Shanghai Scrap

In August 2006, I spent 12 days at the Oberoi Hotel in Mumbai (then known as the Oberoi Hilton). It was supposed to be four days, but for reasons having to do with the assignment I was then working on, the stay was extended on a daily basis for more than a week.

The news reports about the current terrorist action describe the Oberoi as a luxury hotel – and it is, no doubt. But due to the delays plaguing my assignment, I wasn’t in the proper mind to enjoy the Oberoi’s luxuries in August 2006. Instead, I was mostly stuck in my room, awaiting phone calls. When I wasn’t in my room, I was either in the lobby, a restaurant, or at the reception desk – extending my stay by one more day. And, in the course of those twelve days, I came to know several Orberoi staff members quite well; and likewise, they came to know me (and the cause of my occasionally testy mood). We became friendly, and had several conversations during which I learned about their lives, and the good fortune they felt for having secured jobs at the Oberoi.

So when I heard about the attack, my thoughts immediately went to them. Small kindnesses, such as the ones that I received in 2006, are recalled at times like this. I sincerely hope that two people in particular – whose faces and names I recall clearly – are safe with their families.

Change of direction. On the fourth or fifth morning of my August 2006 Mumbai visit, the US Embassy in Delhi issued a terror alert for US citizens in India. A week or two after I left India, I filed a short “Letter from Mumbai” that included this paragraph:

As I lay in bed, CNBC reported that the U.S. Consulate [correction: should have been Embassy] in Delhi was advising U.S. citizens in India to maintain a low profile. Apparently, “individuals associated with al-Qaeda” were planning to bomb hotels, markets, and tourist sites, and special police units were being assigned to vulnerable and sensitive areas in Mumbai. One such site, it was noted, was the Air India headquarters next to my hotel. I walked out to the street, where I found the Air India building flanked by two traffic cops armed with bamboo walking sticks. Four other traffic cops sat, unarmed, on the stairs of the building, chatting amiably. Not exactly reassured by this show of force, I sought comfort by taking a twenty-minute walk up the street to the Gateway of India, Mumbai’s most popular tourist site. Aside from an admittedly larger regiment of traffic police standing guard, one of whom even sported a pistol, there was little indication that any serious effort was being made to halt potential attacks, despite the fact that more than fifty people were killed by a car bomb here in 2003.

Here, then, are the “barricades” that were erected in front of the Gateway to India on the day following this terror warning that – the Indian authorities claimed – they were taking very seriously:

Yes, that’s an old rope connecting the carts.

I bring this up partly in response to a very good Op-Ed about the failure of India’s anti-terror efforts in today’s Wall Street Journal. No mention is given to poor barricades, but there is plenty to be said about haphazard and reactive policies, and it all rang true to me (based upon a 17 day reporting trip – not much sample-size, to be sure).

I’m going to end this hastily written post with the last paragraph from the above-mentioned, Letter from Mumbai. It also rings true to me, two years later:

I called Rohit. He asked if I was keeping a low profile. When I admitted that I had, out of curiosity, just visited two likely terror targets, he chuckled. “In Mumbai, after the train bombings, the trains were running again in six hours. In London, after the bus bombings, the city was shut down for days.” He paused, and I waited for the moral to this story. “Anyway, Mumbai people are strong because they place their fate in God’s hands. You’ll see.” Actually, I had seen enough. Back at the Hilton, I noticed that the tall, fierce-looking Sikh guards who stood by the door were now augmented by two slight men in pale blue uniforms emblazoned with patches that said “Monitron.” Neither was armed. As I paused to pick up a FedEx package at the front desk, I noticed the pretty young concierge who had helped me change my departure flight from Mumbai. “Monitrons,” I said, nodding at the new security presence. She smiled politely in response. “Are you enjoying your day, sir?” she asked.