Scraps

Yesterday, I visited the site of the day before’s blast behind my client’s office. Not much is left of the buildings there; just scraps.

At noon they dug out the seventh body. He was one of the workers buried in the rubble.

Later, I checked on my colleagues who were injured by the blast and are still at the hospital: a peon and a security guard. They were doing well and being looked after. Their family members were happy to see a senior person come and visit them. They huddled to one side, making room for me. I couldn’t express myself well.

On the way back to work (a makeshift office in a hotel room) I thought: If I could speak Malayalam I could have done a better job of expressing myself. Then again, maybe not.

Is it always the poor and down-the-line people who are hurt the most?