How I hate statistics. I’m staring at the headlines and turning away from those cold, harsh numbers: 11 minutes, 7 blasts. 190 dead. I’m reading everything listlessly, my mind numb, my eyes glazed. We already have a name for what happened last evening ? Terrible Tuesday. That’s how it will be remembered from this moment on. “Bombay ? The Bomb Blast Capital of the World,” declares a daily, almost as if it’s some sort of a macabre boast, a grisly achievement.

“We are with you,” Condi Rice is assuring us. So is Tony Blair. And of course, our general from across the border, Pervez Musharraf. Something snaps within me. Oh yeah? I say to myself. How easy it is to utter such inanities, such platitudes.

A girlfriend calls from Karachi on my cellphone. Her number doesn’t flash. “Private”, reads my display. Wearily, I take the call, wondering which foreign journo it could be, sweeping down for an appropriate quote to file the mandatory copy, more concerned about a deadline than the dead of my beloved Mumbai. I don’t feel like “cooperating” with co-hacks. I refuse to go on TV channels, hastily putting the right mix of concerned panelists together for prime time specials. I cannot, will not, be a part of the media-circus dishing out well-rehearsed sound bites in a safe and cosy studio.

And I absolutely will not stoop to saluting the “Spirit of Mumbai” one more bloody time. I’ve had it. I’m up to there. And I don’t need to draw the world’s attention to this amazing “spirit” of ours. I want to yell, scream, protest and hit back. I don’t want to be ladylike and generous, calm and resilient. Hell no. And I’m pretty sure it’s this very spirit of ours that has allowed the most recent atrocity to take place. Had we been more vigilant, more angry, more aggressive the last time such a ghastly crime was committed against it (2003), perhaps we would not be the sitting ducks waiting to be annihilated with such ease, as we were.

Why Mumbai? That’s the dumbest question to ask. And yet, so many informed and intelligent people have been asking it since the first bogey got ripped apart at 6.24 pm, Khar station. It is shameful that the Union home minister should squeak his apology after the horror of the attacks had hit home. For him to acknowledge that there was enough information available to suggest something major was in the offing, but that the intelligence agencies had no clue as to where, how or what would be the target, is a pathetic admission. If they did not possess that most vital piece of information, what are they talking about in that case?

In retrospect, it’s easy to claim the government agencies weren’t sleeping on the job ? but damn it ? the truth is, they were! And someone must take the rap, own up responsibility and tell us what the next step is going to be. I suspect we’ll hear nothing, for they have nothing to say. There is no plan in place, there is nothing by way of disaster management, and all those self-important mantris sitting in Delhi don’t have a clue. They are as dazed as those hapless commuters one saw on TV, babbling incoherently while trying to make some sense out of the monumental tragedy.

There is a devilish method to the madness. Mumbai is a marked city. Let us make no mistake on this score. Once we face up to this brutal truth, we shall have to ask ourselves what to do the next time such a thing happens. For it will. And the demons orchestrating these terrorist attacks are not going to wait for 13 years. Or even two.

Why should they? They’ve seen for themselves how easy it is to hold Mumbai to ransom. They know how vulnerable the metropolis is. They’ve realised Mumbai is the safest target in the world. Unprotected and naked. Anybody can waltz in with anything and blow it up. Doesn’t take much. Just a few willing “volunteers” who can nonchalantly and effortlessly move around the city, planting explosive devices that go undetected till ? Boom ? they blow up a few hundred innocent citizens. Nothing happens even after that.

The people of Mumbai are “cho chweet”, they forget so fast ? they forgive so easily. Look at them ? back at work already ? not even 24 hours have passed. And see how they helped one another ? complete strangers offered their homes, shared meals, shared emotions. Wah! Wah! Really, these Mumbaikars are amazing.

Yes, sir, we truly are amazing. And I hate us for being so. Amazing does not mean accommodating. To hell with being resilient. It’s high time we fight back ? fiercely, ferociously, fearlessly. Only then will I be able to hold my head high as a Mumbaikar.

We owe our dead at least this much. Let us not insult their memory by being passive. By being “nice”. Tough times need tough people and tough talk. You have the city’s marching orders, Mr Deshmukh. Start walking!