A Wednesday.

She was facing the mirror, dressed nicely, excited and ecstatic. She was desperately waiting for her mother to knock at the door of her room and call her down. But one look at the wall clock made her realize that there is still time left for her to go. It was the biggest day of her life. She was all set to marry her beloved, Faizan. Tasheen and Faizan met seven years back and had been in love since then.
Parag wants to replace the Ambanis. He had just come home from school and was jumping with joy and the racket of his chirpy laughter filled the air. The school had just declared the results and he had stood first in his class. Having lost his father five years back, at a tender age of eight, his mother was his only support, and today, he couldn’t resist waiting for his mother to come, so that he could hug her and share his happiness with her.
Mrs. and Mrs. Singh were happily married for 35 years and their only son was well settled in Singapore. Aman, the best son in the world, was returning home after 10 long years. Mrs. Singh couldn’t help smiling and had gathered all the women of the neighborhood to share her happiness. Mr. Singh, despite his health problems, was actively involving himself in the decorations for the functions that marked the home coming of his son.
All these discrete lives had a common link, a common fate. But oblivious of the approaching catastrophe, they were moving on, heading towards the ultimate destiny.
Faizan had a firm belief in the Almighty and before marrying Tasheen, he wanted to bow down to Allah. He read the holy Koran, sought the blessings of Allah and after offering his prayers, he headed towards railway station to catch a local train, so that he could go home, where Tasheen and all others were waiting for him, more anxiously than ever before.
Payal completed her work and channelized straight to the bakery shop and bought a cake for her son. She was a proud mother today. After her husband’s demise, Parag was the only strong pillar that kept her standing. Having bought the surprise gift for her son, she gave him a call and boarded the local train, like she always did, except that this time, both of them were very eager to meet each other.
Aman’s flight had landed at the Chattrapati Shivaji Airport. He got down and hired a taxi that took him to the station. Having missed the city and its ways in all these years, he decided to travel by train. While on way, his mind flooded with millions of thoughts and memories of distant childhood. He was overcome with emotions and sentiments and that misted his deep eyes.
Faizan stood at the door of the moving train, his mind lost in the thoughts of Tasheen. Tasheen, a child at heart, loved wearing red and big ear rings, was the most beautiful lady he had ever come across and just a few hours down the line, he was going to begin the most pleasant chapter of his life. These beauteous visualizations brought a cheerful smile to his fair face. His thoughts were brought to a standstill at the next station by Payal, who asked him to help her get into the compartment as she was getting late and had loads of bags with her. Being a generous man, Faizan helped her make her way into the First Class compartment of the 17 37 Borivali bound local train. The NRI, Aman, too got into the same coach at the next station.
All these three lives, lost in the thoughts of their own, were heading towards the unknown. The laughter, the excitement, the tiredness wasn’t there to last till eternity. Faizan had just answered his brother’s call and kept the phone, when a huge explosion inside the coach, threw him out of the train. His head banged against the pillar and he lay dead on the tracks in a pool of blood with his marred compartmenthead. The explosion had reduced that compartment of the train to bits and a sharp metal piece blew out of the broken coach, passed through Aman’s chest and killed him on the spot. Sitting inside, the bomb had exploded just beneath Payal’s seat. Even the remains of her body couldn’t be found.
Time was passing by and Tasheen and others were growing queasy. It was 19 30 and Faizan should have been here by now. After 18 unanswered calls, a policeman picked up his phone. The news of the blast and his death was broken to Aadil, Faizan’s childhood friend. Earth seemed to slip beneath his feet. He didn’t know how to disclose this to everyone at the wedding. Somehow, Tasheen was informed of the sudden death of her Faizan. She had a nervous breakdown and was rushed to a nearby hospital. The preparations for his wedding were stopped. They were now preparing for his funeral.
Parag was desperately waiting for the doorbell to ring. His excitement was dropping down with every passing minute. It was 8 and his mother had not come yet. Just then the doorbell rang, and he left all his work and rushed to open the door and hug his mum. But it was their neighbor, the Sharmas. They took him to their house and showed him the television. Payal’s mobile phone was switched off and that grew their restlessness. Mr. Sharma along with a few others went in search of Payal at the railway station. But couldn’t get anything, except for her tattered pieces of clothing. Parag was told that his mother has received some minor injuries and is recovering in the hospital. Already very tired, he just slept.
Mrs. and Mr. Singh and their society were waiting for Aman to come. They were all watching the television together. While flipping the channels, they stopped at a news channel that flashed breaking news. Within no time, the society shook with an earthquake. Aman Singh’s name was flashed under the list of the deceased. Mrs. Singh suffered a heart attack. Mr. Singh had given Aman rides on his shoulders as a young boy and today he had to give his shoulder to lift his son’s dead body.
4 years later, today, Tasheen has given up in life. She doesn’t wear red anymore. She hardly smiles, hardly talks, and just stays alone. Darkness has clutched her and she has lost all the hopes. She misses Faizan and very often ends up weeping, clinging to her wedding dress that he had especially chosen for his maiden. Parag lost his power of speech and was driven to an orphanage run by Anil Dhirubhai Ambani. The cheerful young boy was transformed completely and he had got nothing left in his life. His mother was the only light he had ever seen after his father’s demise but then, that too was snatched from him. Mrs. Singh couldn’t bear the death of hear son and passed away a month later. Mr. Singh bore the two blows, but couldn’t stay in the city and moved to a village.
11/7/2006. The Mumbai serial blasts. For journalists, it was yet another story to be covered. For others, it was just a headline in the newspapers for weeks together. Everyone switched back to their routine the very next day. Life goes on. It moves on. But alas, it didn’t move for Tasheen, Parag, Mr. Singh and all others who were affected by the blasts. Time refuses to incite for Tasheen, Parag and Mr. Singh. Their lives are sullied in an eclipsed darkness. After a few heavy moments, people hardly remember that terror had indeed struck some time back. No can empathize with what they went through, what they go through, their nightmares, their broken dreams and un-fulfilled promises. For them, life lost its meaning and since then every single day has been 11/7.