13 years later

The Bombay bomb blast verdicts are beginning to trickle out.

13 years on we continue to bleed.

In memory of all those who lost their lives.

A moment for the innocent.

People who were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

People who died for nothing.

People who were caught because someone had to be.

Those who made the numbers.

Those who have been forgotten.

For the cops who lived the nightmare.

For the cops who investigated death.

For the buildings that saw each other crumble.

For the building which still have the courage to stand.

For the blood that still stains us.

The anger that still haunts us.

For the people who continued to live.

For the people who died after.

I pass one of blast sites everyday. I look at the spot and wonder if I am walking over faded blood stains. I wonder if someone died standing here that day. I wonder if things would have been different if those bombs hadn’t gone off. I also wonder if we’ve learnt anything from 1993.

I wonder how they celebrated while Bombay was bleeding.

I wonder how they live with so much blood on their hands.

I wonder if their hands are still drenched bright red or has the blood faded like it has on our streets.

I wonder if they will ever regret doing what they did.

I wonder if they will ever be truly punished.

I wonder if they are haunted by it when they sleep.

I wonder, if they could go back 13 years in time, would they still do what they did or would they change their minds?