Those massive wooden stairways…which we ran down, as children. The smooth polished balustrades which we sailed down…the numerous weddings of distant relatives…the beautiful outer facade….the sikh with those huge mucchhh…the twisted alleys in the basement with bookshops and perfumeries…the comfortable lobbies and the restaturants which dished out cultural bliss in huge platters. Most of all the fairyways with the lamps and paved stones in the outer corridors…the fairies must have all fled Taj.
For most of us, who have spent childhood in south mumbai, the Taj is a more then just a symbol of history, it is a part of our lives. The familar rock solid building which we felt at home in. The site of the Taj has always quickened our hearbeats and brought a smile with a feeling of homecoming, esp. when coming in via the sea.
And now…to see the smoke billowing out from the ground and the peacock windowed ballroom…that was the saddest part of all.
Three days, I have spent in fury, raging at the the terrorists.
Now, seeing parts of the Taj in flames, I just feel sad.
I salute those commandos who went in with their lives and did not emerge alive and those who were wounded in an attempt to save souls.
There’s nothing to be said anymore, is there?