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THE day multiple attacks by terrorists brought Mumbai down on its knees. The day Indians would not forget soon. The day that makes one shudder, even now. The author was on duty at the Taj when terrorists stormed it, turning it into a slaughterhouse, an inferno, within hours. The pride of Mumbai and India, a symbol of defiance, was rapidly reduced into an unrecognisable mess of glass shards and rubble; its delicate composition and exquisite interiors a pile of ashes. “Working in a hotel prepares you for many things, but not this”, says the author. Fourteen hours in the pits, anticipating a bloody death any moment amid blasts and gunshots and falling bodies of colleagues and guests; when every movement is suspect and faith is tested; responsibility for the safety of the guests; praying to seeing another day, Ankur relives the unfolding horror that can only be conceived, and then, maybe not. It was only after several gunshots were heard that mass fear set in. Reality and terror struck with equal measure and intensity. There was no way to know what exactly was the threat or the damage as more shots were fired, or even the casualty, but under the leadership of senior staffers, a strategy, within the limited workable frame, was planned to usher in guests to seemingly secure places on the sprawling premises. Putting their own safety last, the staffers were the human shield. The deafening silence of a dark night was made worse by sounds of crashing glass and tremors caused by exploding bombs. As NSG commandos and the Army worked out rescue plans, escape routes were planned by the staffers to get the guests out safely in batches. Hospitality was redefined and taken to a whole new level as staffers endangered their life for guests. The author has been brutally honest. There is no false bravado as he writes about his fears, regrets, wanting to trade places with those not on duty that day and taking pictures with commandos once the action was over. There were moments when his own life mattered less. When he was rescued, it was a surreal moment. Exactly a year on, his mother dies in an accident. “I know, in my heart, that she saved me, that she offered herself to the Almighty,” says the author, as he struggles to live on without her.
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As an enthusiastic young operations management trainee at the Taj property, the author was at the Harbour Bar when he thought he heard a gunshot and saw a man collapse. Through a glass door, he saw the shooter who could “easily have been mistaken for a tourist had he not been holding a rifle in his hand. He squeezed the trigger with his index finger and bullets fired with sharp cracks into the body of the man on the floor. He then walked away.” The incident was dismissed as some rivalry between guests, and the severity of the situation did not dawn on the author then as he went about his business, as did the guests, who saw it as a brief intermission to their merriment. 