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It was January
26, a date I will not forget. My daughter was born that day seven years
ago. As soon as I got up around 7.30 a.m., I sunk into my jeans and began
planning the customary birthday bash with my wife. It was about 8.50 a.m.
I was about to go shopping when the earth shook. "Earthquake,"
my wife screamed. She had never experienced one before. We ran out into
the open, but still untrustworthy, ground. People were screaming and running,
many of them in their nightwear. We were in a swinging world.
It lasted for about 45 seconds. A deceptive prologue. The second coming
was devastating. It was stillness again after 90 seconds of the trembling
terrain-and the phones went dead. My wife predicted destruction though
we could see none around us. The birthday forgotten (my daughter won't
grudge it), I was out on the reporter's trail. And then I saw our staff
photographer Shailesh Raval rushing towards me. He had just shot pictures
of a four-storey building that had crumbled like a pack of cards next
to his house, burying 12 people.
Then, despite the dead phones, news started travelling through the wreckage.
"Mansi Tower has collapsed." "Shikhar Tower is gone."
When we reached Mansi, we saw the first remains of the horror. A part
of the 10-storey building had completely collapsed, killing 40. Volunteers
of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh were trying to get to the upper portion
of the building to rescue those who were trapped in the storeys that were
intact.
Now deadline. It was a Friday and the India Today English edition had
closed on Thursday night. It was the obvious cover story. But there was
no way I could contact my editors. Around 2 p.m. I managed to contact
my Delhi office on phone and was told to file a cover story by next morning
for the regional editions. I had less than 24 hours to put the story together
even as I was getting reports of massive destruction. Few government officials
were available for feedback. Another problem: our multi-storeyed office
building, though declared reasonably safe later, too was damaged.
But the story had to go. I worked through the night making desperate
calls and snatching a four-hour nap in between before sending the story.
Two days later, when I reached Kutch after filing from Ahmedabad, where
680 people had died and 80 buildings had collapsed, I found myself in
a ghost town, and beneath those mountains of stone, wood and metal, lay
thousands dead.
 
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