Tale of A Taj Hotel Mumbai Attack Survivor
Here is a Heart Rendering Story about a survivor I got in my email today about Michael A. Pollack a brave Taj Survivor who is now narrating his tale of ordeals from Taj Mahal Hotel Terror Strike at Mumbai on 26/11.
Profile
Michael A. Pollack
General Partner, Glenhill Capital
Michael is a General Partner of Glenhill Capital. Glenhill is a global, multi-sector equities investment firm. Prior to co-founding Glenhill in 2001, Mr. Pollack served as an Associate at Reservoir Capital Group and as an Analyst at Colony Capital, both private equity firms. Mr. Pollack graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Economics from the Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania. He currently lives in Manhattan with his wife and son.
Heroes At The TajMichael Pollack 12.01.08, 7:40 PM ET
My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in aworld-class hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freedus.
My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express mygratitude and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel inMumbai, who sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They, along with the Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this tragedy.
My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, the couple with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma, both Bombay girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away there and at the Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target.
The four of us arrived at the Taj around 9:30 p.m. for dinner at the Golden Dragon, one of the better Chinese restaurants in Mumbai. We were a little early, and our table wasn't ready. So we walked nextdoor to the Harbor Bar and had barely begun to enjoy our beers when the host told us our table was ready. We decided to stay and finish our drinks.
Thirty seconds later, we heard what sounded like a heavy tray smashingto the ground. This was followed by 20 or 30 similar sounds and thenabsolute silence. We crouched behind a table just feet away from whatwe now knew were gunmen. Terrorists had stormed the lobby and were firing indiscriminately.
We tried to break the glass window in front of us with a chair, but itwouldn't budge. The Harbour Bar's hostess, who had remained at her post, motioned to us that it was safe to make a run for the stairwell.She mentioned, in passing, that there was a dead body right outside in the corridor. We believe this courageous woman was murdered after we ran away.
(We later learned that minutes after we climbed the stairs, terroristscame into the Harbour Bar, shot everyone who was there and executedthose next door at the Golden Dragon. The staff there was equally brave, locking their patrons into a basement wine cellar to protectthem. But the terrorists managed to break through and lob in grenadesthat killed everyone in the basement.)
We took refuge in the small office of the kitchen of another restaurant, Wasabi, on the second floor. Its chef and staff served thefour of us food and drink and even apologized for the inconvenience wewere suffering.
Through text messaging, e-mail on BlackBerrys and a small TV in theoffice, we realized the full extent of the terrorist attack on Mumbai.We figured we were in a secure place for the moment. There was also noway out.
At around 11:30 p.m., the kitchen went silent. We took a massive wooden table and pushed it up against the door, turned off all thelights and hid. All of the kitchen workers remained outside; not one staff member had run.
The terrorists repeatedly slammed against our door. We heard them askthe chef in Hindi if anyone was inside the office. He respondedcalmly: "No one is in there. It's empty." That is the second time theTaj staff saved our lives.
After about 20 minutes, other staff members escorted us down acorridor to an area called The Chambers, a members-only area of thehotel. There were about 250 people in six rooms. Inside, the staff wasserving sandwiches and alcohol. People were nervous, but cautiouslyoptimistic. We were told The Chambers was the safest place we could bebecause the army was now guarding its two entrances and the streetswere still dangerous. There had been attacks at a major railway station and a hospital.
But then, a member of parliament phoned into a live newscast and letthe world know that hundreds of people--including CEOs, foreigners andmembers of parliament--were "secure and safe in The Chamberstogether." Adding to the escalating tension and chaos was the factthat, via text and cellphone, we knew that the dome of the Taj was onfire and that it could move downward.
At around 2 a.m., the staff attempted an evacuation. We all lined upto head down a dark fire escape exit. But after five minutes, grenade blasts and automatic weapon fire pierced the air. A mad stampede ensued to get out of the stairwell and take cover back inside The Chambers.
After that near-miss, my wife and I decided we should hide indifferent rooms. While we hoped to be together at the end, our primaryobligation was to our children. We wanted to keep one parent alive. Because I am American and my wife is Indian, and news reports said the terrorists were targeting U.S. and U.K. nationals, I believed I would further endanger her life if we were together in a hostage situation.
So when we ran back to The Chambers I hid in a toilet stall with a floor-to-ceiling door and my wife stayed with our friends, who fled toa large room across the hall.
