A Place and Moment I’ll Always Remember
A Place and Moment I’ll Always Remember
Why do terrorists kill in the name of religion? I still don’t get it. The recent bomb blasts in New Delhi claimed several lives, but could not kill the spirit of the country and its people. The 13th of September started like any other day and I was unaware that it would turn out to be the most horrifying day of my life, a devastating experience I would never want repeated. I was in the office at around 6:40 pm when I got news of the serial blasts. I rushed to Connaught Place, the nearest location of the blasts, along with other reporters from the office. It was 7 pm when I reached the place and a thick cloud of smoke greeted me, through which I could see a man and a woman lying in a pool of blood. The rubbish bin had been ripped apart and a rickshaw stood with its roof caved in. It was impossible to believe that the Central Park, where I was standing, was the favourite spot for youngsters to chill out. Everywhere I looked, there were bodies, like clothes left out to dry. People ran helter-skelter and I could hear cries of agony in the air around me. It was a horrifying scene with the air clogged with the smell of blood, smoke and chemicals. I felt as if I was in a battlefield and could barely control my emotions as I moved chaotically to help others lift the bodies of the injured into passing cars and ambulances. For the first time, I encountered the helpful spirit of the citizens. People with expensive cars stopped to call out others to load the wounded into their vehicles, without thinking of the plush upholstery getting soiled with blood. At one point, I heard a grievously injured young man telling the person carrying him on his shoulder to kindly call his home and tell his family that he was all right, only to collapse dead a moment later in front of my unbelieving eyes. My own T-shirt was stained in blood and I was asked by many if I needed assistance, but I explained that the stains came
Why do terrorists kill in the name of religion? I still don’t get it. The recent bomb blasts in New Delhi claimed several lives, but could not kill the spirit of the country and its people. The 13th of September started like any other day and I was unaware that it would turn out to be the most horrifying day of my life, a devastating experience I would never want repeated. I was in the office at around 6:40 pm when I got news of the serial blasts. I rushed to Connaught Place, the nearest location of the blasts, along with other reporters from the office. It was 7 pm when I reached the place and a thick cloud of smoke greeted me, through which I could see a man and a woman lying in a pool of blood. The rubbish bin had been ripped apart and a rickshaw stood with its roof caved in. It was impossible to believe that the Central Park, where I was standing, was the favourite spot for youngsters to chill out. Everywhere I looked, there were bodies, like clothes left out to dry. People ran helter-skelter and I could hear cries of agony in the air around me. It was a horrifying scene with the air clogged with the smell of blood, smoke and chemicals. I felt as if I was in a battlefield and could barely control my emotions as I moved chaotically to help others lift the bodies of the injured into passing cars and ambulances. For the first time, I encountered the helpful spirit of the citizens. People with expensive cars stopped to call out others to load the wounded into their vehicles, without thinking of the plush upholstery getting soiled with blood. At one point, I heard a grievously injured young man telling the person carrying him on his shoulder to kindly call his home and tell his family that he was all right, only to collapse dead a moment later in front of my unbelieving eyes. My own T-shirt was stained in blood and I was asked by many if I needed assistance, but I explained that the stains came