The Pathan household doesn’t laugh like that any more. For Zubair was one among the 187 Mumbaikars who died in the serial train blasts of 7/11.

Within a week of the dreadful event, we at the The Indian Express were grappling with reports about the immediate fallout: the overwhelming number of those who died were men, mostly sole breadwinners, relatives were still looking to identify the missing in hospital morgues, the injured battling for their lives in hospitals, the police trying to join the dots in the investigation. This was a tragedy like no other.

It happened in Mumbai, but it had a national dimension in the way Mumbai has a national dimension. It was about you and me, about grandfathers, fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, wives, daughters, daughters-in-law and friends. Here today, gone tomorrow. It was about Zubair, about Paresh Thakkar (38), Sandford de Sales (40), Nandini Naik (27), Sumant De (23)... many more who had also come to Mumbai, some even when she was Bombay, from across the country: Gujarat, Kerala, Bengal, Uttar Pradesh, in search of their dreams for a better living.

Some like Zubair came to study. Others were like Hemlata Yadav (18), who had recently joined the Home Guards and was looking to apply for a government job to help send her young brother to an English medium school; like Pratik Patil, who also at 18 was trying his best to be the elder son of the family but got caught on the wrong train while going to check if his younger sister had got admission in her new college; like Ashok Vaghela (40), the CA for whom things were beginning to fall in place as the family was finally able to move out of their chawl to a flat in Borivali; like Yogesh Futane (26), who was working hard to get an MBA amidst his personal tragedy of losing his two-month-old son to malaria; like Chandrakanth Mithani (65), who was simply soaking in the moment he was waiting for all his life: becoming a grandfather; like Aejaz Sheikh (41), whose high-point of the day would be at midnight when he would return from work and chat with his 10-year-old daughter, Anam, both discussing animatedly how her school day had passed; like “dosto ka aziz” Salim Kundiwala (42), that free spirit, who was putting together some money to take his ageing mother on a Haj pilgrimage...

All their stories had to be told. For these were people whose heart beat for Mumbai. And that heartbeat could not be silenced on our pages by generalising them as “victims”. That is why we chose the difficult path of writing about each one them. Talking about grief isn’t easy. Yet, they couldn’t be dismissed as mere statistics. That’s how the series, 187 Mumbai Life Stories, was conceived. One story for one person. Each story chronicling a seemingly ordinary person who led an extraordinary life. In a city of real inconveniences and unforeseen challenges.

When we started, our young, dedicated reporters took it up as a journalistic challenge. The search for an address — many a times the wrong one was printed in the BMC list — then meeting and convincing a family. Going back to another when it was ready. Speaking to friends and colleagues. By the time we were able to complete a few, we realised how difficult it was. That made our resolve stronger. It had to be done. Many a time, we have had reporters coming back in tears, driven to exhaustion by the sheer emotional weight of the assignment.

Yet, while they took a break, another set got on the job. And now that we have been able to tell the stories, all of them, we realise the effort was well worth it: a life-changing experience with personal lessons for each one of us.

Year 2006 will always be remembered for what it did to these Mumbai families. Today, just as we are in year 2007, there will surely be a 2008, a 2009... But we mustn’t forget.

All of us have experienced loss. Yet, none of us will be able to truly comprehend the enormity of the personal tragedy of the 186 families. Even after running these stories, none of us at The Indian Express can dare say we understand. What we have learnt, though, is that we all have to begin afresh. And all these stories, Mumbai’s stories, have helped us do that. Thousands of readers from across the country have contributed to the Indian Express’s My Mumbai Trust. Others have responded differently: Snehal Desai of Ahmedabad got his friends together to raise funds for the education of Hemlata’s brother; NRI Kiran Desai oraganised a bike like Hrithik Roshan’s in Koi Mil Gaya for 8-year-old-Bittu, reading about his father, Rajan Naik’s, unfulfilled promise in story No 3; and an anonymous donor passed on ...

Rehana, wife of 41 years to Shakir Merchant (72), has kept clippings of all the Life Stories. “Through Mumbai Life stories, we have realised there are so many families whose plight is worse than ours.”

If terrorism is this faceless enemy, its intended targets are not. And Rehana isn’t the only one who is looking ahead. Esha Shah (16) is working hard to get into IIT. Her father, Tushit, wanted that for her. Kruti Killawalla (19) is nurturing and building upon her father’s insurance clients — she has saved her father’s diary and insists that’s what she wants to do. Mahua Das (36) has decided against leaving Mumbai. She is rebuilding her life with 8-year-old daughter Sheona. For Samir Gujarati (36), “the show must go on” and his wife Bhavna helps out in many ways: her new responsibility is to help him wear his artificial leg as he has returned to work everyday.

That’s Mumbai in 2007. And Mumbai knows, hope remains the only way forward.

The writer is editor, Mumbai, The Indian Express shantanu.datta@expressindia.com

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