For the next seven hours, I lay in the fetal position, keeping intouch with Anjali via BlackBerry. I was joined in the stall by Joe, a Nigerian national with a U.S. green card. I managed to get in touchwith the FBI, and several agents gave me status updates throughout the night.
I cannot even begin to explain the level of adrenaline running throughmy system at this point. It was this hyper-aware state where every sound, every smell, every piece of information was ultra-acute, analyzed and processed so that we could make the best decisions and maximize the odds of survival.
Was the fire above us life-threatening? What floor was it on? Were the commandos near us, or were they terrorists? Why is it so quiet? Did the commandos survive? If the terrorists come into the bathroom and to the door, when they fire in, how can I make my body as small aspossible? If Joe gets killed before me in this situation, how can Ithrow his body on mine to barricade the door? If the Indian commandosliberate the rest in the other room, how will they know where I am? Dothe terrorists have suicide vests? Will the roof stand? How can I make sure the FBI knows where Anjali and I are? When is it safe to stand upand attempt to urinate?
Meanwhile, Anjali and the others were across the corridor in a mass of people lying on the floor and clinging to each other. People barely moved for seven hours, and for the last three hours they felt it wastoo unsafe to even text. While I was tucked behind a couple walls ofmarble and granite in my toilet stall, she was feet from bulletsflying back and forth. After our failed evacuation, most of the people in the fire escape stairwell and many staff members who attempted to protect the guests were shot and killed.
The 10 minutes around 2:30 a.m. were the most frightening. Rather thanthe back-and-forth of gunfire, we just heard single, punctuated shots.We later learned that the terrorists went along a different corridorof The Chambers, room by room, and systematically executed everyone:women, elderly, Muslims, Hindus, foreigners. A group huddled next toAnjali was devout Bori Muslims who would have been slaughtered justlike everyone else, had the terrorists gone into their room. Everyone was in deep prayer and most, Anjali included, had accepted that theirlives were likely over. It was terrorism in its purest form. No onewas spared.
The next five hours were filled with the sounds of an intensegrenade/gun battle between the Indian commandos and the terrorists. It was fought in darkness; each side was trying to out flank the other.
By the time dawn broke, the commandos had successfully secured ourcorridor. A young commando led out the people packed into Anjali'sroom. When one woman asked whether it was safe to leave, the commandoreplied: "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear. The first bulletshave to go through me."
The corridor was laced with broken glass and bullet casings. Everytable was turned over or destroyed. The ceilings and walls werelittered with hundreds of bullet holes. Blood stains were everywhere,though, fortunately, there were no dead bodies to be seen.
A few minutes after Anjali had vacated, Joe and I peeked out of ourstall. We saw multiple commandos and smiled widely. I had lost myright shoe while sprinting to the toilet so I grabbed a sheet from thefloor, wrapped it around my foot and proceeded to walk over the debristo the hotel lobby.
Anjali and I embraced for the first time in seven hours in the Taj's ground floor entrance. I didn't know whether she was dead or injured because we hadn't been able to text for the past three hours.
I wanted to take a picture of us on my BlackBerry, but Anjali wantedus to get out of there before doing anything.
She was right--our ordeal wasn't completely over. A large bus pulledup in front of the Taj to collect us and, just about as it was fullyloaded, gunfire erupted again. The terrorists were still alive andfiring automatic weapons at the bus. Anjali was the last to get on thebus, and she eventually escaped in our friend's car. I ducked undersome concrete barriers for cover and wound up the subject of photos that were later splashed across the media. Shortly thereafter, an ambulance came and drove a few of us to safety. An hour later, Anjaliand I were again reunited at her parents' home. Our Thanksgiving had just gained a lot more meaning.
Some may say our survival was due to random luck, others might creditdivine intervention. But 72 hours removed from these events, I can assure you only one thing: Far fewer people would have survived if itweren't for the extreme selflessness shown by the Taj staff, who organized us, catered to us and then, in the end, literally died for us.
They complemented the extreme bravery and courage of the Indiancommandos, who, in a pitch-black setting and unfamiliar, tightly packed terrain, valiantly held the terrorists at bay.
It is also amazing that, out of our entire group, not one personscreamed or panicked. There was an eerie but quiet calm that pervaded--one more thing that got us all out alive. Even people inadjacent rooms, who were being executed, kept silent.
It is much easier to destroy than to build, yet somehow humanity hasmanaged to build far more than it has ever destroyed. Likewise, in aperiod of crisis, it is much easier to find faults and failings ratherthan to celebrate the good deeds. It is now time to commemorate ourheroes.
