by Firoze Hirjikaka

Created on: December 04, 2008

I probably should have written this piece last week, when the topic was red hot; but it was too close to home, too personal. I thought a week would would give me time to cool down; to approach the tragedy with a more rational perspective. I was mistaken.

I am still bewildered, horrified and, above all, I am mad as hell. Those bastards attacked my city; even worse, they desecrated my neighbourhood. Yes, nine out of the ten sons-of-bitches are now dead, but that provides only grim solace.

The terrorist attack on Mumbai has been played to death on both Indian and international television channels; so I won't go into details here. The bare facts are these. A group of 10 terorists in a Zodiac, landed on the shoreline of South Bombay (Mumbai). They stormed into two 5-star hotels, shooting and killing indiscriminately. They also attcked a Jewish Centre and shot and killed scores of innocent victims in the city's main railway station. The terrorists announced their presence at the Taj - and for me - with the rattle of AK-47 spitting bullets. Most of the citizens of Bombay watched the 60-hour deadly denouememt unfold in real time on their television sets. I had a ringside view. According to eyewitness accounts of the very few survivors of the bloody carnage, the terrorists were young men in their early twenties, who seemed to have no other agenda but to indiscriminately butcher whoever they could find. The age and sex of the victims did not matter. The only thing that marked them for death was that they were human beings. The bad guys took some hostages, but made no real demands. All they wanted was to kill. Hotel guests and visitors were lined up against the wall and executed firing squad style. To add a final macabre touch to an already grisly situation, thre terrorists videotaped the bodies as they lay.

For me, South Bombay is the original Bombay - when the population was a mere half million. It is a place of graceful colonial buildings, promenades and shady by-lanes - an oasis of tranquilty, if you will, in a city that always seems to be in a rush. It is also where two of Bombay's oldest and grandest hotels - the Taj and the Oberoi - are located. More personally, it is the part of the city I was born in - and where I've spent most of my six decades on this planet. The Taj - just a stone's throw away - is an old and dear friend. It is where I've had my hair cut for the past 30 years; and whose pastry shop I visit every saturday to pick up chocolate eclairs and other

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