TV is on and the live telecast of multiple terror attacks on my city, Mumbai is in its 36th hour! I am tired of hearing too many words that are being spoken faster than machine guns. If alone I switch off the sound and only read the scroll. If not then I prefer to sit in another room and listen to the rat-tat.

Everyone knows that we Mumbai-ites are so used to being terrorized – in the extreme ‘extreme ways’. In Feb 93, I was in the thick of it. I filmed all the eleven bloodied locations of the serial blasts. Many more serial blasts followed in Mumbai, Delhi and several other cities; but present ‘36 hour’ long action is unthinkable. We keep a meticulous register of all the blasts and shoot outs in our records for future references, to draw guidance for our course of action. The CCTV grabs some people carrying gifts wrapped in shiny papers are boarding trains and get off at the next station leaving behind the gifts. A car slowly parks/a scooter parks/a cycle parks; a man gets off casually for shopping and vanishes in to thin air. It can take from a few months up to ‘n’ number of years to find that ‘man’. This kind of investigation is not risky, not stressful and can add outstation holidays for work. Our politicians and security forces learn their lessons from the standard method of ‘what has happened’. There is no class that teaches them ‘what could happen!’ Well you could say that even USA could not avoid 9/11. It is considered to be the one of the most meticulously planned and executed project in the world. Like famous code 9/11 we too have our own codes like, 12/03, 13/9, 7/11, 5/14… So even present attack will have to get a figure-code assigned to it – perhaps 11/26, but I am not sure if the government and record keepers will be happy with it, since the action has spilled into next day i.e. Nov 27 too and… is not over yet. Technically they are right if they don’t agree to 11/26. I suggest 11/26-27 may be more appropriate. Sure it is a little clumsy but it is true, which is of paramount importance - the truth! Fact is that 9/11 was over in a few hours, 12/03 (famous ’93 Mumbai blasts) in half a day, 13/9 (Delhi), 7/11 (Mumbai trains) or 5/14 (Jaipur), all few hours… nothing spilled over to next date. We have to wait until it gets over. Then only politicians and record keepers will approve a figure ‘code’ denoting current crisis.

Well to re-cap all that you already know. A bunch of twenty odd young and highly motivated boys are dropped in rubber speedboats on high seas. They all are dressed in jeans, T-shirts and are carrying a backpack. Ubiquitous backpack is not a problem; but it is a problem that they all have a backpack each. That sure seems odd.

A friend from Delhi calls and tells us to watch news; there are blasts happening. Reluctantly I switch my TV. The newsreader is all worked up in her reporting. The scroll is claiming that hotel Taj at the Gate Way of India, Oberoi at Nariman Point and Nariman House (houses Jew families) have been taken over by terrorists. Soon the visuals are splashed - a man’s body on a street, a blown up taxi near airport, hospitals, outside Metro theatre, inside CST and a speeding police van occupied by ‘backpack boys.’ Soon the random visual clippings turn into direct live telecast by numerous channels. Now I realize it is not the usual stuff. Not the one from government registers.

Some think that police walked in quite late at the Taj. Some guests had already been killed.

A confidant looking senior cop arrives, ‘don’t worry I am here now’, he says… and sometimes later, him and another brutally injured officer were being taken to hospital, only to be declared dead. As I said they also became victims of the ‘register records.’ They did not follow the ‘dress code’ while going to meet the backpackers. With all due regards to their exemplary bravery; they perhaps did not think that this enemy was going to be vastly different from the first timer gun wielder ‘Rahul Raj’… In all 14 cops have been victims of the ‘register’. Of course not to forget nearly 400 versions of me – the poor common-man. Responsibility shifts from police to NSG, Indian Army and Navy.

I am genuinely feeling so bad about what our Taj has been out to go through. It is an expensive hotel for the super rich guests. Taj has been the first choice of many top CEOs, country presidents and sports personalities. Yet a common-man (me) never got a feeling that I was not welcome there. It always maintained that warmth… Now it was horrible to see the same warm, welcoming and tender interiors of the hotel being blasted with hand grenades, automatic guns and being set on fire. Taj at 105 years is older than the Gate Way of India. It is a beauty filled with grandeur inside out. It is 11am but still the Taj is not entirely free of terror elements. The scroll says a NSG person is injured on the eighth floor of Taj during sanitization process.

It is sad that south Mumbai is under curfew. I am dying to go there and see the hotel for myself.

Trident-Oberoi hotel too had very bad times. But right now it is said to be cleared of backpackers and the guests have been rescued. Nariman House is a war zone right now. For the first time Mumbai witnessed the visuals of helicopters dropping commandoes on the terrace of that building. We can hear automatic gun sounds. A pitched battle seems to be on right in the lap of Colaba. It may be over soon, but really don’t ask me to commit anything at this point. I just junked my register in the garbage.

