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If a flaming red BlackBerry was her ally, courage was Neeru Gadia’s armour in her moment of crisis. The 32-year-old Salt Lake homemaker recounts to Metro how she took the bold decision of hiding her cellphone from armed robbers so that she could text the six-word SOS that foiled the break-in at her home on Tuesday night.
It was a little after 8pm. I had just finished dressing up along with my children to go for dinner to my bua’s (paternal aunt) place in BF Block. My husband was getting ready in our first-floor room when I came down to the ground floor with our son and daughter. As I walked down the last few stairs, I spotted a man in a pair of jeans, shirt and sneakers standing at the entrance to our living room.
His presence did seem strange, especially the manner in which he stood there. But I thought to myself that he might have come to meet my father-in-law, husband or brother-in-law.
I asked the stranger if he wanted to meet anybody. He responded by whipping out a pistol. I froze. My two children, who were following me down the stairs, hid behind my back.
Pointing the pistol at us, the man asked me to move to a room adjacent to the hall. What I saw on entering the room almost snatched the ground beneath my feet. My father-in-law, mother-in-law, sister-in-law and her two kids were seated on the bed. Our three domestic workers were on the floor. The other five faces in the room I had never seen before.
My sister-in-law’s kids had tears in their eyes but they were quiet. One of the men held a gun to my little nephew’s forehead. The man pointing his pistol at us asked me to join my family members on the bed. I pulled my two children close and sat on the bed with my legs folded.
On making sure everyone in the house had been herded into the room, the gang started taking away our cellphones. I was holding mine in my hand. Something told me that my cellphone was our best chance of getting through this; so I hid it in the fold of my knees.
I hoped and prayed nobody would call me. If the phone rang, all of us would be in danger. I knew I was taking a risk, but at that moment it seemed the only thing to do.
After they had taken away all the cellphones (except mine), the gang started tying everyone’s hands behind their backs and taping their mouths. When it was my turn, I requested them not to tie my hands behind my back, saying I had to hold my children close for them to be calm. I did not expect them to agree, but they did. One of them tied my wrists, but at least my hands were not behind my back. I saw hope.
My husband, who was upstairs all this while, was ready by then. When he didn’t find anybody downstairs, he called out to our kids. A gang member ran out of the room and came back a minute later with his gun held to my stunned husband.
Then started the robbery. The six-member gang rummaged through the three cupboards in the room we were in, taking whatever they could lay their hands on. As they moved to the other rooms, the doorbell rang. The man who was keeping an eye hurried out to check who it was and I got my chance. I took out my cellphone and put it on silent mode. Suddenly, the door opened and I saw my brother-in-law walk in. I hid the phone again. I felt it vibrate, but I didn’t dare check.
I waited for the robber in our room to leave and the moment came soon when one of his accomplices called him. The moment he left, I took out my cellphone and started keying in the words: “daku at home help don’t call”.
I tried sending the message to my sister and brothers, who were supposed to be at my aunt’s place for dinner by then. To my horror, I discovered that there was no cellphone connectivity. I tried moving my handset towards the window, but still no luck. After trying for 10 to 15 minutes, I saw a “message delivered” alert. My sister would get help soon, I hoped.
Around 20 minutes later, the robber watching over us rushed out and I a heard a thud and then a bang. Seemed like somebody had broken the main gate. I ran and locked the door of the room where we were all being held hostage. The next 20-odd minutes seemed like hours. Then somebody knocked on the door. It was my father . I opened the door and hugged him tight.
As told to Zeeshan Jawed