Mumbai, the name spells magic, the city of dreams, drama and action. It has been 8 years since the Mumbai attacks happened. But the memories of the attack are still fresh and lingering in the minds of many. I was a teenager at that time, I remember sitting at home with my mother thinking how lucky I was. A fresh 12th standard pass-out, I was always an above average student and Mathematics always went over my head, which was my major in 12th standard.
I remember vaguely arguing with my parents, over the journey I had to take to Mumbai for my counseling with one of the prestigious colleges on Marine Drive in Mumbai. Though my Mom and Dad, were not ready at first, I convinced them and had my ticket booked for 25 November 2008, to Mumbai by Hussainsagar express. My CST counseling would be on the 26th. My mother, who generally is an optimist, felt negative vibes from the day I booked a ticket. Call it mother’s instinct but she had different reasons to convince me for not going, and I being a typical rebellious teenager, was bent upon going. Finally, I convinced her saying that my cousins would be there with me and there was nothing to worry about.
But Fate had different plans for me. Everyone who passed 12th and decided to pursue Arts, with a Maths background, understands the pain of going through the applications process. It was a rage to pursue Engineering at that time. But with my love for writing I always wanted to pursue the Arts. For this, I sent out applications to different colleges in various cities. One of them was in Hyderabad, so a week before my journey I went for Second counseling at this college with Zero hopes of getting in. But as luck would have it I got in, and I received this message on 23rd November. This meant that I need not go to Mumbai anymore. So being the lazy person that I was I canceled the plan.
On the 26th, November 2008, Wednesday, the first day of college for me, a late joiner, I had a lot to catch up on. I was worried about learning all that was taught in the two months that I missed. I was going fervently through my books in my room when my mom screamed my name, and as I entered the living room she was in tears. I remember her exact words, “Chusava, nenu povaddu ante navvavu, nak manchiga anpinchatle ante egatali chesavu, ippudu chudu,” (See you made fun of my pessimistic feeling, now watch the news). Sitting there watching the news at that late hour the realization sunk in. I could have been one of the casualties, I could have been dead if fate had not intervened. This thought shook me to my core. For the next one and half day, that is until 28th morning 8 A.M., I was glued to the TV, the same line going on and on in my mind, “I could have died.” And that was the day my decision to live my life on my own terms took form. Every year on 26 November I remind myself of what could have happened, what could have been and start a new life again.
It is through such incidents that a person learns to live, learns the life lessons of not taking a single moment for granted. People will think that it is their right to speak about what you do, how you dress and where you go. They will speak about how you look, your color and make comments if you are fat or thin, Let Them. Do not let these comments faze you. Do things that make you and your parents happy. Do mistakes, repeat them again, because it is in these mistakes that you learn lessons. Because in typical Bollywood style, “Kya Pata Kal Hoo Naa Ho.”
