How does one remember an event, particularly one of the magnitude of the November 2008 Bombay attacks, which, transcending the personal became the collective tragedy of an entire country? Long after the media frenzy subsides, as the government returns to its mundane functioning and the people's rage exhausts itself into a faint memory, how will we bring to mind the horror and grief of this calamitous incident?
The marathon television coverage of the invasion of Bombay left viewers exasperated, annoyed and numb. In particular, the Taj Hotel-centric coverage thrived on sensationalism, exploitative and gratuitous commentary, and ceaseless repetition of images. In competitive zeal, the electronic media seemed intent on overkill, pandering to the crass consumption of horror and, simultaneously, at times absurdly propagating the brutal charm of 'terrorism.' As it flashed the first images of the Taj as dense smoke billowed out of its magnificent dome, the pictures sent shockwaves across the country and region alike, moving people beyond belief. Yet, the footage then went on to colonise Southasian screens for the next 60 hours, and their relentless and indiscriminate repetition undermined the monumental gravity of the evolving event.
In the modern world, the immediate, all-pervading media has unfailingly proffered up images that have come to be identified universally with specific events. The remembrance and familiarity that these images evoke are of a collective spectacle. The attack on the World Trade Center in New York in September 2001 has been indelibly imprinted on our minds as the pall of dust and smoke burst out of the two towers moments before they collapsed. The Kargil War is instantly recalled with an image of victorious Indian jawans unfurling the tricolour on Tiger Hill. Another epoch-defining event, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, is committed in the popular consciousness by pictures of saffron vandals atop the magnificent dome minutes before they knocked it down.