Michael Pollack is a general partner of Glenhill Capital, a firm he co-founded in 2001.
Profile
Michael A. Pollack
General Partner, Glenhill Capital
Michael is a General Partner of Glenhill Capital. Glenhill is a global, multi-sector equities investment firm. Prior to co-founding Glenhill in 2001, Mr. Pollack served as an Associate at Reservoir Capital Group and as an Analyst at Colony Capital, both private equity firms. Mr. Pollack graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Economics from the Wharton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania. He currently lives in Manhattan with his wife and son.
Heroes At The TajMichael Pollack 12.01.08, 7:40 PM ET
My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in aworld-class hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freedus.
My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express mygratitude and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel inMumbai, who sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They, along with the Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this tragedy.
My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, the couple with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma, both Bombay girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away there and at the Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target.
The four of us arrived at the Taj around 9:30 p.m. for dinner at the Golden Dragon, one of the better Chinese restaurants in Mumbai. We were a little early, and our table wasn't ready. So we walked nextdoor to the Harbor Bar and had barely begun to enjoy our beers when the host told us our table was ready. We decided to stay and finish our drinks.
Thirty seconds later, we heard what sounded like a heavy tray smashingto the ground. This was followed by 20 or 30 similar sounds and thenabsolute silence. We crouched behind a table just feet away from whatwe now knew were gunmen. Terrorists had stormed the lobby and were firing indiscriminately.
We tried to break the glass window in front of us with a chair, but itwouldn't budge. The Harbour Bar's hostess, who had remained at her post, motioned to us that it was safe to make a run for the stairwell.She mentioned, in passing, that there was a dead body right outside in the corridor. We believe this courageous woman was murdered after we ran away.
(We later learned that minutes after we climbed the stairs, terroristscame into the Harbour Bar, shot everyone who was there and executedthose next door at the Golden Dragon. The staff there was equally brave, locking their patrons into a basement wine cellar to protectthem. But the terrorists managed to break through and lob in grenadesthat killed everyone in the basement.)
We took refuge in the small office of the kitchen of another restaurant, Wasabi, on the second floor. Its chef and staff served thefour of us food and drink and even apologized for the inconvenience wewere suffering.
Through text messaging, e-mail on BlackBerrys and a small TV in theoffice, we realized the full extent of the terrorist attack on Mumbai.We figured we were in a secure place for the moment. There was also noway out.
At around 11:30 p.m., the kitchen went silent. We took a massive wooden table and pushed it up against the door, turned off all thelights and hid. All of the kitchen workers remained outside; not one staff member had run.
The terrorists repeatedly slammed against our door. We heard them askthe chef in Hindi if anyone was inside the office. He respondedcalmly: "No one is in there. It's empty." That is the second time theTaj staff saved our lives.
After about 20 minutes, other staff members escorted us down acorridor to an area called The Chambers, a members-only area of thehotel. There were about 250 people in six rooms. Inside, the staff wasserving sandwiches and alcohol. People were nervous, but cautiouslyoptimistic. We were told The Chambers was the safest place we could bebecause the army was now guarding its two entrances and the streetswere still dangerous. There had been attacks at a major railway station and a hospital.
But then, a member of parliament phoned into a live newscast and letthe world know that hundreds of people--including CEOs, foreigners andmembers of parliament--were "secure and safe in The Chamberstogether." Adding to the escalating tension and chaos was the factthat, via text and cellphone, we knew that the dome of the Taj was onfire and that it could move downward.
At around 2 a.m., the staff attempted an evacuation. We all lined upto head down a dark fire escape exit. But after five minutes, grenade blasts and automatic weapon fire pierced the air. A mad stampede ensued to get out of the stairwell and take cover back inside The Chambers.
After that near-miss, my wife and I decided we should hide indifferent rooms. While we hoped to be together at the end, our primaryobligation was to our children. We wanted to keep one parent alive. Because I am American and my wife is Indian, and news reports said the terrorists were targeting U.S. and U.K. nationals, I believed I would further endanger her life if we were together in a hostage situation.
So when we ran back to The Chambers I hid in a toilet stall with a floor-to-ceiling door and my wife stayed with our friends, who fled toa large room across the hall.
For the next seven hours, I lay in the fetal position, keeping intouch with Anjali via BlackBerry. I was joined in the stall by Joe, a Nigerian national with a U.S. green card. I managed to get in touchwith the FBI, and several agents gave me status updates throughout the night.
