Caught In The Middle

I am not a Hindu. I am not a MUslim. Does that make me any less an Indian. I guess not. Because our bloods shed too when there is a war between religions. Our lives are sacrificed too. Our bodies are charred too. Innocent people die as the guilty live on to take revenge.
Movies like Black Friday and Parzania bring out the truth,truth that is obvious. But still no one wants to hear it. Everyone prefers to be in denial. Theaters are packed with people who only want to pass thier time. The insensity of the movie touches only a few. The few who lived the horror of 1993. The scenes in the movie could barely make me recall what had happened to me. At the age of 9, my memory does not allow me to recall every aspect. But the movie almost after a decade made me realise what my family had been through. To close my eyes and thank God for keeping us safe.
On 2nd March,1993, i turned 9. I didnt do much cause we were already hit by the riots somewhere around decmber and rumours had it that it would be sometime before we had a reason to rejoice. So my parents kept my birthday low profile. March came with a bang (pun intended). As i recollect i was in school. Tensed teachers and parents were gathered in the small compound of my school. My school being situated in the heart of south bombay made it even worse. We were instructed to get out of our classrooms and wait untill one of our parents werent here to take us home. For me it was yet another holiday. Just when i ran to meet the loving arms of my mom all excieted to ask her why we were left so soon, i heard a big blast. It was the worli one. I thought a fire cracker went off. My sister held my had. She 12 then knew beter than that. She said it was a bomb blast. having a very peaceful childhood so far, i was new to these words. But today jus few days after my birthday i was gifted with this. Something i wont forget in a long long time. My father was not in town then. My mom held our hands and rushed us home. The shops were shut. There were police everywhere. We stayed at a very central location. That seemed like a nice idea almost 40 yrs ago when my grandparents bought the house but today they thought again. I was made to sit at home for days. Balcony was off limits to us. News had it that bombs went off several places. But i was refrained from watchin the television either. Muslims who lived in our building had vaccated. So did the Hindus. Majority of us who were neither were stuck there. Men dressed in uniforms haunted the roads day n night with these huge riffles. I heard the shooting voices time and again. But the intensity of the situation never sunk in. Each night i could still sleep in peace. Many Innocent people lost their lives. Neighbours brought in supplies to our house. Soon my dad joined us. He couldnt come earlier cause no trains were allowed to come to Bombay. I was not afraid. I never once felt it. For this i have only my family to thank. My granny used to spin lovely stories at night, you know the happy ending ones,that got us through most of this. Finally after what seemed like centuary of imprisionment at home, we were moved to a safer place in someplace north of bombay. Life was suprisingly normal out there. No men in uniform daunted the street,no bangs and shooting noise. But still we stayed at my uncles place for almost two to three weeks. I was wondering if we ll ever go back. Back to my Home. Would it be safe all by itself.
But i returned. I dont know when or how but i was safe once again at a place i called my home. My family was togather again. My school started a few days later. Life went back to how it used to be. Beside the lil fact that,worried parents still gathered in the compound at 8 am and 4pm. I didnt know it was such a big deal. That thousands had lost their lives. I saw the century bazar, air India building and i could never recognise that once a building stood there in place of these rubbles. It took them only months to clear the place. Bodies were found each time they cleared the rubbles. A loved one was found but yet lost. For me life was no different. For i was untouched by this. But today almost after 122 months i realised the trauma and the significance of March 1993. I sat in the theater dumbstruck. I couldnt believe that i had lived through all of that. I cant believe the reason behind it.
We worry so much about the external terror. The threat to our country across the border. What we really should worry about is Our own people. People who call this Their country. ]
I am not a Hindu. I am not a Muslim. Still i was caught in the middle.