A view from a shattered window at the Trident. (Reuters)

● All bookings at the Oberoi-Trident have been cancelled indefinitely ● Guests will receive full refund on advances ● Four guests, 18 visitors and 10 staff have died in the attack ● Three guests, four visitors and two staff are in hospital ● In all, 316 guests were evacuated from the Trident and 135 from the Oberoi

I felt like a heartless manipulator as I convinced an acquaintance to let me accompany him to the Oberoi Trident from where he was evacuated 24 hours earlier.

Rajesh Patel, an NRI from Boston, had been told by the hotel management that he could collect his belongings, if any, from his eighth-floor room.

Patel decided not to go at the last moment, he was too traumatised. So I went with his niece, Nisha, masquerading as a relative.

A customer relations official greeted us with a smile, not a shred of composure out of place.

I waited in the lobby of the Trident while Nisha finished some formalities. It did not look like a war zone at all, except for some NSG men standing around the entrance to the lobby.

The hotel management had announced at a media conference a little earlier that most of those who died at the Oberoi-Trident lost their lives here in the lobby and in the restaurants.

“This is the hospitality industry. Our staff tried to bring back as much order at least in the lobby area before the guests came back to collect their belongings,” the customer relations executive said.

The white Italian-marble floor was spotless. The sofas and settees were back in place. So was the familiar scent from the air freshener.

.I took a peek from the lobby stairs that go down to Frangipani — my favourite restaurant in town.

It was a study in contrast.

I could see shards of glass and upturned furniture. The customer care executive and a couple of on-the-edge security men stopped me from going ahead.

I headed back and looked around the lobby. It was then that I saw the bullet marks on the walls and the shattered mirrors near the reception.

By then, Nisha was back. We walked towards the lift.

“Madam, aap!” exclaimed Sarita (name changed).

The janitor at the lobby washroom and I are fast friends. I often use the facility to mend myself in between reporting assignments around this part of the city.

She started to sob.

“I was not on duty when those killers came. One of the securitymen who died was my rakhi-brother. Who knows, next time it may be me.”

I entered the lift. “The terrorists did not damage the lifts, surprisingly. Apart from some electrical fixtures, no electricity lines were cut. But many water pipes have burst,” said the hotel official accompanying us.

“The Trident has been handed over to us by the NSG, but they are still sanitising Oberoi. So a full-scale assessment (of the damage) has not been made as yet,” Oberoi group vice-chairman S.S. Mukherji had told reporters earlier today.

On the eighth floor, a stench of gunpowder hit us. The carpet was stained with blood. There were bullet marks on walls. Bottles, handbags, a baby’s feeding cup, scarves, sandals and keys lay strewn all over.

As we walked past, the open doors of some rooms revealed the night of terror.

Torn curtains, broken TV sets and shattered windows looked out to the calm of the Arabian Sea on a dark night. A smashed laptop lay on the floor.

Patel’s room was locked. There was a towel on the floor and newspapers lay strewn. A cup of half-drunk coffee was on top of the TV set — just another hotel room where a guest had just checked out and house-keeping staff were yet to step in.

“Rajesh Uncle was at the India Jones restaurant with some friends when the terrorists struck. He hid under the table before he was evacuated,” said Nisha.

The hotel executive helped us collect his stuff and we walked back to the lift.

The sea wind howled in the corridor, barging through the broken glass windows. “Like a terrorist,” said Nisha.

The customer care executive shook our hands in the corridor. “Hope we get the opportunity to serve you again,” she said.

We walked out into the silence of a forlorn and barricaded Marine Drive.