Thursday. Paris.
Twelve hours ago, Bombay was once again assailed by a spate of terrorist attacks. I don't know what to say, and even if I do, I don't know how to say it. This is abominable. There's no other word for it. There's this anger bubbling inside of me - why do they keep on repeatedly targeting my city. In my lifetime alone, there have four instances of serial bomb blasts or terrorist attacks, which have altogether killed 500-1,000 people, and injured twice as many. Three of those have been in the last five years. And now I wonder, how many more?
How many more till these so called warriors of whatever religion they profess to follow (frankly, to do such things in the name of God is an oxymoron, because you need to be godless to be able to do such a thing) eventually destroy our city —MY city? I'm sure people from New York, London and Madrid might feel the same way.
People talk about the spirit of Bombay — one that's never truly broken. The spirit of Bombay which allows people to return to their normal everyday lives after such terrorist attacks. How many more attacks can the spirit of Bombay endure till it's eventually crushed? I'm not sure. While I'm a firm believer in the city I call home, and its resilience, part of me wonders if Bombay can withstand this without even a tiny bit of suffering. Bombay is perhaps the only city in the world that I will truly call home. People may argue that I'm not a true Indian; that my heart belongs to Paris (as I've heard much too often since coming here); that I'm Americanized and will never move back to India. Maybe they're correct. Maybe not. But one thing remains true : that no other city in the world — be it Paris, be it Sydney, be it Los Angeles — will ever occupy the same place in my heart as Bombay does.
I've already mentioned that this is the third set of terrorist attacks in the past five years. Why vent now? Shouldn't I be numb to it by now? Maybe. This time, however, the attacks hit close to home. They struck in South Bombay, my part of town. They occurred in places where anyone among my family and friends could very well be at, or have been at, that evening. Local trains, in which the 2006 blasts occurred, are less likely to stir a chord in me as I or anyone I know rarely use them. The Taj, Oberoi, Metro and Leo's however, are all places I go to at least once a month if not more often. If I were in Bombay right now, I could have very well been in any of those places at the time of the attacks.
I'm angry. Scared even. But what can I do about it? Take justice into my own hands and avenge the deaths of my fellow citizens? Not the most practical idea, but then what else could I do? Nothing. And I don't want to end on a pessimistic note, so cheesy as this may sound, people need to have hope, so here I go:
As someone who to goes to USC, I'm used to hearing "Fight On's" from people, occasionally using it myself. but not until now have I meant it with all my heart. Fight On, Bombay.
Post-scriptum (3 December 2008)
Wednesday. Paris.
One week after the attacks:
The attacks lasted 60 hours. Between 170-180 people were killed depending on the whims of the police. Among them, my high school chemistry and biology teacher and parents of several people I knew from school. The Taj's and Oberoi's interiors are gutted beyond recognition.
India's Home Minister, Maharashtra's Chief Minister and Deputy Chief Minister have all resigned amid the ensuing political brouhaha. People are angry and want decisive action. I sincerely hope that something is done about it.
The Family Bonnet
Saturday. Paris.
Having been in Paris for more than two months, I think it's time to give you a more detailed account (visual and written) of my host family and where I live. The family Bonnet, as mentioned in passing in one of the first few posts of this blog ("Papaparis," September 2008), lives in the 5th arrondissement, also known as the Latin Quarter.
Christian, the father and professor of philosophy at Paris 1 specializes in German and Austrian philosophy. A slightly eccentric character whose jokes don't necessarily come across the way he intends them to (be it in German, French or English), Christian is always in a good mood. He also considers it a personal triumph when he mentions some French word/concept that I don't know.
Cécile, the mother and researcher of Ancient Greek is currently translating the Alexandrian Bible from Ancient Greek into French. Not an easy job, with 26 volumes of said Bible. Like any mother, she frets and fumes over the three kids, and sometimes myself included. If you hear anything being whistled off-key around the house, you know it's her.
Grégoire, eldest son (28) and music composer, is the most grounded of the three Bonnet siblings. He's a musical genius of sorts — or so I thought when he showed me a 20 minute-long original composition using six different instruments.
Pierre, middle child (25) and journalist, is what I'd call a Parisian hipster — with his thick-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans and popped Lacoste polo shirts. He loves to hate Segolene Royal (like most of the family), as well as Christine Lagarde, the French finance minister; and he lets me know of that each time they're on the news.
Marie, the youngest (18) and aspiring doctor, is your typical baby of the family. She gets what she wants, when she wants. She likes watching MTV shows dubbed in French (which can be absolute torture at times) when she's not studying (which seems to be 24/7).
All said and done, I love my host family, and couldn't be happier. Check out the pictures below (not taken by me, as Cécile insisted that she give me some of their own pictures). You'll also find pictures of their apartment. Notice the shelves and shelves of books. Could it get any better?
The Family Bonnet
4, rue de Bazeilles, 75005 Paris.
(l-r) Marie, Pierre, Grégoire; Christian, Cécile
The dining room and sofa (where I'm currently writing this post).
My room.
Cécile and Christian's room.
Having been in Paris for more than two months, I think it's time to give you a more detailed account (visual and written) of my host family and where I live. The family Bonnet, as mentioned in passing in one of the first few posts of this blog ("Papaparis," September 2008), lives in the 5th arrondissement, also known as the Latin Quarter.
Christian, the father and professor of philosophy at Paris 1 specializes in German and Austrian philosophy. A slightly eccentric character whose jokes don't necessarily come across the way he intends them to (be it in German, French or English), Christian is always in a good mood. He also considers it a personal triumph when he mentions some French word/concept that I don't know.
Cécile, the mother and researcher of Ancient Greek is currently translating the Alexandrian Bible from Ancient Greek into French. Not an easy job, with 26 volumes of said Bible. Like any mother, she frets and fumes over the three kids, and sometimes myself included. If you hear anything being whistled off-key around the house, you know it's her.
Grégoire, eldest son (28) and music composer, is the most grounded of the three Bonnet siblings. He's a musical genius of sorts — or so I thought when he showed me a 20 minute-long original composition using six different instruments.
Pierre, middle child (25) and journalist, is what I'd call a Parisian hipster — with his thick-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans and popped Lacoste polo shirts. He loves to hate Segolene Royal (like most of the family), as well as Christine Lagarde, the French finance minister; and he lets me know of that each time they're on the news.
Marie, the youngest (18) and aspiring doctor, is your typical baby of the family. She gets what she wants, when she wants. She likes watching MTV shows dubbed in French (which can be absolute torture at times) when she's not studying (which seems to be 24/7).
All said and done, I love my host family, and couldn't be happier. Check out the pictures below (not taken by me, as Cécile insisted that she give me some of their own pictures). You'll also find pictures of their apartment. Notice the shelves and shelves of books. Could it get any better?
The Family Bonnet
4, rue de Bazeilles, 75005 Paris.
(l-r) Marie, Pierre, Grégoire; Christian, Cécile
The dining room and sofa (where I'm currently writing this post).
My room.
Cécile and Christian's room.
5
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15 November, 2008
Dans Paris À Velo..
Sunday. Paris.
I finally got a bike. Check back for some better pics and details. It's a fixie (pignon fixe), a track frame (cadre de piste) no less, light (léger), and fast (rapide). A no-name frame (marque inconnue), in yellow and blue (jaune et bleu), with stars on the handlebars (guideron étoilé)..superb. Ever heard of Joe Dassin? - www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPyOWMTRA8
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02 November, 2008
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