[BITList] More on the Staff at The Taj.

[John Feltham]

Heroes At The Taj

Michael Pollack 12.01.08, 7:40 PM ET
My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in a world- 
class hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freed us.
My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express my  
gratitude and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel in  
Mumbai, who sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They,  
along with the Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this  
tragedy.
My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her  
parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, the  
couple with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma,  
both Bombay girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away  
there and at the Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target.
The four of us arrived at the Taj around 9:30 p.m. for dinner at the  
Golden Dragon, one of the better Chinese restaurants in Mumbai. We  
were a little early, and our table wasn't ready. So we walked next  
door to the Harbor Bar and had barely begun to enjoy our beers when  
the host told us our table was ready. We decided to stay and finish  
our drinks.
Thirty seconds later, we heard what sounded like a heavy tray smashing  
to the ground. This was followed by 20 or 30 similar sounds and then  
absolute silence. We crouched behind a table just feet away from what  
we now knew were gunmen. Terrorists had stormed the lobby and were  
firing indiscriminately.
We tried to break the glass window in front of us with a chair, but it  
wouldn't budge. The Harbour Bar's hostess, who had remained at her  
post, motioned to us that it was safe to make a run for the stairwell.  
She mentioned, in passing, that there was a dead body right outside in  
the corridor. We believe this courageous woman was murdered after we  
ran away.
(We later learned that minutes after we climbed the stairs, terrorists  
came into the Harbour Bar, shot everyone who was there and executed  
those next door at the Golden Dragon. The staff there was equally  
brave, locking their patrons into a basement wine cellar to protect  
them. But the terrorists managed to break through and lob in grenades  
that killed everyone in the basement.)
We took refuge in the small office of the kitchen of another  
restaurant, Wasabi, on the second floor. Its chef and staff served the  
four of us food and drink and even apologized for the inconvenience we  
were suffering.
Through text messaging, e-mail on BlackBerrys and a small TV in the  
office, we realized the full extent of the terrorist attack on Mumbai.  
We figured we were in a secure place for the moment. There was also no  
way out.
At around 11:30 p.m., the kitchen went silent. We took a massive  
wooden table and pushed it up against the door, turned off all the  
lights and hid. All of the kitchen workers remained outside; not one  
staff member had run.
The terrorists repeatedly slammed against our door. We heard them ask  
the chef in Hindi if anyone was inside the office. He responded  
calmly: "No one is in there. It's empty." That is the second time the  
Taj staff saved our lives.
After about 20 minutes, other staff members escorted us down a  
corridor to an area called The Chambers, a members-only area of the  
hotel. There were about 250 people in six rooms. Inside, the staff was  
serving sandwiches and alcohol. People were nervous, but cautiously  
optimistic.
We were told The Chambers was the safest place we could be because the  
army was now guarding its two entrances and the streets were still  
dangerous. There had been attacks at a major railway station and a  
hospital.
But then, a Member of Parliament phoned into a live newscast and let  
the world know that hundreds of people--including CEOs, foreigners and  
Members of Parliament--were "secure and safe in The Chambers  
together." Adding to the escalating tension and chaos was the fact  
that, via text and cellphone, we knew that the dome of the Taj was on  
fire  and that it could move downward.
At around 2 a.m., the staff attempted an evacuation. We all lined up  
to head down a dark fire escape exit. But after five minutes, grenade  
blasts and automatic weapon fire pierced the air. A mad stampede  
ensued to get out of the stairwell and take cover back inside The  
Chambers.
After that near-miss, my wife and I decided we should hide in  
different rooms. While we hoped to be together at the end, our primary  
obligation was to our children. We wanted to keep one parent alive.  
Because I am American and my wife is Indian, and news reports said the  
terrorists were targeting U.S. and U.K. nationals, I believed I would  
further endanger her life if we were together in a hostage situation.
So when we ran back to The Chambers I hid in a toilet stall with a  
floor-to-ceiling door and my wife stayed with our friends, who fled to  
a large room across the hall.
For the next seven hours, I lay in the fetal position, keeping in  
touch with Anjali via BlackBerry. I was joined in the stall by Joe, a  
Nigerian national with a U.S. green card. I managed to get in touch  
with the FBI, and several agents gave me status updates throughout the  
night.
I cannot even begin to explain the level of adrenaline running through  
