[Vision2020] Fw: mumbai]

[Matt Decker]

Sue,

I don't doubt it. The stories I've heard are a little more gruesome.  How men were bound to chairs with a single bullet wound to the head, while wives laid by their feet dead. Some can imagine what happened.

I understand the Indian elite commandos saved many lives and killed most of the terrorists. Thanks to them, many more could have died.

Thanks for the story

MD

> From: suehovey at moscow.com
> To: vision2020 at moscow.com
> Date: Wed, 10 Dec 2008 14:36:18 -0800
> Subject: [Vision2020] Fw: mumbai]
> 
> I can't vouch for this story, but the fellow who sent it to me usually sends 
> out only material he has checked out.  Interesting and compelling reading .
> 
> Sue Hovey
> >
> > Forbes.com
> >
> > Michael Pollack
> >
> > 12.01.08
> > My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in a world-class
> > hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freed us.
> >
> > My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express my gratitude
> > and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai, who
> > sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They, along with the
> > Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this tragedy.
> >
> > My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her
> > parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, the couple
> > with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma, both Bombay
> > girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away there and at the
> > Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target.
> >
> > The four of us arrived at the Taj around 9:30 p.m. for dinner at the
> > Golden Dragon, one of the better Chinese restaurants in Mumbai. We were
> > a little early, and our table wasn't ready. So we walked next door to
> > the Harbor Bar and had barely begun to enjoy our beers when the host
> > told us our table was ready. We decided to stay and finish our drinks.
> >
> > Thirty seconds later, we heard what sounded like a heavy tray smashing
> > to the ground. This was followed by 20 or 30 similar sounds and then
> > absolute silence. We crouched behind a table just feet away from what we
> > now knew were gunmen. Terrorists had stormed the lobby and were firing
> > indiscriminately.
> >
> > We tried to break the glass window in front of us with a chair, but it
> > wouldn't budge. The Harbour Bar's hostess, who had remained at her post,
> > motioned to us that it was safe to make a run for the stairwell. She
> > mentioned, in passing, that there was a dead body right outside in the
> > corridor. We believe this courageous woman was murdered after we ran
> > away.
> >
> > (We later learned that minutes after we climbed the stairs, terrorists
> > came into the Harbour Bar, shot everyone who was there and executed
> > those next door at the Golden Dragon. The staff there was equally brave,
> > locking their patrons into a basement wine cellar to protect them. But
> > the terrorists managed to break through and lob in grenades that killed
> > everyone in the basement.)
> >
> > We took refuge in the small office of the kitchen of another restaurant,
> > Wasabi, on the second floor. Its chef and staff served the four of us
> > food and drink and even apologized for the inconvenience we were
> > suffering.
> >
> > Through text messaging, e-mail on BlackBerrys and a small TV in the
> > office, we realized the full extent of the terrorist attack on Mumbai.
> > We figured we were in a secure place for the moment. There was also no
> > way out.
> >
> > At around 11:30 p.m., the kitchen went silent. We took a massive wooden
> > table and pushed it up against the door, turned off all the lights and
> > hid. All of the kitchen workers remained outside; not one staff member
> > had run.
> >
> > The terrorists repeatedly slammed against our door. We heard them ask
> > the chef in Hindi if anyone was inside the office. He responded calmly:
> > "No one is in there. It's empty." That is the second time the Taj staff
> > saved our lives.
> >
> > After about 20 minutes, other staff members escorted us down a corridor
> > to an area called The Chambers, a members-only area of the hotel. There
> > were about 250 people in six rooms. Inside, the staff was serving
> > sandwiches and alcohol. People were nervous, but cautiously optimistic.
> > We were told The Chambers was the safest place we could be because the
> > army was now guarding its two entrances and the streets were still
> > dangerous. There had been attacks at a major railway station and a
> > hospital.
> >
> > But then, a member of parliament phoned into a live newscast and let the
> > world know that hundreds of people--including CEOs, foreigners and
> > members of parliament--were "secure and safe in The Chambers together."
> > Adding to the escalating tension and chaos was the fact that, via text
> > and cellphone, we knew that the dome of the Taj was on fire and that it
> > could move downward.
> >
> > At around 2 a.m., the staff attempted an evacuation. We all lined up to
> > head down a dark fire escape exit. But after five minutes, grenade
> > blasts and automatic weapon fire pierced the air. A mad stampede ensued
> > to get out of the stairwell and take cover back inside The Chambers.
> >
> > After that near-miss, my wife and I decided we should hide in different
> > rooms. While we hoped to be together at the end, our primary obligation
> > was to our children. We wanted to keep one parent alive. Because I am
> > American and my wife is Indian, and news reports said the terrorists
> > were targeting U.S. and U.K. nationals, I believed I would further
> > endanger her life if we were together in a hostage situation.
> >
> > So when we ran back to The Chambers I hid in a toilet stall with a
> > floor-to-ceiling door and my wife stayed with our friends, who fled to a
> > large room across the hall.
> >
> > For the next seven hours, I lay in the fetal position, keeping in touch
