Indian Writing

Celebrate. Grieve.

Everyone has a personal story about where they were on Terrible Tuesday. Even Bipasha Basu.

I don't. I was at home, is all. And as I've told you, it hardly rained near our house. Not that much, anyway: just like any other very wet day in a Mumbai monsoon. I had had an eye surgery on Monday for which I was advised a couple of days' rest at home. My husband went to work on Tuesday morning as usual. I went to my doctor's clinic for the post-op checkup. When I returned home, I got a call from a friend. We met for a coffee at the coffeeshop down the road. I dropped him where he needed to be, an hour later, and returned home. At around five, my mother mentioned that we needed bread, vegetables and dahi. I tried ordering from the Nature's Basket down the road, but they regretfully informed me that there was no delivery that day. Raveesons, our neighbourhood grocer, had already shut down and gone home. I should have sensed that something was wrong, but I was still in my post-surgical daze. I rang up the medical store down the road and asked him to send us some atta noodles and juice. They were out of dahi.

There is alot more ... click on over for the rest ...

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