45 hours

Wednesday, November 26, 2008. A couple enjoying their first anniversary dinner. Board members drinking to their company’s success. A tired officer retiring to bed. And many such, unassuming, innocent people. A few minutes later, their lives were about to change forever.

The terror attack on Mumbai has shaken the very foundation of our country. So many unanswered questions – who are they, how did they get in, how many are they, what are they after, how many more are they going to kill, who’s their next target – are haunting every single citizen of India. Three days and two nights, and the ordeal still isn’t over. The once happy-go-lucky city is now a war zone. The death toll threatens to increase with each passing hour. We’re left choking, gasping for breath, as their iron hold just keeps getting stronger. It’s as if they aren’t even human.

How can we just sit there, switching news channels, too stunned to react? How can we let ourselves be at the mercy of these demonic sprites? How can we sit and watch one innocent life after another being taken? I don't want to pity us, but tears of frustration don't stop flowing.

The Dark Ages are back. All the happy memories, joyful moments seem an eon away. As if the good has been sucked out of the planet. And all that remains is a sea of dead.

It’s been 45 hours – and still counting.