On the night of November 26, 2008, ten men carrying assault rifles, grenades and ammunition came ashore at two locations in Colaba. They split into teams and headed out to attack different locations in South Mumbai. Thus began a gruesome terrorist attack, dubbed 26/11, that lasted four days. At the end of it 164 people were dead and more than 300 injured.On the 8th anniversary of the terrorist attacks News18 spoke to one of the survivors Sourav Mishra. He was enjoying an evening with friends at Leopold Café and was shot when two attackers opened fire. This profile is an account of Sourav’s life in his own words.Before 26/11: Growing up, Idealism and Grassroots Work
After joining the Indian Express as an intern I thought of working with a grassroots organization and doing social advocacy. I joined Pradhan, an NGO that works on livelihood issues, and went to Gumla district in Jharkhand, which is Naxal-affected. It was a wonderful experience and whatever work I’ve done subsequently is not worth what I did in that one year trying to improve livelihoods. I put my agricultural knowledge to use and got people to grow a variety of hybrid maize. The average income of people there is Rs. 4,000 a month; I managed to increase that to Rs. 8,000 via Maize cultivation.ALSO READ: Coastal Security: 8 Years After 26/11 Terror Attacks, Is Mumbai Secure
But there are other issues, it was a tough environment…I thought of getting back to mainstream journalism and advocacy. I joined Economic Times online and after that worked for Down to Earth magazine. My dad fell ill during this time and I realized that I needed money for his treatment. I joined the financial services firm Thomson [which later acquired Reuters] as a reporter in 2006 in Mumbai.The 26/11 Attacks
I had fixed up a meeting with two acquaintances from France on the evening of November 26. I am not a pub person at all and inquired from friends about a good place to meet up and they suggested Leopold Café in Colaba, which is affordable and a favourite with foreigners. I reached Leopold at 8.30 pm and we got a table near the entrance and ordered beer and golden prawns tikka. We were talking about movies and having a good time.
There was a person sitting at the next table who reminded me of Jack Sparrow from the movie Pirates of the Caribbean. Suddenly he was flung from his chair and landed at a distance. At the same time there was a small blast on his table. I thought it was a birthday prank. This is my last memory. I think I blacked out for a minute or two after this.
I was hit by something and I blacked out. I think I started running towards the entrance. I don’t know what took hold of me maybe it was the instinct for self preservation. At the entrance I saw a man and woman lying sprawled on the floor. I then realized that blood was pouring out from under my ribs and I thought I had been injured in a bomb blast. I started pleading with people in cars outside the café to take me to the hospital, but they threw me out. I was getting weak, but still trying to escape. A trinkets seller named Kishore saw me struggling and offered to take me to hospital. My body was in shock, but my mind was in a heightened state of awareness. I could hear a “tatatatatatatata” sound in the background. No one was sure what was happening, people thought a gang war had broken out.
When I reached the hospital the staff dumped me at the entrance steps and wouldn’t let me enter because they thought I was a gangster who was injured in a shootout. I was blacking out, but thinking about which friend to call. A doctor came running and screamed at the staff, “Isko maarega kya? Take him to the OPD and treat him first.”
In the OPD the doctors found a bullet while treating me. That’s when I realized I’d been shot and the bullet had cracked a rib and was almost just short of a lung. When the wound is fresh it’s easier to take a bullet out. They showed it to me after they removed it. All this while I was thinking I was dying but when a doctor came in and said I’d survive, I instantly became stronger.
By this time there were a lot of policemen who were carrying the bodies of other cops who had been shot and injured. On the OPD there were 2 dead bodies next to me. There was a kid who had been shot dead and the mother was crying; an old man in a skull cap had been shot 4 times in the chest and stomach and was moaning with pain, “Ab Allah hi bachayega”. News filtered in that Cama hospital had been attacked. They decided to move everybody to JJ Hospital, which had been secured.
At JJ there were no free beds and many of us were lying on the floor. After a while I got a bed with another person. All my friends were trying to reach me, but couldn’t get through because of the security cordon. My boss managed to come, but she initially thought I was dead and went to the mortuary. She later found out that I was alive. Kishore was with me for 2 hours.
I wanted to get further treatment in a hospital in Vashi, near my residence, where my sister and friends were, so they got an ambulance and I was shifted out. I was relaxed since my friends were with me and I was operated in Vashi. I was bedridden for a month and only started working in January.The Aftermath
While recovering I was very depressed. Why did this happen to me? I also read stories of other victims and start thinking that anybody could come and shoot you and the government could not do a thing. There was a lot of anguish, fear and frustration, that India is a country where you will not be protected. The sound of a cracker was enough to get me shaking.
I tried to be extra positive to combat my depression. I could not stand to be serious and even to this day I do not watch serious movies or read serious books. I want to remain very dumb and very funny. If there is anything sad on TV I switch it off thinking, “let’s stay positive”.
I became very relaxed: let us sit, let us talk, let us enjoy, because tomorrow may not be there. Our life is so sad already, why should we depict sadness in art? I know that serious art sensitizes people, but I started avoiding it.
My sister encouraged me to take up painting. She’s a textile designer and taught me acrylic painting. I understood that the canvass is mine, it is a place that I control completely, I can make it beautiful by filling it with colours and that I don’t have to compete or fight with anyone. It was very therapeutic.
I also picked up a habit of drinking tea, experimenting with different kinds of masalas.Losing False Hope and Finding True Love
My parents had been looking for a match for me even before the attacks. But after this a lot of marriage proposals were turned down. The girls’ families were apprehensive about how sound I was. More than 30 marriage proposals crumbled. I have nothing against them. This is how the world is. During this period I realized that people who stood by me were the ones who had my real interests at heart.
In 2011, I went to IIMC for an alumni meet where I met a student, Malavika Joshi, who I later ended up marrying. I gave her advice on how to be a business journalist. She joined a business daily and moved to Mumbai. We started meeting up and she was very sensitive towards me. She understood me and we connected well. We were both covering the Reserve Bank of India for our respective news organizations and meeting up on the beat gave us a lot of time together. We started dating and married in 2014. We get along very well and she understands if I want to watch a funny, crappy film. We also paint together at home.
My biggest learning has been that tomorrow may or may not come; Be good to people and keep the people that you really like in your life; Eschew bitter words because you can hurt the people you like with them.(As told to Tushar Dhara)
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