Yesterday began like any other day, with the usual hustle and bustle of sending my daughter to school and getting ready for work. Little did I know that a simple news flash would reignite memories of past traumas that I might faded after the Covid onset.
I was in my office, sitting on my desk, engrossed in my tasks when a colleague approached me, asking in which school my daughter studied. I replied with name of school not knowing what was flashing in the news. My colleague informed me about the treat received by schools and also that some schools are planning evacuation. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a chill run down my spine.
Immediately, I dialled the school's number, the phone seemed to ring endlessly before someone answered. With bated breath, I inquired about the situation, relief flooding over me as I learned that my daughter was safe but would be kept inside until further notice. The school administration assured me they were taking necessary precautions, with police present and the premises thoroughly searched for any suspicious objects. They also mentioned I could pick up my child if desired.
Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed to pick up my daughter from school. On the way, I called my husband and he was unaware too as there was no communication from the school yet. The usually familiar route seemed unnervingly long yesterday, each passing minute filled with dread and apprehension. Along the way, I couldn't help but recall the chilling events of the past that still haunt me to this day.
The regular route to school seemed like an eternity, the sight of fire brigades and ambulances serving as stark reminders of the fragility of life. Memories flooded back of the terror attack on the Parliament of India in 2001, where my father worked. The streets of Delhi transformed into a warzone, and the Watch and Ward personnel who lost their lives that day were our neighbours – their absence a constant reminder of the horrors endured.
And then there were the 2005 Delhi serial blasts, a day when my family narrowly escaped tragedy by mere minutes. My mother and sister were in the vicinity, their usual trip to the local market for Diwali shopping spared by fate. The thought of how close we came to losing them still sends shivers down my spine.
As I finally reached the school and embraced my daughter tightly, I couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and sorrow. Gratitude for her safety, but sorrow for the world she's growing up in – a world where fear and uncertainty seem to lurk around every corner.
But the toughest part was yet to come – explaining to my 8-year-old daughter why she was being picked up early from school. How do you convey the darkness of the world to a child who believes in nothing but beauty and goodness? It's a delicate balance, wanting to shield her from the harsh realities of life while instilling in her a sense of hope and resilience.
Yet amidst all these, one thing remains constant – the resilience of a mother's love. Despite the fear and the flashbacks, I will continue to hold my daughter close, to cherish every moment, and to pray for a brighter, safer tomorrow.
In such times, we must hold onto hope and stand united against the forces that seek to divide us. For it is love, courage, and solidarity that will ultimately triumph over fear. And as a mother, I will do everything in my power to ensure that my daughter grows up in a world where she feels safe, loved, and valued.
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