I still remember; it was the morning of December 6, 1992, and I, as an eight-year-old, was enjoying cartoons that used to be aired on Doordarshan those days. But that morning was unlike any other, I could clearly see anxiety and apprehension loom large over the faces of my parents. Soon, the telephone rang; it was my maternal grandfather inquiring about our well-being. I asked mom why the family was so stressed, to which she replied, "Something really bad is going to happen by afternoon." Though I didn't understand, I preferred not to prod further and got busy with my studies.

Then came the news that Babri Masjid in Ayodhya was pulled down by thousands of right-wing activists, who had been camping there since a month. Although I didn't know then what 'right-wing' was, I was familiar with Ayodhya thanks tou00a0 mythological serials that I used to watch with my friend and neighbour Tushar. Soon, we heard a commotion on the road and we ran towards the window to see what was happening. I was shocked to see people waving swords in the air, beating shopkeepers and forcing them to down shutters. I was very scared.

Dad asked mom to take me inside while he closed the widows. Then he opened the door and saw some of our neighbours moving to safer places as ours was a Hindu-dominated locality. One of them asked dad to leave at the earliest as he, from somewhere, had learnt that our area would be targeted that night. However, we chose to stay back. That's when someone knocked on our door. We were scared out of our wits. The person kept banging on the door and then called out my name. It was Tushar's dad mom used to tie him a rakhi every year. He told us the situation was bad and asked us to shift to his house.