Once was Ground Zero.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The day had set a couple of hours ago. By now, the tree-lined pathway in central Delhi’s Barakhamba has grown deserted, except for an occasional man, or woman, hurrying towards the bus stop, or the metro station. For the moment, the brightest light is emanating out from citizen Sunder’s fruit salad stall (see photo). The man’s calming presence makes it even more surreal to recall that this peaceful area was the site of a terror attack. It was among the five places targeted during a synchronised bomb blasts in September, 2008.

This week, one more place joins the city’s scarred topography of tragic sites. On Monday evening, at least 10 people were killed, and more were injured, as a car exploded in front of the Red Fort, a location familiar to almost every person in Delhi. During days of normalcy, the affected area in Chandni Chowk tends to be animated by lively chaos, owing to its many monuments, the temples, the stalls selling mathura ke laddu and aloo chaat, plus the massive humanity comprising of tourists, instagrammars, shoppers, vendors, labourers, rickshaw pullers, and the homeless.

Back at the time of the 2008 blasts, there used to be a bookstore in Barakhamba, located in a lower floor of the Statesman House tower. The bookstore had a glass wall overlooking the site where the Barakhamba blast had occurred. That fateful evening, everyone in the bookstore had collectively coalesced into a state of shock, disbelief and confusion. Overcome by the horrifying incident, a woman in the bookstore became emotionally charged, and started hugging everyone. For the next many days, visitors to the bookstore would momentarily stand by the glass wall, trying to identify the “ground zero.” Gradually, the site of the blast was reclaimed by the clamour of daily life. The bookshop, too, moved out to another address.

That same month in 2008, after about two weeks, one more bomb exploded—this time in south Delhi’s Mehrauli. A small crater came up at the blast site, which was in the middle of a congested market lane, in front of an electric shop, close to the Jahaz Mahal monument. 17 years later, this afternoon, the crowded lane showed no sign of the crater. Shops are open, the smoggy air is full of laughter, shouts and curses. A vendor is selling whole spices outside the aforementioned monument.

Today, these two places in Barakhamba and Mehrauli show absolutely no sign of the traumas that were experienced there. Together, they in fact recall to mind the opening stanza of a poem by American poet Emily Dickinson.

After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place, —
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.

Indeed, after a gap of time, the same lines might also hold for the site of the Monday’s Red Fort blast. Except for the loved ones of those who lost their lives there.