The shops have reopened, the crows have returned and the familiar bustle of Old Delhi continues one year after the suicide bomb blast near the Red Fort. Some of those who were caught in the terror attack on that November evening have also returned to their small shops and businesses, trying to rebuild their lives, even as the physical and mental scars of those harrowing moments when terrified people were running for their lives as bodies lay scattered on the road refuse to fade.
On November 10 last year, at around 6.52 pm, a car laden with explosives blew up near the historic seventeenth-century Mughal-era Red Fort at a busy traffic signal in the national capital. The driver, Dr Umar Un Nabi, a doctor by profession and an assistant professor at Al Falah University in Faridabad, Haryana, was the suicide bomber and died in the explosion. The blast killed 15 people and left several others injured, turning an otherwise busy evening into a scene of devastation.
Among those who bore the brunt of the explosion was 50-year-old Bhola Chaudhary, a physically challenged man who runs a small tobacco shop. He was parked near the Lal Quila police booth, barely 50 metres from the car that exploded, when the blast took place. Recalling the terrifying moments, Chaudhary told PTI that something struck his shoulder with tremendous force. Overcome with pain and unable to run because of his physical condition, he could only fold his hands and pray to God to save him.
As people scrambled to escape, some fell to the ground, while his belongings were scattered all around him. Unable to move or gather his goods, he watched helplessly as the place descended into chaos. “I couldn’t run. I was shivering. I just prayed to God to save me. Some time later, when police personnel came, they saw me and pushed my cart to Jain Mandir where I stayed for some days,” he said.
Another survivor, 50-year-old Vijay Yadav, who runs a water and soda shop, was even closer to the car when it exploded. He says he was barely 20 metres away and believes that a momentary movement may have saved his life. “I was lucky that I didn’t die since I had bent to take out water. Still, glass shards pierced my cart and my hand. At first, I couldn’t comprehend anything and thought I’d take my cart away from here. However, the cars started catching fire and authorities started clearing the area. I couldn’t even take money from my cart. I ran down to the metro station and saw that I was bleeding,” he recalled.
Like Chaudhary, Yadav too had to deal with the financial consequences of the blast, bearing the cost of his treatment even as he tried to get his life back on track. For small vendors whose daily earnings depend on their ability to keep their shops running, even a few months away from work can mean mounting debts and uncertainty.
The scale of the devastation was also etched in the memory of those who were not directly injured but witnessed the aftermath from close quarters. Shrikant Gupta, a guard at the Jain Mandir, recalled how the sudden catastrophic scenes unfolded. He said the sky appeared to turn black following the explosion and, moments later, people could see bodies scattered around.
“Chitdre ud gaye the (Bodies were blown to pieces),” he said, struggling to put into words the horrific scenes he witnessed. For those present, it was difficult to comprehend how an ordinary evening in one of the capital’s busiest areas could turn into such a scene of destruction within seconds. A year later, however, Chandni Chowk continues to carry on with its familiar rhythm. The area, home to several religious places and among the most prominent commercial hubs of the national capital, remains crowded with people going about their daily lives. Shoppers continue to throng its markets in search of lehengas and other traditional clothes, while devotees make their way to different places of worship to offer prayers.