I cannot even begin to explain the level of adrenaline running throughmy system at this point. It was this hyper-aware state where every sound, every smell, every piece of information was ultra-acute, analyzed and processed so that we could make the best decisions and maximize the odds of survival.
Was the fire above us life-threatening? What floor was it on? Were the commandos near us, or were they terrorists? Why is it so quiet? Did the commandos survive? If the terrorists come into the bathroom and to the door, when they fire in, how can I make my body as small aspossible? If Joe gets killed before me in this situation, how can Ithrow his body on mine to barricade the door? If the Indian commandosliberate the rest in the other room, how will they know where I am? Dothe terrorists have suicide vests? Will the roof stand? How can I make sure the FBI knows where Anjali and I are? When is it safe to stand upand attempt to urinate?
Meanwhile, Anjali and the others were across the corridor in a mass of people lying on the floor and clinging to each other. People barely moved for seven hours, and for the last three hours they felt it wastoo unsafe to even text. While I was tucked behind a couple walls ofmarble and granite in my toilet stall, she was feet from bulletsflying back and forth. After our failed evacuation, most of the people in the fire escape stairwell and many staff members who attempted to protect the guests were shot and killed.
The 10 minutes around 2:30 a.m. were the most frightening. Rather thanthe back-and-forth of gunfire, we just heard single, punctuated shots.We later learned that the terrorists went along a different corridorof The Chambers, room by room, and systematically executed everyone:women, elderly, Muslims, Hindus, foreigners. A group huddled next toAnjali was devout Bori Muslims who would have been slaughtered justlike everyone else, had the terrorists gone into their room. Everyone was in deep prayer and most, Anjali included, had accepted that theirlives were likely over. It was terrorism in its purest form. No onewas spared.
The next five hours were filled with the sounds of an intensegrenade/gun battle between the Indian commandos and the terrorists. It was fought in darkness; each side was trying to out flank the other.
By the time dawn broke, the commandos had successfully secured ourcorridor. A young commando led out the people packed into Anjali'sroom. When one woman asked whether it was safe to leave, the commandoreplied: "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear. The first bulletshave to go through me."
The corridor was laced with broken glass and bullet casings. Everytable was turned over or destroyed. The ceilings and walls werelittered with hundreds of bullet holes. Blood stains were everywhere,though, fortunately, there were no dead bodies to be seen.
A few minutes after Anjali had vacated, Joe and I peeked out of ourstall. We saw multiple commandos and smiled widely. I had lost myright shoe while sprinting to the toilet so I grabbed a sheet from thefloor, wrapped it around my foot and proceeded to walk over the debristo the hotel lobby.
Anjali and I embraced for the first time in seven hours in the Taj's ground floor entrance. I didn't know whether she was dead or injured because we hadn't been able to text for the past three hours.
I wanted to take a picture of us on my BlackBerry, but Anjali wantedus to get out of there before doing anything.
She was right--our ordeal wasn't completely over. A large bus pulledup in front of the Taj to collect us and, just about as it was fullyloaded, gunfire erupted again. The terrorists were still alive andfiring automatic weapons at the bus. Anjali was the last to get on thebus, and she eventually escaped in our friend's car. I ducked undersome concrete barriers for cover and wound up the subject of photos that were later splashed across the media. Shortly thereafter, an ambulance came and drove a few of us to safety. An hour later, Anjaliand I were again reunited at her parents' home. Our Thanksgiving had just gained a lot more meaning.
Some may say our survival was due to random luck, others might creditdivine intervention. But 72 hours removed from these events, I can assure you only one thing: Far fewer people would have survived if itweren't for the extreme selflessness shown by the Taj staff, who organized us, catered to us and then, in the end, literally died for us.
They complemented the extreme bravery and courage of the Indiancommandos, who, in a pitch-black setting and unfamiliar, tightly packed terrain, valiantly held the terrorists at bay.
It is also amazing that, out of our entire group, not one personscreamed or panicked. There was an eerie but quiet calm that pervaded--one more thing that got us all out alive. Even people inadjacent rooms, who were being executed, kept silent.
It is much easier to destroy than to build, yet somehow humanity hasmanaged to build far more than it has ever destroyed. Likewise, in aperiod of crisis, it is much easier to find faults and failings ratherthan to celebrate the good deeds. It is now time to commemorate ourheroes.
Michael Pollack is a general partner of Glenhill Capital, a firm he co-founded in 2001.
Great information you have shared here, through this post. Thanks and keep sharing such valuable updates through your side.
ReplyDelete4 Star Hotels in Colaba