London, 7^thJuly, 2005

S.M.Singru

It is 9 a.m. of Thursday, 7th July, 2005 at London. Everyone is still savouring the happy news that London has been given the Olympic Games of 2012. During the breakfast, my granddaughter, Sana agrees that I should escort her to her nursery school in place of her mother. We come to the bus stop and find that there is an unusual rush at the bus stop and on the roads. From the talk of people around us, I gather that the London tube is closed off, which explains the rush for buses and a large number of people walking on streets. Little do I realise that, just half an hour earlier, two bomb blasts have taken many lives on the tube just a kilometre from where we are. In the past, parts of the tube system have been closed on a few occasions for technical reasons, so I do not worry too much & brace myself up for the waiting. The buses which arrive are crowded, but we succeed in getting into one of them, mostly because we are given an indulgent treatment by the crowd. There is a distinct gloomy atmosphere inside the bus, but not too much. One of the passengers actually jokes with others about London being the venue for the next Olympics. “I’ll tell you what, I think they have been taken in by Blair’s gift for the gab, and they don’t know what they are asking for!” he remarks and there are a few polite smiles around him, not guffaws.

The progress of the bus is very slow, so we get down at an intermediate stop and start walking towards the school. I notice that very few people are walking in that direction, and a large number is walking in the reverse direction, rapidly but calmly. Then one elderly Englishman does something un-English. He stops near me and says, “You shouldn’t be taking her that side, there have been bomb explosions!” It hits us, and I feel confused. I wonder what we should do, but since we have come fairly near to the school, and the school is in a basement, I decide to go ahead. There is no panic on the streets, only glum faces belie that something is terribly wrong. People are walking to their offices; they give no indication of the horrible calamity which has befallen. At the entry of one office complex I can see people at the door welcoming those who are coming in with handshakes. All the time, police vans and ambulances are shrieking past us in numbers, and my granddaughter counts twenty ambulances.

We reach the school and the teacher tells us that they are going to close down, but would first like to ensure that all children return home with their parents. Parents like me who have reached there chat and listen to the radio. One of the teachers tells us that a few minutes earlier she heard a loud thud from the direction of Tavistock square. What we come to know later is that this was the explosion in a bus which was mostly carrying tube commuters who had earlier escaped the tube blast between Kings Cross & Russell Square. Then one teacher arrives and says she saw the roof of bus number 30 being blown off and thank god, she was not on this bus.

I try to contact my home on my mobile, and on the school land line, but all lines are jammed. Eventually, I succeed and my family members feel anxious and relieved, because till then, they were oblivious of the serious happenings in London. After a while we decide to return home. More howling police vans, more ambulances, and this time we also notice vans of different shapes & colours, some of them marked “Detonation Squad”. There are no buses and cars now, the roads have been kept clear for the emergency vehicles. The gates of tube stations are closed, and the tube staff in their glittering fluorescent jackets is guiding passengers who want to reach their destinations. I stop to hear their conversation, “ No, maam, we cannot say anything about when we shall open, but the buses will probably start earlier”. “No, Sir, there have been no further explosions, and looks as though things will be alright now”.

After an hour’s trudge, we reach home and are greeted as if we are hostages rescued after a shootout. I glue myself to BBC news on TV. It makes a grim sight & hearing. Then Tony Blair comes on the TV flanked by Bush & Chirac, and my heart feels warm when I see, by Chirac’s side, Man Mohan Singh with Putin standing next. Much change has taken place since the Indian Parliament was attacked by terrorists. India’s anguish received muted sympathy then, but later 9/11 came & the stark, ugly reality hit the face of the western world. Blair does not speak like a demagog. His few words are not sabre rattling, rabble rousing. In strong, clear words, he tells everyone that terrorism will not be allowed to succeed, and with the world leaders from all shades standing with hi, he makes his point. The TV coverage then shows the British Parliament where the Home Secretary makes an equally pointed statement, and the leader of the opposition also speaks, showing a total alignment with the government in its fight with terrorism. There is no self-acrimony, no pillorying of the ruling party, just an unambiguous warning, “Let those who committed this act know that this nation is united in its fight against them”.

By afternoon, the buses are back on the roads, by next morning, the tube starts functioning, except in small parts. Schools and offices work like they normally did. The attack has left several dozens dead, close to three hundred injured, and many are still missing. But the collective mood is that of defiance. It is business as usual. These are the people who withstood Hitler’s Blitz for months, years, and did not buckle. He could never set foot on their land, and was ultimately defeated.

S.M.Singru

18/1, York Terrace East,

Regents Park,

London NW1 4PT

U.K.