Silence… Some People Just Died

It was a dimly lit alley that we were walking down. When she asked me that question, all the sounds suddenly seemed to dissipate. For the next few seconds, those words kept ringing in my ears. The buses seemed to be moving along mutedly, people were scuttling about shouting out to each other, but not an iota of those sounds seemed to reach my ears. It was just that one question that echoed in my head repeatedly. “How can we bring about a bigger change?”

It was called a “Peace Talk”, the gathering that we walked out of, from Patkar Hall at Churchgate, Mumbai. There were no extravagant speeches about changing the world, or awareness campaigns propagating NGOs. It was a gathering of a few people who felt equally responsible for the killings caused by the serial blasts in Ahmedabad due entirely to their helplessness. The hall was dark and there were lights only on the stage where these helpless people came and read out works that they identified with. Some sang, some mourned and others, like us, sat in rapt attention listening to every word that echoed off the walls of a near empty auditorium.

The auditorium was empty because people had died.

On the 27th of July, Ahmedabad peacefully carried on with its work not knowing what fate held in store for it. Later that evening, the silence continued. The morning silence was a calm and tranquil one. But the silence that evening was a deathly silence. Every person in the city had shut themselves inside their home. On 27th July, 2008, Ahmedabad witnessed 17 bombs that went off in a sequence at strategic places taking the life of several innocent civilians. Terrorism was seen at its heights after these serial blasts. Ahmedabad has now an unforgettable new chapter to add to its history.

“Sruti, tell me one thing. How can we bring about a bigger change?” she asked me. I was zapped for a few minutes. The only thought that was ferociously racing in my head was, “Can we make a bigger change? Is there something as a bigger change?” This question led to a very interesting conversation which made me wonder a lot about change as a phenomenon at the level of the society as well as the individual level. “According to me, there is no bigger change. Change begins with a small step; this step is the smallest step and yet matters the most as it is the defining point of that initiative taken”, I replied. It was all very easily said in that one moment, but how do we make the change? What does change mean to us? Is it tangible? And the biggest question – we all want a change but are we willing to be that change?

It was 4:30pm on the afternoon of 6th August, 2008, when our Journalism practicals had finished. After that, the forty of us were scuttling about gathering our things running towards the college exit to reach Patkar Hall in time for the “Peace Talk” – after all, we had a 500 word report to write on some “Peace Talk” happening in the vicinity and we needed the marks. We all reached there grumbling about the numerous assignments that we are bombarded with everyday. Inside the hall, eminent personalities from the entertainment media were present. The ceaseless click of cameras and flashes of light began to annoy us as we began to grumble again about some page 3 kind of gathering we had been sent to.

After a dismal 30 people trickled into the auditorium (apart from the forty of us from college) , the programme began. It was only when everyone recited some really powerful verses that something very important struck all of us. None of the people on the stage were celebrities that day. They were all people who felt they were rendered helpless when thousands of innocent people of their country lost their life to such a brutal attack. Every poetic verse that was read out, every song that was sung, every chant that was read out was sucked in by the dark silence in the auditorium. Even in this silence, 70 screams of wanting to break free from this terror could be heard. Even in the dark, every tear could be seen rolling down the cheek as we all mourned the deaths caused by the serial blasts. There was an unsettling silence that was floating around the hall. Suddenly, the empty hall was filled silent sobs, mourns and a deathly stillness.

But the seats in the hall were still empty. They were empty because people had died.

“I felt so embarrassed when the blind children were singing. It was so overwhelming that I couldn’t stop my tears. I kept hiding my face and sinking into my chair to avoid everyone’s eyes”, she told me as we walked towards our respective rooms in the hostel. That was the first time she had spoken ever since we stepped out of the Hall. She was visibly affected too by the events that occurred in those 2 hours inside the auditorium. But why was she embarrassed? Did she think it’s something ‘uncool’ to bother so much about something that hasn’t got much to do with herself? “I never expected myself to let go of my emotions so easily and in such a tremendous manner”. Sometimes the most unexpected of things hit us in a manner that we least expect it. For some, tears flowed and for some others it was life in a river of blood that flowed out.

As we walked towards the bus stop, everybody else joined us. Suddenly her question was lost in a chitter-chatter of which Iranian eating joint serves the best bun maska and chai and mawa cake. In the blink of an eye priorities were reset. The materialistic butterfly fluttered in front of their eyes leading their distracted minds to their stomach. On the way back to college, she sat silently in the bus. After those few words she had spoken to me, she sank back into the daze that she had gone into. “I wonder what will be there for dinner today in the hostel. It’s been really long since I’ve had pizza”. It seemed amusing to me that five minutes ago she had asked me how to bring about a bigger change. Strange as it seems, for once it felt good to force my way into a crowd of people where I couldn’t see or hear anybody I knew.

As we got up to walk out of the hall the empty seats behind me seemed to reach out to me and gnaw at my insides. Had people really died? Many of us stopped taking notes for our assignment 10 minutes into the function – maybe we realised that we were present there for entirely different reasons. But if there were forty of us there and thirty other people, why were the seats empty? This is a city of more than 70 million people and there were slightly more than 70 people present in that auditorium. Had the people in this city also died? Had their feelings died? Every time, the same people, the same feelings shared. Why are we numb to others’ losses and expect the world to empathise with us when we are at the receiving end?

There is so much to look back on when I think about that day – 6th August, 2008. It has been sixty-three years since the merciless bombing of Hiroshima and people like us need to be given assignments to do in order to be part of gatherings such as this. Yet, the empty seats of the auditorium stare at you every time you look around.

Just as I entered the hall, I clumsily dropped some papers and made a little noise. Somebody next to me whispered in annoyance, “Silence… Some people just died”.

August 7, 2008 | Categories: A Passing Thought?, violence | Tags: Ahmedabad, blog, bomb blasts, change, Citizens for peace, death, Hiroshima, Mumbai, peace, serial blasts, Sruti, Visweswaran | 14 Comments »