26/11 The Story Within The Story
How could I, or anyone know that 26th of November 2008 would be regarded as one of the deepest, darkest days in Indian history. I remember a sharp ringing in my ear as I stumbled due to the debris and ruins of what once was known as the prestigious Taj Hotel. I was perplexed and unable to find my footing and watched smoke swirl skyward as if the wisps were dance partners. My five senses, dulled due to the explosives, were slowly reaching their usual peak performance. Bodies, of all ages, shapes, sized both membered and dismembered were littered all across once busy and bustling roads. The black, looming sky indicated that this was the beginning of something that was going to wipe the entire nation of India, straight off the map and with ease. And it only took ten men. Ten single men to execute acts of terror that killed more than one hundred and fifty innocent individuals and I and Kabir were believed to be a fifth of this plan.
As conspiracies murmured across the country, Kabir and I were given the responsibility to provide the citizens of India the answers that they deserved. “26/11 Pakistan and Muslims Attack On Our Hindustan” the TV headlines boldly phrased. The media would always spin the tale to their own hateful agenda’s and we both struggled to get to the bottom of the situation and find the true culprits when the Indian media decided that it was every Muslim in the Nation. Kabir was furious,
“aare the Muslims, always drag the Muslims into whenever something bad happens to India saala.” He said whilst slamming the thick folder of evidence and witness statements on the table.
The lack of Kabir’s usual composed and calm character shocked not only our co-workers, but me, myself. As everyone stared at him as though as he just had slapped all of their faces he stormed off mouthing off under his breath. Not following him was the biggest mistake of my life. I decided to let him cool off knowing he had strong beliefs in and being portrayed as a terrorist solely due to his religion, I understand, would anger anyone but that reaction was definitely not one from my yaar.
Kabir and I met back in high school, he was a tall, athletic and very well-mannered. He was every teachers’ favourite and top of every class. I was known as the complete opposite. Rowdy, messy, lazy. There was not a single rule that I didn’t break. For some odd reason, Kabir decided that he wanted to be my friend. I guess opposites truly do attract. He was my brother from another mother, my family. From co captaining the cricket team to being huge movie fanatics. We were inseparable. Everyone saw us as an uncanny friendship, similar to Woody and Buzz Lightyear. We became a part of each other’s families. My mum absolutely loved Kabir cooking his lunch every day, busying him clothes and even paying for his school when his parents struggled financially.
Our friendship definitely had ups and downs. We fought at many instances. Society didn’t really condone our friendship he was Muslim, and I was Hindu. I was good and he, was “bad” but one thing that kept us together was the poem. It was Kabir’s poem which he read out in his speech for winning valedictorian in school.
“Do you know the exact number of times your heart beats? Why do you ask so many questions than you take in breathes of air. The birds beat. They crumple in rivers of sky. My friend is not in despair; I am not in despair.”
Each line reminded us that though we were two different people, from two completely different worlds, we know the goodness of each other’s hearts. This poem always was safely stored in a loose pocket in my wallet. Old and creased but still intact with so much sentiment.
We joined the police force together years later with Kabir as a detective and me as a simple cop and the 26/11 attacks was the last case we ever worked on. It had been roughly twelve hours and there was no sight of Kabir. I didn’t have time to search for him, so I had to continue investigating. The investigation led me to corners real rough sketchy areas in Mumbai. We were following leads that were provided from police headquarters and I ended up at a two-star hotel, empty. A perfect spot for people to go when they are planning something bad. I directly went to the highest floor, separating the team. I stumbled across a room dark, just like the other twenty I searched in however as I flashed my flashlight on the floor, I noticed the dust patterns on the floor were disturbed. Someone was in here, and recently. I walked inside and saw a small leaflet of paper. Quickly putting on my gloves to avoid forensic contamination I picked it up to read the inked writing inside.
