Desicritics on the Mumbai Train Blasts

I first learned of the Mumbai blasts on BBC's website last evening. By then Desicritics (DC) editor and writer Temporal had posted a quick, barebones article alerting readers to the attack. As the evening wore on, the initial post was constantly updated with information coming in from readers and DC writers.

It has been reported by NDTV that a series of five blasts have rocked Mumbai. Most of the blasts occurred in first class compartments of the trains full of commuters returning home. The first one was on a train between Khar and Mahim. The second blast on a train at the Mahim station. The third near Bhayandar station, the fourth at Jogeshwari and the fifth at Borivili.

There are reports of two more blasts. The sixth at Khar and the seventh one has been reported from Matunga.

The Western Lines have been closed down and the injured are being rushed to local hospitals.

In Mumbai Blasts: The Inside Story Kishore writes,

After the 2003 blasts in Mumbai where 48 people were killed and 150 injured, Mumbai is again ripped apart by 8 blasts across different railway station of the city. The city has been but an ill-fated vanity with a series of tragedies piling up over the years. After the blasts in 2002, 2003, the floods of 2005, it was just a day before when riots by Shiv Sena workers brought the city to a standstill. And today it's the serial blasts.

Throughout the evening, Mumbai Help (MH) anchored efforts to help people desperate to find out if family and friends were safe get in touch with their loved ones. Mumbai Help is part of the larger World Wide Help Network. By late last night, I was heartened to see that Mumbai Help had received many messages from people grateful to have obtained their help in locating family and friends,

Following yesterday's blasts on the Mumbai trains, Mumbai Help put up a post that simply asked "How Can We Help You?" And people asked for help, people from all over. They asked if MH contributors could help them reach their parents, their children, their brothers and sisters, their friends. And many calls and SMSs later, there were numerous relieved comments thanking the folks at MH. Family had been located, friends had been found.

[...]

Humanity, compassion, empathy.

In the end, that is what World Wide Help is all about. It is not about the technology, the blogs, the comments, the wikis. It is, quite simply, an example of humanity shining through and breaking barriers of time, distance and borders.

Sandeep laments the utter lack of preparedness on the part of the administration,

The UPA looks like it's turning into a national security threat itself. Over the two plus years that it has been in office, we've stopped counting the number of terror attacks; they seem to occur like seasons. And the sorry excuse for a government that the UPA is, it can only respond with an expression of grief. It can count on the notorious collective amnesia of the public and then move on to more critical things like devising more divisive schemes to splinter society.

A government which clearly fails in its most fundamental duty--ensuring safety to citizens--is unfit to rule. Example: Mr. Gopinath Munde in a live interview on Times Now last night. After the usual blabber, the reporter asked Munde whether he had intelligence reports of what was coming. Said Munde to this effect, "...it is not my job to know of such things." And we entrust our lives to such worthies.

Mayank 'Austen' Singh chronicles his evening in New Delhi as he learns of the blasts from strangers,

Our heart was overwhelmed with outrage and there was something within that was weighing us down. But the outside world was showing all the pretensions of soul-warming normality: people standing by the foreign magazine stalls, young boys and girls - wearing outrageous clothes - walking hand in hand, serious-looking professionals busily typing on their laptops in the Barista coffee shop, the usual noise of horn-blaring at the parking lot.

Attempting to prevent the evening's tragedy from affecting us too deeply, we tried to assure ourselves that it was okay, that such things happen, that people do die, that one can't do anything, particularly when one was in Delhi and the blasts had happened in far-away Bombay.

Subhan Ahsan cautions those who are quick to point fingers and blame terrorists by default,

Whether it is Russia's KGB, Pakistan's ISI, America's CIA, Britain's MI5 or Israel's Mossad, it is an open secret that these agencies receive billions of dollars annually to carry out covert operations in foreign lands. Time and again we have seen in the news (which is later quickly dispelled) about their involvement in funding local warlords, mafia gangs and regional extremists. To be honest even India's RAW is no angel and has been active in its neighborhood - definitely in Sri Lanka, Nepal, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

[...]

Enough of money and power has been given to such agencies which are the real terrorist outfits. Enough of their secrets have been kept classified and away from any Judiciary system. In our century, unfortunately, You and I are not safe from their mischief.

Melody writes poignantly about Mumbai and Mumbaikars and concludes, at the end of a long evening filled with stories upon stories of ordinary folk stepping up to the plate, that Mumbai does not need Superman,

If you asked me on Monday who the new Superman was, I would have said "Brandon Routh". Ask me today and this is what I'll tell you:

• Superman is the man who got bed sheets from his train-side slum home and carried half-dead first class passengers into ambulances.
• Superman is the man who didn't notice his own bloodstained shirt while he helped his other more seriously injured fellow travelers.
• Superman is the man who stood on the roads in the dark partially rainy night and offered water and biscuits to people stranded in hours of jammed road traffic.
• Superman is the man who donated blood at the hospitals.
• Superman is the man who rushed to do anything, everything for anyone he saw. He wasn't wondering what community the injured were from... he subconsciously realized that there was no distinction between Hindu or Muslim or Catholic or Parsi; that all lives are equally important.

DesiGirl, quite appropriately, reacts with an emotion that is strangely missing in all the coverage in the media - she is angry.

Saddened though I am by yesterday's happenings, the chief emotion in my heart, that fills my very being now, is anger. Anger that this has been done to our people again! Lots of talks in the media about the blasts of 1993, more recently the IIS-B attacks - what is the point? What has been done since then to a. prevent such an event from occuring again b. form an effective emergency services in the form of police, ambulance and fire services?

One word - zilch!

All the news clips that have been shown till now have images of people lying broken and bleeding and police officers srutting about the place, talking to media. Nowhere did I see an EMT tending to the wounded or an ambulance speeding away. But there were lots of pictures of the general public lending not just a solitary helping hand but jumping headlong into rescuing trapped survivors. (Aside: Readers' Digest - is this the rudest city? May be they didn't hold doors but they came to their fellowmen's aid when it was needed. Now put that in your pipe and smoke it!)

Quite disgusted with the machinations of politicians looking to extract maximum mileage from the tragedy, Sakshi Juneja asks,

Do we really need to hear all this bull-shit at this hour too? Do we need them to instigate further aggression among regular Mumbaikars, who have already been through so much in the past couple of weeks? Do they want to ignite Hindu-Muslim riots once again in my city? Why can't they stop playing their name-games for once and try to look beyond their political aspirations?

Finally, I leave you with Ash's wonderful account of a ride on the Mumbai trains. An essay about a mundane train ride, but one that holds locked within it memories of a life gone by.

There is an endless stream of hawkers making their way through the compartments. They sell the usual - earrings, nail-polishes, pens, pencil boxes, combs, safety-pins, key-chains, glue-sticks, crayons, hair clips, bindis.

There are a couple of young women and young girls who've placed themselves strategically and are selling vegetables. They have all kinds of different vegetables, packed into separate plastic bags, and they're selling each bag for about 10 bucks each. Cauliflower, okra, beans, potatoes, cabbage, peas, mushrooms, gherkins - they've got it all. Working women returning home are glad to start their dinner preparations en route.

[...]

The train is now almost empty. Other trains whooshing by in the opposite direction are overflowing with people returning home from work. I stand at the edge of the compartment with my back against the door, holding on tightly to the pole at the entrance. It is dusk, and I can feel a wonderful wind caressing my face. There are familiar smells - that bring back memories of five years of commuting to college.

An essay written from the heart.