Page 54 - Love Story of a Commando

8. To Love and to Lose

The days turned into nights and the nights turned into days. Life picked up
its pace as usual, as if nothing had ever happened. Such is the undying spirit
of this city. But those who lost their relatives and the survivors were scarred
forever. For us, the world was a different place and everything that had
mattered before was frivolous now. The power, passion, money, hobbies and
everything important was now in shambles. They knew, now, what mattered
the most—‘the love and life of the loved ones around.’
And I was amongst them.
I lost track of time. Our little friends’ circle dissipated. We now
behaved like acquaintances with each other.
Nobody blamed anyone; it was just that we were different now. Nidhi
and Dipti resigned from the job and left for their respective homes. Gaurav
took a transfer to the local branch office in his city. He felt safer there, he
told us before bidding us goodbye. I helped Nidhi and Dipti pack their stuff
silently and we bid each other silent goodbyes.
The emptiness of the flat was killing me and, at one point of time, I
thought of quitting too, but the thoughts of reuniting with my lost soldier
kept me rooted there. ‘I will find you’ —his last words kept echoing in my
ears. Visuals of reckless killing and savage violence would haunt me in my
dreams and I would wake up sweating only to clench my pillow in my arms
and cry. It was harsh. I still don’t know how I survived that time. Sometimes
suicidal thoughts would creep into my mind, wiping out whatever courage I
had, but the temptation to meet him again would keep me going.
I immersed myself in my work, which seemed like the only available
way to forget my miseries. I willingly opted for overtime and would leave
office past midnight only to stand at the Gateway of India, facing the sea, my
back always turned against the Taj.
The sea breeze would ruffle my hair, play a little with my soul and
then leave me alone, mourning over the things that were not supposed to
happen.
The Taj was closed for a few months only to reopen with glory and
grandeur like never before. It was repaired, and all signs of terror were
buried under the whitewash and new Italian marble. The Tatas refused to
bow down before terrorism and neither did any Mumbaikars. A waterfall on