had been part of the same local cricket team, no one was spared in an orgy of violence that was unlike anything the city had ever seen. To make matters worse, with some exceptions, the police either looked the other way or even encouraged the rioters. People had been killed in the past, often as a result of religious bigotry, but it was in December 1992 that Bombay lost its way.
~
I was working harder than ever because Mr Sorabjee had decided to put out a special issue of the magazine to decry the demolition and the sectarian violence it had unleashed everywhere in the country. On the third day after riots broke out in the city, I came home from work a little earlier than usual and noticed that the reception area and the courtyard in front of the hostel were unusually full of people. At any other time I might have stopped to see what was going on, but I was very tired so I continued on to my room. Just as I was walking up the stairs I heard a familiar voice call out my name. It was Rao, my elusive room-mate, who was at the centre of one of the groups animatedly discussing the riots. It rapidly became clear why there was such a crowd. In the evenings most of the residents of the hostel would go out as was to be expected of single men in a big city, but now no one was sure that it was safe to do so. The night belonged to the rioters, and although so far most of the victims had been Muslim, there was always the likelihood that the flames could reach out to others, especially those who belonged to other minority communities or were newcomers to the city. As a sizeable percentage of the residents of the hostel were non-Hindu or from outside Bombay, few of them wanted to find out if that was indeed going to happen.
Rao was part of a gang listening to Deepak, who was describing a killing he had witnessed from his office. A window in his firm’s building overlooked a Muslim slum and he was telling the group how it had been ransacked by a mob frustrated by its inability to find anyone to kill.
‘I could see them milling around, with lathis and choppers, trying to figure out what to do next. The streets were so deserted it was eerie. The last time I saw something like that was years ago when there was a total solar eclipse over the city and no one would venture out because it was considered inauspicious.’
‘What happened next? Come on, yaar, get on with it,’ Rao cut in.
Deepak looked irritated by the interruption but didn’t remonstrate. ‘The rioters set a couple of buildings on fire, but it was clear they didn’t have too much petrol or other weapons; they had just rushed out on to the street to kill as many Muslims as they could, and now they couldn’t find any. The leaders of the mob were arguing amongst themselves about what to do next when their prayers were answered. A taxi came pelting down the deserted road, obviously driven by a Muslim—the stupid fellow hadn’t bothered to take off his topi or shave his beard. I don’t know what the poor fucker was thinking. If I had been him, I would have put the car in reverse and made a run for it, but maybe he thought he could ram his way through the crowd. He didn’t stand a chance, a couple of stones were flung at the windscreen, and the car veered off the road. After that there wasn’t a whole lot left to see.’
‘Did you actually see the guy die?’ someone in the audience asked, sounding hopeful.
‘Of course I did,’ Deepak said, and then reluctantly corrected himself: ‘We couldn’t see very much; there were about a hundred men trying to get their hands on the taxi driver. I think they beat him to death, and then set him on fire. We called the cops, it took us a long time to get through, and when we finally managed to speak to them they promised to come but no one did.’ Deepak had little more to add, and his audience began to drift away, eager to soak up more information about the riots.
~
Back in my room, I let my satchel drop to
~
I was working harder than ever because Mr Sorabjee had decided to put out a special issue of the magazine to decry the demolition and the sectarian violence it had unleashed everywhere in the country. On the third day after riots broke out in the city, I came home from work a little earlier than usual and noticed that the reception area and the courtyard in front of the hostel were unusually full of people. At any other time I might have stopped to see what was going on, but I was very tired so I continued on to my room. Just as I was walking up the stairs I heard a familiar voice call out my name. It was Rao, my elusive room-mate, who was at the centre of one of the groups animatedly discussing the riots. It rapidly became clear why there was such a crowd. In the evenings most of the residents of the hostel would go out as was to be expected of single men in a big city, but now no one was sure that it was safe to do so. The night belonged to the rioters, and although so far most of the victims had been Muslim, there was always the likelihood that the flames could reach out to others, especially those who belonged to other minority communities or were newcomers to the city. As a sizeable percentage of the residents of the hostel were non-Hindu or from outside Bombay, few of them wanted to find out if that was indeed going to happen.
Rao was part of a gang listening to Deepak, who was describing a killing he had witnessed from his office. A window in his firm’s building overlooked a Muslim slum and he was telling the group how it had been ransacked by a mob frustrated by its inability to find anyone to kill.
‘I could see them milling around, with lathis and choppers, trying to figure out what to do next. The streets were so deserted it was eerie. The last time I saw something like that was years ago when there was a total solar eclipse over the city and no one would venture out because it was considered inauspicious.’
‘What happened next? Come on, yaar, get on with it,’ Rao cut in.
Deepak looked irritated by the interruption but didn’t remonstrate. ‘The rioters set a couple of buildings on fire, but it was clear they didn’t have too much petrol or other weapons; they had just rushed out on to the street to kill as many Muslims as they could, and now they couldn’t find any. The leaders of the mob were arguing amongst themselves about what to do next when their prayers were answered. A taxi came pelting down the deserted road, obviously driven by a Muslim—the stupid fellow hadn’t bothered to take off his topi or shave his beard. I don’t know what the poor fucker was thinking. If I had been him, I would have put the car in reverse and made a run for it, but maybe he thought he could ram his way through the crowd. He didn’t stand a chance, a couple of stones were flung at the windscreen, and the car veered off the road. After that there wasn’t a whole lot left to see.’
‘Did you actually see the guy die?’ someone in the audience asked, sounding hopeful.
‘Of course I did,’ Deepak said, and then reluctantly corrected himself: ‘We couldn’t see very much; there were about a hundred men trying to get their hands on the taxi driver. I think they beat him to death, and then set him on fire. We called the cops, it took us a long time to get through, and when we finally managed to speak to them they promised to come but no one did.’ Deepak had little more to add, and his audience began to drift away, eager to soak up more information about the riots.
~
Back in my room, I let my satchel drop to
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