Frankly Bombay is a place, which brings back memories, I rather not deal with, but time and again I end up taking unavoidable trips down to the coast town.

The past weekend was no different, on a flight, which refused to land for over an hour and spent the hour circling a hill 10 minutes from the freaking runway which was under some sort of supervision. Dizzy by the time I landed and all set to throw up on the first person around I found my self-swimming in an ocean of humanity.

The heat ,the people, the black and yellow pre historic taxis just add to the chaos they call Bombay.

People don’t live in Bombay, they survive, the exist but they don’t live, it’s an existence skewed beyond redemption, the never ending traffic snarls, the humidity, the 20 tons of untreated human excreta, Bombay hits you like a freight train on a suicide mission.

What strikes you more than the aforementioned is the undying love people still have for the place, its true and unadulterated, frankly I think its living in denial.

But coming back to the issue at hand, (and after having lived there for two years) I just had to take the local train to work, the life line of Bombay. Choosing a Saturday morning, (when the traffic levels are a wee bit under control) I decided to jump on to one from Andheri to CST or VT ( the site of the recent terror strikes in Bombay). The smells the sounds the cool breeze riddled with the odor of dried dead fish was all too nostalgic…

When I landed at Vt, the ground zero for the terror attacks on 26/11 and as I walked slow through the station, taking in all that the great Victorian structure had to offer I couldn’t help but picture in my head the sounds of gun shots, blood, gore, bullets, misery, death, the sounds of the AK 47 ringing loud in my ears, the smell of fresh blood and gun powder was all to overwhelming…

It brings me back to the question I pose to my self all the time, Why? Do we need this, why do we have to resort to this hatred and mayhem, why? Why?