A City on its Knees

Below is an article Brent wrote last year in India, only days after the Mumbai terror attacks.

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A City on its Knees

Terror and Hope in Mumbai

We arrive at Walton & Oliver under more trees than we expected. The smallish black taxi coughs out a cloud of black and retreats into a city with half closed streets. The air is sticky, the streets are quiet. At 6am on Dec 1st, Mumbai is only half awake and on its knees.

Three days have passed since terror fell in the Colaba district of downtown Mumbai. Ten men targeted nine locations, three of which we will encounter during our first hour here. De-training at Mumbai CST station, we walk red eyed and 'closed nosed' through the hulking terminal past crates of thawing fish and scores of people sleeping on the stone floor. They sleep soundly but the newspapers beneath them are covered with pictures of carnage, stories of protest and political resignation in Hindi, Marathi and English. 2.5 million people will pass these rails by this time tomorrow. We pass waiting rooms where the first were killed, now half-packed with commuters. Walking through the main station we pass the site where 60 people were killed only three days ago. If the Indians here are cautious their trepidation is hidden. A lone officer stands sentinel at the station's main entrance he is heavily armed but seems to labor under the burden of his helmet and assault rifle.

In India, taxi drivers hail you. The western traveler is quoted up to ten times the fare an Indian would pay and the negotiating starts from there. The people of Mumbai, or Mumbaikar, are known for their business savvy. This morning the driver made a feeble attempt to overcharge us but backed down quickly, dispelling rumors we've heard about cutthroat tourist inflation. Only when we started driving did we realize that our driver was not a pushover, just a citizen of a wounded city who knew that tough times lie ahead. On this sad morning, for him, any business is good business.

The road from CST to Colaba is short and direct, but this morning was different. Marred by road closures, our driver pulls over two times to ask police at blockades how he can access our hotel. Upon arriving, we drop off our bags and set out to indulge in the Indian pastime: drinking cup upon steaming cup of sugar laced chai. We recognize immediately that we are walking in the epicenter of the attacks. The colossal Taj Hotel stands seafront a block to our right. Walking parallel one street away, we see it only in sections down blocked off streets. The rust orange sun rising behind it, obscuring the charred façade and bullet holes, hiding details of the proud face of India turned sad.

We wander further, over and around dozens of destitute sleeping on the walk or under shelves that house their wares by day. Today, the novelty lies not in the fact that countless numbers sleep on the street but that they can sleep soundly where bullets flew less than 80 hours ago. Just ahead we are averted to the street by a flimsy sawhorse and plastic ribbon. Curbside, the wax of spent candles covers withered flowers and bananas. Above the vigil, a sign reads "We salute you Mumbaikar, we salute Mumbai police and commandos who gave their lives for Mumbaikar". This is the scene in front of the Leopold Café, chosen by the assailants for its reputation as a mainstay for western tourists. This Bombay institution has been witness to the city's great and tragic rise as the financial capitol of the subcontinent. From 1871, the Leopold Cafe would witness the genesis of the nation: from colonial rule to independence, from population of a few thousand to one of the world's largest city's, where Salman Rushdie was born and Gandhi changed a people with his fists down. It has also witnessed more recent attacks on Mumbai, easily forgotten and lost in a pith of endless headlines of terror and war in not so distant middle east. The 90's brought massive riots and only two years ago train bombings, which killed more people than the recent attacks. But there is blood on the floor of the famous Leopold and Mumbai's 17 million seem less apt to walk over it this time.

A thin film forms on our third cup of Chai, having now cooled under the relentless ceiling fans above. The newspaper reads 'Bleeding, Angry, Lashing Out". Over 85% of Mumbai feel the attacks could have been prevented and blame politicians for not doing enough about it.** The headlines bare the requiem for Mumbai's political engine--at least for now, change is in the air. The largest democracy in the world is arguably the most religiously tolerant society as well. India is home to 300 million Muslims, 700 million Hindu with millions of Christian and Sikh peppered in. Thousands of gods are worshipped in hundreds of different ways. A week ago in Chennai we noticed a calendar with pictures of Vishnu, Jesus, Mecca, the Golden Temple, Buddha and the Star of David sharing space evenly. The mosaic of so many minds going so firing so many different directions lends the feeling that India is the world's grandest melting pot, a cauldron set on edge to the point of tipping. Terror somehow seems oddly fitting here yet terrorists do not. The fanaticism of a terrorist is misplaced among the country’s relentless affability of a people who seem to achieve a casual stance in the most impossibly chaotic of situations. The smiling shoe shiner, who works your shoes to a glimmer as he lost in a sea of passing knees. The uniformed crossing guard standing lodge pole straight in a series of near misses by rickshaws ignoring his post. A Hindu sells cane juice next to a mosque. At the next table, a Muslim sends an SMS under a shrine to Shiva while our Sikh waiter drops off water to a table of men in suits. The city that used to be Bombay wakes up to the talk of the times. The people who drive the city that drives the nation are mourning today. Back into the sticky air, heavy with the scent of masala and stale dirty water, we cross Colaba Causeway on our way to the Leopold, imagining its doors open and floors shining.

Piles of trash line railways and streets throughout India. Just beyond the dregs are verdant rice paddies, water lilies sprinkled within. Dogs are a mainstay, nosing through rubbish and running wild through the filth and beauty of both city & countryside. This is not so much unlike India itself, a nation struggling to find purchase in a littered field. The earth underneath is as rich as the heart of India's resilient populace. In spite of immense poverty and perpetually ineffectual governance, India has flourished. The wonder of India lies in the hopefulness of its splendid people. Three days after the terror on her streets, Mumbai is propped up by only the sanguine and hope sprouts through the litter at her knees.

Brent Korte
December 1st, 2008
**Hindustan Times, December 1st, 2008

***Special thanks to John Hughes for editing