Real, not reel

 

 

BY N J RAVI CHANDER 

 

ON THE anniversary of the New York terror attacks, my mind wandered back to the past, recalling the events that unfolded on that fateful day. I was at Bengaluru HAL airport early at 6 a.m. that morning, waiting to catch a flight to Kolkata. The State Bank of India had mandated me to reconcile Nostro entries for Bangalore branches at the Foreign Department of the bank in Kolkata. It would be over three months before I could reunite with my family, friends and colleagues. Incidentally, this was my maiden visit to the ‘City of Joy’! In case you are unfamiliar, an Indian bank maintains a Nostro account with a foreign bank in foreign currency to carry out its international currency transactions. We manually immersed ourselves in the reconciliation exercise, meticulously sifting through scores of records and documents, including registers, ledgers, ticket acknowledgements and SWIFT copies. The airport was bustling with passengers glued to the visuals playing on the television screens. From my peripheral vision, I could discern an aeroplane careening into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre and engulfing the tower in flames. I could behold people howling and cascading to their end from the floors above as it exploded into a fireball.

 

The magic box displayed visuals resembling an action-packed English movie thriller. But I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Holding my belongings and reading the daily newspaper, I wasn’t interested in talking to the surrounding people who remained glued to the TV. When the barriers opened, I jumped from my seat, took my belongings, and rushed to join the long line of passengers eager to board the aeroplane. The facial expressions of some passengers suggested something terrible had happened, but I disregarded it. In the pre-mobile phone era, staying connected with the family was challenging. We communicated with our relatives via the landline phone or the humble letter and telegram. Back in the snail mail era, a letter from Kolkata would take a week to reach Bengaluru. It was customary to contact family members soon after arriving at the destination. Within minutes of landing, I connected with my family from Kolkata, and a flustered mother grabbed the phone.

 

“Were you aware that the Al-Qaeda militants hijacked four aeroplanes and carried out suicide missions against targets in the United States?” She demanded to know if I was safe in her emotion-filled voice. Upon being apprised of my safe journey, the other family members, who had assembled around her, sighed in relief. Those who watched the footage streaming on television found them harrowing. Despite travelling to the ‘City of Joy’ and not to the land of Uncle Sam, the alarming videos made my family anxious, which is not surprising. My mother also spared no effort to plead with the Gods to keep me safe. Only after conversing with my mother did I comprehend that the TV footage I witnessed at the Bengaluru HAL airport portrayed the 9/11 terrorist attack - not a movie as I had perceived. It’s been decades since the terrible incident happened, but I still can’t forget the anxious moments it caused.