The Unforgettable Ride

At last the train pulled in at Vile Parle station and for the first time in two years I opened the door to exit. Vile Parle looked oblivious to what had happened just a few hours back in the city. I climbed down the staircase to the west and started walking towards home. Everything around was as normal as could be. I was at peace at last. The train ride had been full of fear, apprehensions and doubt. Will we reach home safely? Will we get hit by a mob? Will we be subject to a stampede? Why didn't I listen to my grandfather in the morning? He had advised me not to go to college. But I did, only to be sent back home. 

Four of us walked towards the Grant Road station with many other students and hundreds of strangers. No buses, no cabs. We had to walk. Somehow, we managed to get into a crowded Borivali local and women were shouting, asking us to shut the door to the compartment. Mumbai was in a frenzy. Our train was being pelted with stones at some stations and there was roaring sound of a gathering at most of them. 
And here I was in a peaceful suburb that was far away from the plight of the rest of the city. 

The sight of my Grandfather standing at the gate of our house, waiting for me is something I can never forget. He was overjoyed seeing me reach home safely. 

The day was December 6th 1992.

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