Not long into the tragic 60-hour terrorist rampage in Mumbai, India, Web 2.0 emerged as a robust vehicle for news, rumor, speculation and expressions of grief, frustration, and faith.
Here in the US, where cable news “jip’s” of New Delhi Television (NDTV) were spotty, thousands if not millions kept up with minute-by-minute events via tools such as twitter.com. (A “jip” occurs when a network such as CNN or FOX joins another network such as NDTV in progress.)
The “twitter” quick-text global messaging service became an eavesdropper’s feast for conversations taking place from the scene in Mumbai to faraway Finland or Boston. At a moment Friday night when none of the US cable outlets were jipping NDTV, we were nonetheless able to get an update on the events at the Taj hotel, where the last battle of the terrorist invasion of the city was about to occur.
“I estimate 4-5 militants inside the hotel,” came the report of one observer of Hindu language TV in Europe. Then, 21 minutes (and about a thousand twitter messages coded on “Mumbai” later) came this exchange:
“Any news from outside Taj”
“ak47 - 50 rounds just fired from taj…”
In between these messages, we read the forlorn message of one texter who had just learned that a victim of the terror in Mumbai was “a friend of the family.” A few hours later Friday night east coast time, the bloody siege of Mumbai was over.
In addition to twitter, the Mumbai blogosphere also quickly became a valuable source of first-hand information and reflections of the city’s inhabitants. We found way too much good stuff to list everything here. But, via a link posted at the US-based “freerepublic.com” site, we found a remarkably poignant post from the blogger Prem Panicker, a sometime observer of media and political events in Mumbai.
It went like this:
“…I was exhausted, heart sick, when I reached home late last night. The TV was on. The firefight at the Taj was on. The standoff at Nariman House was on. The siege of Mumbai was on.
‘Let us not celebrate Christmas this year,’ the wife said. I slid past her and into the apartment. All I wanted was a glass of water, and some space, in that order. ‘Let us do something for the poor. Or maybe something for those who died today.’
….I am not sure today how this not celebrating Christmas is going to make a difference; I am not sure how this is going to solve the problem—which, in one sentence, is that we happen to live in a city, a nation, in a constant state of siege. But we will do it, because everyone wants to do something, we are no exception, and this is indubitably something.
…Early this morning, bleary eyed after a night of failing to find sleep, I left for work. At the door, my wife hugged me.
It was not a husband-to-wife hug. For that brief moment when her arms were around me I felt, oddly, like a puppy—a lame one. It was that kind of hug—animated by a larger admixture of fear, sorrow, pity.
As I stepped into the elevator, it struck me why that hug felt odd. The wife wasn’t hugging me. She was trying, in her own helpless fashion, to hug this wounded city that has been home to us for 19 years. I suspect similar scenes, similar gestures, are playing out across homes and hearts throughout Mumbai….”