Mambai attack

A young american woman named Dara, wrote her story and posted it on her Facebook site.


Thanks to all of those who wrote me notes and posted on my wall. I just wanted to take a moment to pay respects to those who lost their lives to save us. I am praying for the hotel staff, police, and other reinforcements that were brought into Mumbai that deadly night that should have never occurred.The horrific acts that happened in Mumbai was a life altering experience for me and something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Around 9:40 pm I went to the night market with my friend John. As the store were closing we were excited to take a drink in the famous cafe, Leopolds- A small cafe that opens up completely to the street. After finishing a tall glass of watermelon juice there was a huge boom that hit an aquarium in the back of the room.Everyone turned around simply think 'what was that?' but not expecting anything serious. The next thing I knew consecutive shots rang non-stop across the room. John threw me to the floor screaming "GET DOWN!" My purse was in the seat next to me, but I didn't even think for a second about it. I was bent over trying to run out. John pushed me to the floor again. I believed he saved my life. I still don't understand how I made it out when I later read there were two gunmen walking in with large guns. There was glass in my hands, the skin on my knees were rubbed off from hitting the floor- yet I couldn't feel the pain. My heart and adrenaline were so high I was just thinking "this IS NOT really happening to me". I never thought in a million years that I would ever be involved in a situation such as the ones I had read in the news. All I remember that night is running as fast as I could because I was convinced they would bomb the café. As I picked myself up off the glass shards on the floor I bolted down the road, my left hand dripping in blood. My shoes fell off, but I didn’t care, I just kept running. John was right behind me, as he got closer he took my hand and said ‘Don’t ever let go of my hand’. I remember my way back to the hotel we had checked in at 9 hours before- The Taj Palace. It was only 3-4 minutes before we got to the hotel. John stopped and said “No! the Taj will be a target for sure!” but there we were, his pants splattered with someone else’s blood, my hand dripping in my own. We had no other place to go. We didn’t know the city yet, and we needed help. For it felt like the most secure place since we only had half a second to make a move.I walked through a line of cab drivers who stood there in confusion on the bullets they had heard just down the streets. All the doormen and guests turned to stare at john and I who came storming in with blood on our hands. The guests dressed in the fine evening wear stood at the glass lobby entrance, staring out in curiosity about the gun shots. They sounded like a string of fireworks going off. They were shocked when they saw us pace in. The Taj staff was continuously wonderful. The minute I entered the lobby, a man sat quickly took us to the couches in the lobby, sat me down and had someone run to grab a towel. As soon he came back to wipe my leg, the all too familiar sound of gun shots came back into the lobby. I was so terrified I never even turned around to look at them, but was later told that they were men dressed in black with large guns shooting everyone in site. All I knew is that as soon as I heard those shots again I dove for the closed double doors on my right side. The men who were helping me did too. It was just an instinct we all just ran as fast as we could to the doors- I didn’t even know where they led to. This all happened in literally seconds. It was a restaurant. There were still guests dining at the table with looks of confusion. We dashed through the restaurant looking for any door to run through-quite certain that somebody would follow us. We ran straight into the Kitchen. Stopped at the dead end. There was one exit door in the back that somebody had locked. I didn’t have time for tears. I was set on survival.The hotel staff was amazing!-especially one man in particular named Javed. He told everyone to stay calm, we were safe, the doors were locked. We didn’t believe him. We knew they had guns and could burst in at any moment if they wanted to. There was an Indian girl next to me who was crying hysterically because she had separated from her friend and mother in the lobby. There was a Muslim women on the floor praying for her life. John and I, both Christian, knelt down beside her and repeated the Lord’s prayer over and over again. The Hindu women with us were also praying. There in the kitchen three separate religions prayed for the same thing. Asking God to spare our lives. Although the room was filled with chefs, hotel staff, guests of different nationalities, different social classes, different religious backgrounds- absolutely NOTHING separated us that night. We were all the same. We were all holding one and others arms saying “it is going to be okay, the police will be here soon.” The hotel staff was on the phone calling for reinforcement. Meanwhile, Javed came back with a first aid kit and continued to dress John and mine’s wounds. As he was cleaning them the hotel staff came back to tell us that it would be safer if we came back into the restaurant because they had blocked the doors. We were scared if it was safe or not, but proceeded to the restaurant because we did not want to be in the kitchen alone. There was a large grand piano pushed against the doors and furniture piled up on top of it.The rest of the story is written by John:....30 others were already in there, and after our entry, they