Soul Curry: I'll never forget September 13, 2008

As the smell of blood and smoke enveloped Delhi on the evening of the serial blasts, Vaibhav Choudhary witnessed the spirit of people who came out to help...
Why do terrorists kill in the name of religion? I still don���t get it. The recent bomb blasts in New Delhi claimed several lives, but could not kill the spirit of the country and its people. The 13th of September started like any other day and I was unaware that it would turn out to be the most horrifying day of my life, a devastating experience I would never want repeated.
I was in the office at around 6.40 pm when I got news of the serial blasts. I rushed to Connaught Place, the nearest location of the blasts, along with other reporters from the office. It was 7 pm when I reached and a thick cloud of smoke greeted me, through which I could see a man and a woman lying in a pool of blood. The rubbish bin had been ripped apart and an autorickshaw stood with its roof caved in.
It was impossible to believe that the Central Park, where I was standing, was the favourite spot for youngsters to chill out. Everywhere I looked, there were bodies, like clothes left out to dry. People ran helterskelter and I could hear cries like ���Hey Ram, yeh kya ho gaya?��� It was a horrifying scene with the air clogged with the smell of blood, smoke and chemicals. I felt I was in a battlefield and could barely control my emotions as I moved forward to help others lift the bodies of the injured into passing cars and ambulances. For the first time, I encountered the helpful spirit of Delhiites ��� people with expensive cars stop to cry out to others to load the wounded into their vehicles, without thinking of the plush upholstery getting soiled with blood.
For instance, a sardarji opened the doors of his brand new Alto to take in people, and when someone pointed out that ���Sardarji, aap ki car gandi ho jayegi (Sardarji, your car will get soiled),��� he simply replied, ���Is kaam ke liye aisi 50 car kurban (For such times, I can sacrifice 50 cars).��� At one point, I heard a grievously injured young man tell the person carrying him on his shoulder ���Bhai please mere ghar pe phone kar ke keh do ki mai thik hoon��� (Please call home and tell them I���m okay), only to collapse dead a moment later in front of my unbelieving eyes. My own T-shirt was soaked in blood and I was asked by many if I needed assistance, but I explained that the stains came from carrying the injured into waiting cars. Interestingly, I spotted a man in his late 20s disappear for a while and return after changing from his spotless T-shirt into a fresh shirt.
I also witnessed the incident of the ���human bomb���, who was actually a very scared little boy. I was told by a friend from a news channel that the police had got hold of the boy at Barakhamba Road, near Connaught Place. For a moment, I was shocked at the thought that terrorists could use a small child. We rushed there to find the ���human bomb��� was a balloon seller with balloons tied in a patch to his legs. He had fainted in the commotion and came to his senses only to find a crowd around him. Scared, he ran, with the rest of the media and police giving chase.The story changed track once it was revealed that he may have actually seen the actual terrorists plant the bomb and he was taken away by the police for questioning.
Every face I saw that evening was downcast with tears rolling from every eye. I had just one question in my mind: Are we safe in our own country? timeslife@timesgroup.comFollow us on Twitter for more stories