“Do you know the Prophet knew the exact number of your heart beats? And why do you ask so many questions than you take in breathes of air.” The birds beat. They crumple in rivers of sky. My friend do not despair; Allah is not in despair. Kabir. My yaar. Our poem. His lies. I need to find him so I rushed out of the building without a trace to find him before anyone else could. When I did, he was in my old childhood home drenched with sweat pacing relentlessly. He was confused and scared but also oddly revengeful.
“BHAI BHAI THINK IT WAS US” Kabir rapidly spat out.
“KYA” I questioned beginning him to elaborate.
“Turn on the TV” he stood tall, nervously chewing on his fingers.
I grabbed the remote, pointing it to the TV and it switched on with the click.
TWO MEN ALLOWED THESE TERRORISTS TO BOMB OUR CITY
I looked at him confused by the headline but with a nod of his head towards the TV he encouraged me to continue viewing. With a huff, I turned my head and tuned into the TV.
“These two members of our police force have worked on the inside and allowed these terrorists to come into our country. Best friends from childhood, 28-year-olds, Kabir and Kiyan are primes suspects in this crime and are currently on the run. If anyone has seen these males, please contact the nearest police station” was said in a reporter tone.
In shock, I was trying to piece it all in my head. Kabir grabbed me in a tough manner.
“How?” I whispered
Before he could’ve answer —
- Do you know the Prophet knew the exact number of your heart beats?”, terrorist affiliated with two high ranking army officials, best friends who live by a poem that encouraged to make Indians stop taking in breathes of air.”
My body started to feel cold, my neck hairs raised, and my heart dropped.
“Kabir, what did you do?”
“Bhai, nothing.” he replied tightly
“That is not out poem” I began to become angered “Why is it changed?! Did you change it?
Why did you do this?!!”
“I’m sorry” he wrings his fingers “I had too. You know how people were and still are. I couldn’t mention that in the speech”
I look at him blankly, we could still go the authorities and clear it up. This can’t happen to me, to us.
Kabir pleaded to me “chaal chaal we need to run, we need to. I know what you’re thinking but we can’t. They’ve already decided that you and I are criminals. We can’t fix this” I wanted to clear our names, but I just didn’t know how and Kabir was right. We needed to buy time. Time so we could solve this horrific mystery of 26/11. So we ran, not like cowards but to clear our names. It was the first time in my entire life that I understood Kabirs life and what he dealt with his whole life. We changed our identities our faces. We were no longer Woody and Buzz light year but rather Thelma and Louise.
Written Explanation
I chose to write in a creative style, employing writing techniques that Salman Rushdie uses when he writes. Rushdie writes most of his stories in a post-colonial era, uses a discombobulated time structure, a hyper reality, utilizes the identity of his roots and where he came from, employs different words from different languages and when he writes he uses a twist to make everything not seem as it is going to be. These techniques allow me to express my ideas and let me to try write a piece like Rushdie.
When Salman Rushdie writes he tends to write most his stories in a time occurring or existing after the end of colonial rule. Rushdie also really enjoys going from the present to back in time then has a little bit of a glance in the future to come and finish off the story then finally. For example, in my writing I talk about the two friends and the current situation that is happening and then go back and talk about how they became friends. I dig into their history, from that readers can have a perspective and knowledge of what is going on. From there I go back into the story and continue with the readers having a bit more context of what is going on. Here onwards I also use Rushdie’s style of not delivering what is expected, like in my story the poem comes into context and starts to be used against them with the pair having no idea what to do.
Being apart of the Indian diaspora in his writing Rushdie goes back into his roots and writes about people or events from the from his Indian heritage. For example, in my writing I talked about 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks where terrorists came and blew up historic parts of Mumbai including the Taj Hotel which I also included in my piece. I used Rushdie’s style delve deep into my roots and come up with a setting that is historic and puts a bit of culture into the story. Also incorporating this I also used traditional Hindi words that Rushdie also uses when writing. For example, I started conversations with Hindi words and then answered in a way that the readers who do not know Hindi can also know what’s going on which Rushdie incorporates in his writing.
