<img alt="" src="/imagedata/2011/jul/yoshita.jpg" align="left" border="0" />At 7.15 pm I get a call from a friend, 'Hey where are you? Hope you are safe? There have been serial blasts in the city!" I was nagging a photographer to upload a picture of a fancy umbrella, the cost of which would be half the monthly salary of the ward boys who were transferring dead bodies from the blast site to the hospitals on Wednesday. The first thought that came to mind was, 'What the *&amp;@#, another one!'; a sentiment that was voiced by most newspapers on their front page. I went to my section of the newsroom, put the television on. Breaking news shows were flashing, followed by the usual drama that I have witnessed in the past six years after every terror attack. The almost rhetorical questions from celebrity news channel hosts, gory blast footage, "outraged" celebrity reactions, background music that would be an inspiration for any Bollywood music composer, and a million conspiracy theories. After a couple of hours watching the drama and retweeting useful information, a friend sent me a message on chat. Friend: What time do you want to leave? Me: In a while. Say 45 minutes. Friend: What do you want to do about food? People in office are ordering from a Chinese joint, do you want something. Me: Haan, whatever. After five minutes. Friend: I have ordered for lamb and clay pot rice. Do you want prawns as well? Strike one. I decided to call Dominos. Operator: Good evening, Dominoes pizza. How may I help you? Me: Good evening? Really? Operator: I am sorry, what? Me: Never mind. Is your 30 minutes or free offer available? Operator: Yes ma'am. Me: Thanks. I hung up. Strike two. Then after a while I called a friend. Me: Where are you? Everything okay? Friend: Ya ya, all good. I am in office. Me: Why are you still in office? It's late and trains are running fine. Friend: Yes, I know. We are just having a drinking session in office. Me: WHAT! People just died ufffd. Never mind. Have fun. Strike three. Stepped out of office. As usual the road outside office had no cabs. Found one a little ahead on the road.u00a0 "Elphinston station?" "Nai."u00a0 "Lower Parel?"u00a0 "Nai." "Abe kidhar jayega?" "Kidhar nai." "Bhaiyya, blast hua hai, public ko pareshan mat karo." "Haan, toh usme naya kya hai?" Strike four. This is when I actually realised that Mumbai doesn't stop for anyone. Woke up the next morning, put the television on to hear the 'Amul baby' saying "It is very difficult to stop any single terrorist attack" and "99% of the attacks have been stopped." Did the math and realised that if 99% were actually not stopped then there would have been 9,000 more attacks in the last two decades! And then there was the home ministry talking utter rubbish and drip-feeding journos with unconfirmed reports every hour.u00a0 So what eventually happened after the blast? Phone lines were jammed, cabbies were acting pricey, politicians were making foot in the mouth statements, Pakistan was trending on Twitter, people were arguing about Qasab's birth date, restaurants were making good money and all of that yet again was taken as a sign of resilience and Mumbai getting back to normal.u00a0 Waking up the next morning, pretending nothing's happened and going to work is not resilience; it's helplessness. Habit. Denial.

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At 7.15 pm I get a call from a friend, 'Hey where are you? Hope you are safe? There have been serial blasts in the city!"

It's not resilience, it's just a habit

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It's not resilience, it's just a habit

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