my system at this point. It was this hyper-aware state where every  
sound, every smell, every piece of information was ultra-acute,  
analyzed and processed so that we could make the best decisions and  
maximize the odds of survival.
Was the fire above us life-threatening? What floor was it on? Were the  
commandos near us, or were they terrorists? Why is it so quiet? Did  
the commandos survive? If the terrorists come into the bathroom and to  
the door, when they fire in, how can I make my body as small as  
possible? If Joe gets killed before me in this situation, how can I  
throw his body on mine to barricade the door? If the Indian commandos  
liberate the rest in the other room, how will they know where I am? Do  
the terrorists have suicide vests? Will the roof stand? How can I make  
sure the FBI knows where Anjali and I are? When is it safe to stand up  
and attempt to urinate?
Meanwhile, Anjali and the others were across the corridor in a mass of  
people lying on the floor and clinging to each other. People barely  
moved for seven hours, and for the last three hours they felt it was  
too unsafe to even text. While I was tucked behind a couple walls of  
marble and granite in my toilet stall, she was feet from bullets  
flying back and forth. After our failed evacuation, most of the people  
in the fire escape stairwell and many staff members who attempted to  
protect the guests were shot and killed.
The 10 minutes around 2:30 a.m. were the most frightening. Rather than  
the back-and-forth of gunfire, we just heard single, punctuated shots.
We later learned that the terrorists went along a different corridor  
of The Chambers, room by room, and systematically executed everyone:  
women, elderly, Muslims, Hindus, foreigners. A group huddled next to  
Anjali was devout Bori Muslims who would have been slaughtered just  
like everyone else, had the terrorists gone into their room. Everyone  
was in deep prayer and most, Anjali included, had accepted that their  
lives were likely over. It was terrorism in its purest form. No one  
was spared.
The next five hours were filled with the sounds of an intense grenade/ 
gun battle between the Indian commandos and the terrorists. It was  
fought in darkness; each side was trying to outflank the other.
By the time dawn broke, the commandos had successfully secured our  
corridor. A young commando led out the people packed into Anjali's room.
When one woman asked whether it was safe to leave, the commando  
replied: "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear. The first bullets  
have to go through me."
The corridor was laced with broken glass and bullet casings. Every  
table was turned over or destroyed. The ceilings and walls were  
littered with hundreds of bullet holes. Blood stains were everywhere,  
though, fortunately, there were no dead bodies to be seen.
A few minutes after Anjali had vacated, Joe and I peeked out of our  
stall. We saw multiple commandos and smiled widely. I had lost my  
right shoe while sprinting to the toilet so I grabbed a sheet from the  
floor, wrapped it around my foot and proceeded to walk over the debris  
to the hotel lobby.
Anjali and I embraced for the first time in seven hours in the Taj's  
ground floor entrance. I didn't know whether she was dead or injured  
because we hadn't been able to text for the past three hours.
I wanted to take a picture of us on my BlackBerry, but Anjali wanted  
us to get out of there before doing anything.
She was right--our ordeal wasn't completely over. A large bus pulled  
up in front of the Taj to collect us and, just about as it was fully  
loaded, gunfire erupted again. The terrorists were still alive and  
firing automatic weapons at the bus. Anjali was the last to get on the  
bus, and she eventually escaped in our friend's car. I ducked under  
some concrete barriers for cover and wound up the subject of photos  
that were later splashed across the media. Shortly thereafter, an  
ambulance came and drove a few of us to safety. An hour later, Anjali  
and I were again reunited at her parents' home. Our Thanksgiving had  
just gained a lot more meaning.
Some may say our survival was due to random luck, others might credit  
divine intervention. But 72 hours removed from these events, I can  
assure you only one thing: Far fewer people would have survived if it  
weren't for the extreme selflessness shown by the Taj staff, who  
organized us, catered to us and then, in the end, literally died for us.
They complemented the extreme bravery and courage of the Indian  
commandos, who, in a pitch-black setting and unfamiliar, tightly  
packed terrain, valiantly held the terrorists at bay.
It is also amazing that, out of our entire group, not one person  
screamed or panicked. There was an eerie but quiet calm that pervaded-- 
one more thing that got us all out alive. Even people in adjacent  
rooms, who were being executed, kept silent.
It is much easier to destroy than to build, yet somehow humanity has  
managed to build far more than it has ever destroyed. Likewise, in a  
period of crisis, it is much easier to find faults and failings rather  
than to celebrate the good deeds. It is now time to commemorate our  
heroes.



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