> > with Anjali via BlackBerry. I was joined in the stall by Joe, a Nigerian
> > national with a U.S. green card. I managed to get in touch with the FBI,
> > and several agents gave me status updates throughout the night.
> >
> > I cannot even begin to explain the level of adrenaline running through
> > my system at this point. It was this hyper-aware state where every
> > sound, every smell, every piece of information was ultra-acute, analyzed
> > and processed so that we could make the best decisions and maximize the
> > odds of survival.
> >
> > Was the fire above us life-threatening? What floor was it on? Were the
> > commandos near us, or were they terrorists? Why is it so quiet? Did the
> > commandos survive? If the terrorists come into the bathroom and to the
> > door, when they fire in, how can I make my body as small as possible? If
> > Joe gets killed before me in this situation, how can I throw his body on
> > mine to barricade the door? If the Indian commandos liberate the rest in
> > the other room, how will they know where I am? Do the terrorists have
> > suicide vests? Will the roof stand? How can I make sure the FBI knows
> > where Anjali and I are? When is it safe to stand up and attempt to
> > urinate?
> >
> > Meanwhile, Anjali and the others were across the corridor in a mass of
> > people lying on the floor and clinging to each other. People barely
> > moved for seven hours, and for the last three hours they felt it was too
> > unsafe to even text. While I was tucked behind a couple walls of marble
> > and granite in my toilet stall, she was feet from bullets flying back
> > and forth. After our failed evacuation, most of the people in the fire
> > escape stairwell and many staff members who attempted to protect the
> > guests were shot and killed.
> >
> > The 10 minutes around 2:30 a.m. were the most frightening. Rather than
> > the back-and-forth of gunfire, we just heard single, punctuated shots.
> > We later learned that the terrorists went along a different corridor of
> > The Chambers, room by room, and systematically executed everyone: women,
> > elderly, Muslims, Hindus, foreigners. A group huddled next to Anjali was
> > devout Bori Muslims who would have been slaughtered just like everyone
> > else, had the terrorists gone into their room. Everyone was in deep
> > prayer and most, Anjali included, had accepted that their lives were
> > likely over. It was terrorism in its purest form. No one was spared.
> >
> > The next five hours were filled with the sounds of an intense
> > grenade/gun battle between the Indian commandos and the terrorists. It
> > was fought in darkness; each side was trying to outflank the other.
> >
> > By the time dawn broke, the commandos had successfully secured our
> > corridor. A young commando led out the people packed into Anjali's room.
> > When one woman asked whether it was safe to leave, the commando replied:
> > "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear. The first bullets have to go
> > through me."
> >
> > The corridor was laced with broken glass and bullet casings. Every table
> >was turned over or destroyed. The ceilings and walls were littered with
> > hundreds of bullet holes. Blood stains were everywhere, though,
> > fortunately, there were no dead bodies to be seen.
> >
> > A few minutes after Anjali had vacated, Joe and I peeked out of our
> > stall. We saw multiple commandos and smiled widely. I had lost my right
> > shoe while sprinting to the toilet so I grabbed a sheet from the floor,
> > wrapped it around my foot and proceeded to walk over the debris to the
> > hotel lobby.
> >
> > Anjali and I embraced for the first time in seven hours in the Taj's
> > ground floor entrance. I didn't know whether she was dead or injured
> > because we hadn't been able to text for the past three hours.
> >
> > I wanted to take a picture of us on my BlackBerry, but Anjali wanted us
> > to get out of there before doing anything.
> >
> > She was right--our ordeal wasn't completely over. A large bus pulled up
> > in front of the Taj to collect us and, just about as it was fully
> > loaded, gunfire erupted again. The terrorists were still alive and
> > firing automatic weapons at the bus. Anjali was the last to get on the
> > bus, and she eventually escaped in our friend's car. I ducked under some
> > concrete barriers for cover and wound up the subject of photos that were
> > later splashed across the media. Shortly thereafter, an ambulance came
> > and drove a few of us to safety. An hour later, Anjali and I were again
> > reunited at her parents' home. Our Thanksgiving had just gained a lot
> > more meaning.
> >
> > Some may say our survival was due to random luck, others might credit
> > divine intervention. But 72 hours removed from these events, I can
> > assure you only one thing: Far fewer people would have survived if it
> > weren't for the extreme selflessness shown by the Taj staff, who
> > organized us, catered to us and then, in the end, literally died for us.
> >
> > They complemented the extreme bravery and courage of the Indian
> > commandos, who, in a pitch-black setting and unfamiliar, tightly packed
> > terrain, valiantly held the terrorists at bay.
> >
> > It is also amazing that, out of our entire group, not one person
> > screamed or panicked. There was an eerie but quiet calm that
> > pervaded--one more thing that got us all out alive. Even people in
> > adjacent rooms, who were being executed, kept silent.
> >
> > It is much easier to destroy than to build, yet somehow humanity has
> > managed to build far more than it has ever destroyed. Likewise, in a
> > period of crisis, it is much easier to find faults and failings rather
> > than to celebrate the good deeds. It is now time to commemorate our
> > heroes.
> >
> > Michael Pollack is a general partner of Glenhill Capital, a firm he
> > co-founded in 2001.
> >
> >
> > 
> 
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