my foot and proceeded to walk over the debris to the hotel lobby.

Anjali and I embraced for the first time in seven hours in the Taj's ground floor entrance. I didn't know whether she was dead or injured because we hadn't been able to text for the past three hours. I wanted to take a picture of us on my BlackBerry, but Anjali wanted us to get out of there before doing anything.

She was right--our ordeal wasn't completely over. A large bus pulled up in front of the Taj to collect us and, just about as it was fully loaded, gunfire erupted again. The terrorists were still alive and firing automatic weapons at the bus. Anjali was the last to get on the bus, and she eventually escaped in our friend's car. I ducked under some concrete barriers for cover and wound up the subject of photos that were later splashed across the media. Shortly thereafter, an ambulance came and drove a few of us to safety. An hour later, Anjali and I were again reunited at her parents' home. Our Thanksgiving had just gained a lot more meaning.

Some may say our survival was due to random luck, others might credit divine intervention. But 72 hours removed from these events, I can assure you only one thing: Far fewer people would have survived if it weren't for the extreme selflessness shown by the Taj staff, who organized us, catered to us and then, in the end, literally died for us. They complemented the extreme bravery and courage of the Indian commandos, who, in a pitch-black setting and unfamiliar, tightly packed terrain, valiantly held the terrorists at bay.

It is also amazing that, out of our entire group, not one person screamed or panicked. There was an eerie but quiet calm that pervaded--one more thing that got us all out alive. Even people in adjacent rooms, who were being executed, kept silent.It is much easier to destroy than to build, yet somehow humanity has managed to build far more than it has ever destroyed. Likewise, in a period of crisis, it is much easier to find faults and failings rather than to celebrate the good deeds. It is now time to commemorate our heroes.

When we all got together

We had the most amazing turn out at Major Unnikrishnan's Prayer Service held at The Frank Anthony Public School, Bangalore, on 5th December, 2008. Alumni and non-alumni turned up in a large number and the ceremony itself was hugely emotional. I will elaborate on the same in my next post, but first, here is something that I had circulated to all present there and want to share it here as well.




Dear Fellow Alumni,

It is indeed overwhelming to know that we have been strongly moved by the courage and valor of Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan and that we all realize that the brave soldier gave up his life to save our own.

We would never know what it took for the brave souls that fateful night to stare the terrorists in their eyes, face their bullets and not care about their own lives. None of us sitting safe here would ever know what it means for a soldier to chase death in order to save millions whom he doesn’t even know.

But all of us sitting here can acknowledge and respect the cause for which Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan and other brave hearts fought to death – the cause of Fighting Terrorism. And all of us here can pledge that we will stand up for this cause in whatever way is possible.

War or hatred or finger pointing is not the answer. Being a RESPONSIBLE CITIZEN is.

If each one of us can resolve to be responsible, resolve to not lead passive lives and resolve to contribute to our society, we can ensure that more brave soldiers would not need to lay their lives in vain.

Being responsible does not mean changing our lives, it just means changing our attitudes.

On this day, when we have come together to pray for the bravest amongst us, let us pay tribute to him by resolving that each one of us will be responsible;

• Let us respect each and ever security personnel at Airports, Offices etc and allow them to do their jobs, even if it takes two minutes more of our time.

• Let us curb hatred. Terrorists do not belong to any religion/ any place. There is nothing we will gain by hating other communities or religions.

• Let us not add to corruption any more. Even if it means getting a ticket, let us resolve to go the right way instead of the easy way.

• Let us spread awareness and education amongst the less fortunate. Start with the house maid, her kids, but realize that education is the best weapon we can equip anyone with.

• Let us make sure we Vote. Even if it means casting the 49-0 vote, we should Vote.

• Let us not exploit anyone and also not allow anyone to exploit us. If it means not paying the auto guy extra but waiting for another honest one to come after 10mins, so be it.

• Let us never forget what happened on 26/11in Mumbai so that we never allow the authorities to forget either. We should never let them forget what their callousness has resulted in and that we will not tolerate their irresponsibility anymore or fall prey to their ineptness

Each one of us can make a difference – we have heard that and ignored that long enough. Its time now to believe in it, act on it and thus pay real tribute to those who had to give up their lives to wake us up. It indeed is Now or Never.

Badge we can all wear

Thank you for wearing white

My phone kept beeping last evening and one after the other, there were messages pouring in asking people to wear White on 1st December, today.

I ignored the first, I ignored the second but after the third, it got me thinking. To begin with, I realized, each sms had come from friends from different cities which meant that people across the nation were probably all willing to endorse this gesture.

What I was dismissing initially as some pop-gesture struck me as the first opportunity to show unity with friends and people in general. So I quickly took out my phone and sent a message to everyone on my phone list asking them to wear white - not as a mark of mourning, but as a display of resolution - our resolution to stand united and demand peace, our resolution to not give up this time, not as yet, not for a long time to come.

I woke up this morning and saw some responses that exactly matched my initial reaction to wearing white. People messaged me saying they did not want to subscribe to such lip service, telling me that nothing will happen by wearing white, that no change will come by wearing white. Last evening I might have agreed, but this morning was different for me.

I decided not to argue with those who did not want to subscribe to me plea, not to try convince them, not to make a big deal of this. My objective of wearing white and passing on the message was the same as is for writing this blog - to act upon my convictions and if people fall in line, great, if not, someday they will.

I put on my white and as I walked into office, I saw colleague after colleague, all in white, smiling at me with that knowing look of "we all DO share the sentiment and we all are pained with the loss". As I walked into office, I knew my decision to pass on the message was right and that people ARE willing to unite for a cause.

Thank you all for wearing white. No change has come about today by having done so. Deshmukh did not resign because we wore white. The Patils did not step down because we wore white. But wearing white brought a sense of re-assurance and encouragement to me and maybe others.

Re-assurance that whatever said and done, there is a possibility of uniting for a cause, that there is a chance that we all might forget our personal opinions and biases, that peace still has hope.

If the few of us hadn't worn white today to show solidarity, I would have thought it is going to be an uphill task getting people aligned. Because if people cannot do something as small and trivial as wear White, if they have to have an opinion even on this, then how are we ever going to fall in line for bigger things tomorrow, even though we have all sworn that we will bring about the change that is so badly required in the country.

Wearing white was not as significant as knowing that this time, it is not a lost battle we are willing to fight.

Thank you all for wearing white. Today this has been a beginning. Tomorrow this is going to bring the revolution we all want to see and someday, white will prevail, peace will win.