The Siege: 68 Hours Inside the Taj Hotel by Scott-Clark Cathy & Levy Adrian

Author:Scott-Clark, Cathy & Levy, Adrian [Scott-Clark, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101613245
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-10-28T23:00:00+00:00

6.

A Tunnel of Fire

Thursday, 27 November 2008, 1.50 a.m. – Malabar Hill

Savitri Choudhury was at home in Malabar Hill, watching the Taj on television, recalling the hours of disorientation after seeing footage of the Twin Towers fall in 2001. Now her city was ablaze, its most famous landmark was being gutted and her best friend was stranded inside. She had to get working. Broadcasters around the world expected her to be their guide, picking her way through the rumours that were pulling the city apart. But she could not think straight.

The lower floors of the hotel were still brightly lit with silhouetted guests staring out, while the top floor was dark, apart from small pockets of flames here and there. Columns of smoke poured from the roof. Savitri studied the pictures, trying to locate Sabina’s room. She counted up to the sixth floor on the sea-facing elevation, thinking of how she had lain on Sabina’s bed that afternoon. ‘Where is she?’ Savitri said to her husband, sitting beside her.

She recalled a lunch with three girlfriends in the early 1990s, at Zen, a Chinese restaurant in Delhi’s central Connaught Place, the Empire-era roundabout of restaurants, bookshops and ice cream parlours. Sabina had arrived in sombre black. All the diners had given absent partners the third degree as they tucked into Paneer Ten Pal Style. Sabina had come in for some ribbing about her on-off relationship with Shantanu Saikia, then a much rated (and fancied) rising star at the Economic Times. He had been married once before, which in puritanical Delhi made him dangerous; there was also a rumour about his ex-wife having committed suicide.

Over glazed honey apples, Sabina had revealed that Shantanu was messing her about. ‘Dump him,’ had been the advice. ‘He’s having his cake and eating it.’ Later that night a friend had called to say Sabina was married. ‘What the fuck? We finished lunch at 4 p.m. and she was not married then.’ Savriti reached a fellow lunch-mate, who filled in the missing five hours.

Savitri had dropped Sabina off at the Khaadi store and Shantanu had been waiting. To woo her back, he had offered to marry her. Fortified by lunch, she hit back at him: ‘Sure. But let’s do it right now.’ They had zipped off in his car, but had been ejected from the law courts, which required more planning. They were eventually directed to a less principled priest willing to bless the union without any hoo-hah. And afterwards, as she prepared to ring her parents, rehearsing her ‘I have some news’ speech, Sabina had cast her eyes down, realizing that she was still dressed in black.

Savitri smiled at the memory, her eyes still transfixed by the TV. How was it that reporters churned around the hotel but no rescue party could be raised? Annoyed and anxious, she called her desk and made a deal with the editors. She would report for ABC Radio, but not the TV. Her face would give it all away.

At the

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