The news was just hitting as I walked into work on Tuesday evening. Many of the agents were on the phones taking calls, most of the staff was in the cafeteria, glued to the tvs. Nearly all of them would have ridden to work on those very trains, possibly the ones just before the blast.

All available outgoing phones were alternating between employees trying to tell families they were okay, and managers frantically trying to see if all the yet-to-arrive employees were safe. But it was no use, all of the phone lines were down as every mother, daughter, father and son frantically dialled numbers.

For about 20 minutes, the only information the news had was a single graphic of where the bombs had struck. They added more dots as they found out about the other attacks. That single image was static on the screen, and all non-news stations were blocked out. For 20 minutes, that was all that Mumbai saw.

But that graphic was a very powerful one. Everyone knows that train line. It effects everyone in the city. Everyone has a child, parent, sibling or friend that could be on it at any moment. And for 20 minutes we saw little explosion-shaped dots light up the line in nearly equal distances all the way up the tracks. I’ve posted pictures of how sardine-packed the trains get on a lazy Sunday afternoon. This was the height of rush hour.

By the time the networks started running the grisly footage, I went out to check on the agents. Those who had collected their wits were taking calls, covering for those who were trying to. In one corner, one of my coworkers and friends was on the phone finding out that her mother had been on one of the trains and was in the hospital. People would stand around shaking, and when ready to busy themselves, they would get back to customers demanding to have their late fees waived and to be able to talk to someone who ‘talks English’.

This was a city that had just had their entire sense of safety and security pulled out from under them. This was the third time in a week that the city had been at a standstill. First floods, then riots, and now terrorist attacks. 7 of them in about 6 minutes.

Eventually, everyone had either arrived or been accounted for, and everything reverted back to an odd sense of normalcy.

The next morning, I rushed to Holy Family Hospital in Bandra, where the victims of the first blast had been rushed. I had read they were in urgent need of blood. When I arrived, there was a lineup of people ready to give their blood. “What blood type are you?” the man behind the makeshift desk asked. I suddenly realized I wasn’t 100% sure. Normally when you give blood they check it out themselves, but the situation was so dire here the blood was going out of one arm and into another like it was season one of Lost. I was told it would be best that I didn’t donate if I wasn’t sure.

Just then, a nurse shouted “WE NEED A POSITIVE! NOW!”

I was 90% sure that was my blood type, but not certain enough to bet someone’s life on it. I rushed back outside, while stretchers whizzed past me in the hallway and called the manager of my apartment building. I asked him to send someone into my room and look for my physical results which were in a folder in one of my drawers. He called back less than a minute later with not just my blood type, but the blood types of most of the hotel staff in case their blood was needed.

I rushed back in. “I’m A positive!” Another A positive had already gone in. The staff announced that they were only taking the blood that they needed in order to reserve resources to save as many lives as they could. I agreed to stick around for a few hours in case they needed me, and said I would rush to any other hospital that needed me in the meantime.

After a couple of hours, a very tired looking doctor came out to tell everyone that they were going to stop taking blood donations for the day. He said that more and more blood was going to be needed over the next week, and since they didn’t have the resources to store all that they needed he wanted to be certain none of it went to waste. He asked each of us if he could call us later on when our help was needed. He shuffled about the lobby profusely thanking and apologizing to everyone who came in.

“I was just sitting in a chair,” I said, “You’ve been saving people. Thank YOU.” I left after making him promise to call me any time day or night if I was needed.

Also: While no one has claimed responsibility, the sheer size and calculated nature of this attack does not appear to be a reaction to the mud-throwing incident. It is undoubtedly, however, a result of that overreaction as the trouble the rioters caused had weakened the already under-equipped police force enough to allow this to be orchestrated.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 12th, 2006 at 12:35 pm and is filed under Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.