At the time of publishing it, firing has resumed at the Taj. At least one militant is supposedly battling NSG commandos and may be holding some hostages. I guess it is not over until it is ‘over’.

However, I am waiting to see shots of a much traumatized Ratan Tata and Krishna Kumar surveying their beloved property to take stock.

Finally, Mumbai may survive many terrorists’ attacks; but I am really not sure if it can survive current breed of politicians for too long.

Nothing is same in front of my house compared to 1980… perhaps except a loud and clear voice, ‘dabba batliwallaaa…’! You can say that ‘voice’ is not a thing. It is just a voice, which cannot be called as a part of this lane. Agreed, but I do hear it in my house, morning and evening, just as I hear the traffic noise. Therefore, for me it is part of this ambience. It is voice of a short and thin Marathi guy. Perhaps well built under his white shirt and dhoti, since he walked such a lot all over, and carried all his stuff on his shoulders. He did not own a cart, like many others. Be it summer, winter or thrashing rains, he was very regular in his business trips. He weighed newspapers with his small weighing scale that has a mettle hook. Somehow I never sold my old newspapers to people who used a that kind of weighing scale. I knew their scale would never be right.

I had experienced it once. One day I called out to a young man to sell the newspapers. He arranged the newspapers in a neat heap, tied it up, pushed the hook of his scale in the string… and pulled it up. Simultaneously his face distorted, right arm shivered and his gorging eyes gave out his failing strength. “3 kilos”, he said, putting it down heavily. I laughed, “Does lifting only 3 kilos of weight makes you shit in your pants?” He was so sheepish. He didn’t know whether to admit that he was weak or a cheat. I asked him to get lost… Years passed, I did not change my view of scale with hook and never dealt with that dabba batliwalla too.

Coming back to only constant ‘dabba batliwallaaa…’ in this entirely changed settings. The new 7-Bungalows. He was still making his rounds, though virtually doing no business. His bag remained empty in the morning and in the evening. He looked older as he had been walking on this road for more than quarter of a century. His walk is a drag now, as though he is pulling himself in an invisible cart. I realized I too had changed. I had become soft towards him. I think it started with my wife. One day we had some empty whiskey bottles to dispose off. She called him and handed the bottles to him. As he fiddled in his pocket for coins to pay her; she told him not to bother and instead gave him Rs 5. He must have been shocked. It is not the way this business works. This was 5 years back. Since then our business model has been modified. She said he is so old now. I too liked the idea. He takes the bottles, which actually helps us in clearing clutter and we pay him for it. He says ‘Namaste’ and both parties are mutually grateful.

Later I worked on making this business relationship a step ahead. I started wishing him, ‘Namaskar’ Kaka, whenever I passed him on the road. He is happy about that. One day I stopped him, made small talk with him and asked him his name. “Sukhdev” he said. I found his name a little surprising. I always imagined him to be Sakharam, Ganpat or may be Patil. Sukhdev was so unlikely for a such a typical Marathi Manoos. More over I did not have too many Sukhdevs in my memory. First one was a huge documentary filmmaker and second was the freedom fighter - both Punjabis. Never mind I thought. He says his name is Sukhdev. It is fine. After that I started addressing him with his name rather than just ‘Kaka’. That made him feel better, because when someone living in a flat calls a ‘dabba batliwalla’, by his name, it must give him good feelings. At least that was my intention…

It has been 4 months he has not been heard. There are quite a few bottles lying under the kitchen sink. After waiting for quite a few days, I decided to find out about him from the nearby cobbler Parmeshwar.

I stepped out immediately and met Parmeshwar. I asked him for Sukhdev’s where about, saying he has not been seen for some time now. He at first could not recollect the person, but then he said ‘oh him? He met with an accident.’ I was surprised, ‘When?’ I asked him. ‘May be about 4-5 months back.’ He added, ‘he was in hospital for sometime after that I don’t know.’

‘Oh I see!’ I exclaimed, feeling very bad. Parmeshwar noticing my concerned said, ‘I know where he stays. I will go and find out how is he feeling and let you know.’ ‘Fine’ I said and came back…

Two day later Parmeshwar called out to me from my balcony. I saw him peeping in. He said Sukhdev is very weak. He cannot get up. He is perhaps too old to recover completely. I felt like going to meet him right then, but in the hot afternoon it was not so easy to get up and get out. I lost to my will power. In a few days bunch of empty bottles vanished. My wife must have disposed them off.

… Sometime back I was with my son in the balcony. Sukhdev was passing and calling in his powerful patent style, ‘dabba batliwallaaa’. In a light mood, I told Prateek, I have never seen this Dabbawalla eating any meals, ever. He just walks and walks. That means he may be burning many more calories than he is consuming. That also could mean that one fine day someone will find his shirt and dhoti on the street, but without him in it! Ha ha… it’s not funny.

Now it seems so much has changed on this road.