I used to live 600 meters from German Bakery. Every morning, crossing GB by 7.35 am was my goal to ensure I would be able to take the office bus. and in the evening, walking by GB marked relief and relaxation. Nepali, who opened the bag containing the bomb thus triggering the blast, and the other waiters knew i wanted the apple pie the moment they saw me walk in. on some days i would surprise him by not asking for a take-away parcel, and just enjoy a green tea in the L-shaped seating area. just sitting there, on those wooden benches, watching people of all colours and nationalities talking in various languages, GB was my introduction to an international crowd. GB extreme TP was how we called our gang of friends, when as General Crazideas, Major Hawkeye, Captain Maverick and Captain Mystique, we had our headquarter meetings every night. i discovered the mushroom cheese omlette here with Manisha and that dimly lit area became the founding stone of our friendship. and one bomb blew it all apart. but not before i had put three seas between GB and me.
when i heard about the blast, i was miles away, returning from a ski trip in Andorra. my muscles are sore from the skiing i learnt in the past two days, but my heart is bleeding from the news of this small shop being blown to pieces. the place which was a part of my identity in pune, the city where i discovered myself. but before this identity got destroyed, i tore myself away from my country. in search of an experience, and in search of friends. and i have come to realise why the friends you make in childhood are the friends you make for life. my friends back in pune reached out to me to share their pain, their concern, and here in the midst of a huge crowd of so-called like-minded people, i could barely find 2 people to share this story. who i thought would be bothered by it, by my feelings. and here i was, enjoying a novel experience, having the freshness of the mountains and the beauty of the snow rejuvenate me, disconnected from the world. while pune is suffering. india is suffering. the people i care about are the ones i have left behind, and the people i am seeking are those who don't care. i don't blame them for not caring, its not in their nature, i am blaming myself for expecting, and for not valuing the important things in my life and instead seeking what is not important.
life has its way of teaching things, and if i had to come here to figure this all out, to find myself, then i guess its worth it. keep personal and professional life separate. thats the lesson, easier said than done, but not impossible. and i will learn.
thats a heart-wrenching post. the agony of a tragedy multiplies manifold if its something close to you..... in ur case it has almost been a part of your existence. i ve been in a similar situation b4 when the sankatmochan temple in varanasi, a place i had visited many a tuesday in search of divine intervention in my erratic life, was scarred deeply by powerful bombs, killing the bride and groom of an ongoing marriage and many others. its really tough to come to terms with such things, the only thing one can do immedietely is to be relieved that nobody close to u or indeed urself has not been hit by the tragedy ....
ReplyDeleteand gradually pieces start coming together again. the infamous resilience of the mumbaikars for example, but it helps preserve our sanity. german bakery is on its way back too. resurfacing in a different, but the brand stays..
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