barricaded the doors with a grand piano. What followed, for us, was eight hours of entrapment, while guns, bombs and most terrifyingly an ever louder fire raged outside.I am amazed at how lucid we were throughout the ordeal. Our bodies provide us with incredible clarity in a crisis. I kept thinking of Winston Churchill’s quote, “When you’re going through hell… keep going”. Still, we were terrified. Stupidly, I persuaded Dara not to call her parents. Thinking of my own mother, I thought she might have a heart attack if she knew what was happening. I wish I hadn’t done this. Everyone else was on their cell phone.The people in our room made the scene feel like a movie set: covered Islamic women, a hard focused German businessman, a tender hearted French, obnoxious hipsters, lithe and immaculately dressed blonde Russian girls, Indians, Muslims, Christians. Everyone of all religions were praying together that night on the floor of that restaurant.Our first evacuation attempt, around 3 or 4 am, ended in more gunfire, and the few who had ventured out of the room, raced back in. Miraculously, we were evacuated around 7am.It wasn’t until I learned the news of what had happened, until I digested my own relief that I began to cry. I read about the deaths of the chief of police, the chief of counter-terrorism, the burned wife and children of the hotel manager, and I began to weep. I thought of the incredible and admirable bravery, presence and commitment of the Taj staff. And I thought of all these people, big and small, that had given so much to save us. I still cry when I think of it.The journey home to was another adventure. We didn’t know if it the attack was a one off event or the start of war, and we hurried to exit the country. Terrified, we waited 25 minutes to be let into the US embassy, while they checked their computers for our records. Even though we had called three times to report we were coming and they had our names. It would have been a good tip for them to actually pre-print the identification of all of the Americans who had called in to state their names. As cars drove by the street in front of the embassy, I felt like I was sitting on top of a bull’s eye. The guards did not speak English. The reception was staffed by an Indian, who would not come to the gate. We crouched behind a concrete piling, and I scanned the horizon for potential terrorists. When we were finally let in, an Indian woman told me I would need to pay $200 to get an emergency passport. How did they know if we even had money? Dara lost her money, credit cards and even shoes in the attack at Leopold’s. Luckily I had one credit card in my pocket.Despite having only one other couple in their office, we waited two and a half hours for emergency passports. We were hoping to leave before sunset. We appreciated the fact that the embassy was working around the clock, and they explained that we waited almost three hours because they were busy answering the phones, but I felt that they were more helpful on the phone telling us to “stay calm” then actually helping us in person when we actually really needed it.Before we arrived to the US embassy, the Taj staff at the evacuation center had taken photos on a digital camera and printed six passport sized photos for us. The embassy said the photos were not acceptable – they were not professionally taken. They told me that because they had no camera man, and I would need to go back into Mumbai to find a photo center. Everything in the city was closed. I was flabbergasted. The British embassy had sent emissaries to the evacuation center, the Spanish had arranged military transport for evacuation, and here, wearing ripped and bloody clothes, the US embassy was telling me I couldn’t have an emergency passport because the quality of my photographs were not professionally taken. We screamed at them, and they acquiesced. I was further surprised to lean that we had to obtain a new visa from the Indian government to leave the country. The only place to obtain this was the South Mumbai police headquarters, which had also been attacked. The US embassy tried and failed to waive this rule. We had to go.Remarkably, heroically, the driver the Taj hotel had provided us, Jabraj, had patiently waited for us during the 2+ hour delay at the US embassy. The embassy was kind enough to lend us one of our staff to help us find the Indian visa office, and so an extremely brave Indian woman nicknamed ‘Nicky’ went along. As we drove back into Colaba, the streets filled with police and army personnel. We found the visa office, and pulled in, but had to back up the car, as they were hauling out a dead body. When we got into the police station, it was amazing how quick the Indians acting in getting our paper work done in less than five minutes!Eventually we made it out of the country. I have seen in the press criticism of the hotel, of the Indian government and of their police, but I cannot sing their praises loudly enough. Their courage is inspiring. We mourn the horrendous loss of life. For those of us who survived, how will we ever repay this debt?I am praying for guidance on what to do now, on how I can help. I am praying for the families of the deceased, and I am praying for the leaders of India. Violence cannot be defeated with violence, and an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.If anyone has any information on how we can help India please contact me and others around the world to pitch in. Additionally, I hope that this news will allow our government gain insight from the situation- even if it is as simple as having a Polaroid camera on site or training techniques to better prepare US embassies around the world for the future.