MUMBAI, JULY 18:They were three young women, two sisters and a friend, all three colleagues, their workplace, the Borivali Station.

Seated on a platform bench, Hemlata Yadav, 19, was discussing with her sister Suman Yadav and friend Madhuri how to apply for a new job. All three were with a unit of the Brihanmumbai Home Guards, deployed to protect the city’s woman commuters. The Virar-bound Fast pulled in, its First Class coach just a few steps from the bench where Hemlata was.

It was July 11, 6.35 pm.

“Madhuri and I fell down to the ground from the bomb’s impact but my sister was injured badly. I tried to pick her up but her right side was badly wounded, Hemlata never got up,’’ recalls Suman.

If death linked Hemlata to a city attacked, her life was touched by it as well.

Exactly a week before her death—7/4 to use terror’s New York universal vocabulary—she and her family had moved to the first flat in their lives: a 225-square-foot home in Jogeshwari, part of a government rehabilitation colony for those displaced by a road-widening project.

Perhaps, the prospect of a new home with a new roof— “she was very excited about living in a flat,” says her mother—got the two sisters to look to a new future and take risks. So they dropped out after Class XII and two months ago, joined the 3500-strong Home Guards corps at a salary of Rs 90 a day. That Rs 180 extra meant it was easier to pay the convent school fees for their younger brother Yogesh.

But like any one just days short of her 20th birthday, Hemlata wanted more, wanted better. In fact, that’s what she was discussing when the bomb went off. She and her sister had taken a break from duty and were trying to figure out how to obtain a Caste Certificate from the local tehsildar’s office—Hemlata had been keeping an eye out for government recruitment ads in the papers.

Says father Yadunath, a migrant from UP, who came to this city 40 years ago and does odd jobs, from painting to delivery services: “I earn Rs 2,500-3,000, my girls had hoped the Home Guard experience could help finances at home and open their doors to a secure government service.’’

“Guddu was the more outgoing of us,” says Suman, “she was very keen on making something of her life. She dreamt of getting a government job and resume studies on the side.’’

Hemlata’s immediate superior, Zonal Commandant Vasudev Yogi Suman says, ‘‘The uniform held great appeal for her. In her year’s service during Gokul Ashtami and then over the past eight months at the rail station, she was always calm, composed. She would definitely have got a good job in the government or the police.’’

Suman says she can’t bear working in the corps anymore. ‘‘My sister motivated me to quit being a worker in a plastic unit and become a Home Guard with her. Now I would rather do some government job than go back.’’

Commandant (Brihanmumbai) Hemant Gaikwad, who handed the Yadavs a Rs 75,000-cheque from the organisation’s Benevolent Fund on July 15, has an assurance. ‘‘The corps will follow up Hemlata’s case and ensure the Railways employs Suman as part of their Ministry’s relief package.’’

The Yadavs remember the things Hemlata loved—good clothes and good food, especially Tuesday’s unfulfilled wish. Says mother Sumitra, ‘‘She loved arbi. On Tuesday morning, she went out to purchase some and told me she will cook it herself for the family when she returned home after work.’’

The living room is bare, except for a mattress. The only photo the Yadavs have of their daughter is the passport-size one, the one she got when she dropped out of school to give herself—and her family—a second shot at a better future in this city.

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