For Our Tomorrow, A Little Peace

I love Mumbai with all my heart. Been here for twenty years, love this city and it’s never dying spirit. I may grumble about its traffic and the pollution and the filth, but that does not mean I love this city any less. This year, I even toyed with the thoughts of spending one day like a true Mumbaikar, join my fellow Catholics at Mount Mary Bandra on Sunday morning, break fast with the Muslims at Mohammed Ali Road in the evening and end the day with the Ganapati Visarjan at Chowpatty beach. But the way things turned out this last weekend, my happy patriotic thoughts turned into those of anger and depression.

I learned about the blasts at New Delhi on Saturday evening and immediately contacted my friends there to make sure they were ok. The same way I had contacted my cousins in Bangalore and my office colleague at Ahmedabad during the previous blasts. Luckily, all were safe. But for how long – how long more would we escape unscathed from the atrocities happening all around. What about that family in Delhi which lost 11 people in the blasts or that woman in Ahmedabad who lost her husband and son, outside the hospital. What about those 30 people who died in my very own Borivali during the train blasts three years back? They were not so lucky, not lucky like me. Which city will be hit next?

Smita and I went to Mount Mary on Sunday and the place was swarming with hundreds and thousands of people. We found it difficult to even step into the church without getting tossed around. Later in the day, I watched on television as thousands of people embarked onto the various immersion points for the Ganapati Visarjan. This, despite the bomb blasts that happened just the previous day. It’s like people were immune to the events that were happening around them. It’s become a part of life. Heavy rains can bring Mumbai to a standstill but not bomb blasts. It was so scary, so terrifying, the city was on high alert and one third of its people were out on the roads, ready targets for any attack. All I could do was pray, pray for the safety of all those who were at the Mount and at the various immersion points – pray that they get back safely to their families.

And then the worst news ever – Churches all across Mangalore were attacked on Sunday. My first thoughts were of Samantha – she was studying and staying in a catholic hostel right there. This time too I was lucky – she was safe and sound. Relatives of other friends in Mangalore were also unhurt, though terribly shaken up. We were barely over the atrocities in Orissa and now this – so much closer to home. When will this end – where will they attack us next – Goa, Mumbai? I mean, it was a Sunday; people must have been going to Church, just like we did. Going about their peaceful Sunday routines and from nowhere you’re attacked. Innocent people being killed, for no fault of theirs.

No moral of the story to give this time, I don’t have any. Just few words of a song I learned in school

Just like a flower when winter begins, just like a candle blown out in the wind,
Just like a bird that can no longer fly, I’m feeling that way sometimes.
And then when I’m flying way down by the low, I picture a line at the end of the row,
And closing my eyes I can see through the dark, a dream that is in my heart.

A little loving, a little giving,

to build a dream for the world we live in.
A little patience and understanding,
For our tomorrow – A little peace.

A little sunshine, a sea of gladness,

to wash away all the tears of sadness.
A little hoping, a little grace
For our tomorrow – A little peace.