I met Naresh Pal at Paharganj where a powerful blast had just caused mayhem. Standing in one corner of the market swarming with policemen, he was listening to a TV journalist give a running commentary on the blasts: there are eight injured, four dead. Just then, Pal spoiled the soundbite.How can you say just eight injured and four dead? Ask me, inhee hathon se 11 logon ko maine apne auto mein daal kar hospital pahunchaya, Pal screamed. I saw his blood-smeared hands, arms. All his clothes were red too. My TV friend seemed outraged: Sab shot kharab kar diya. I took Naresh aside.I live here, saheb, house number 4267, just ten steps away from the blast site. I drive an auto. When the blast happened, I had just come home and my wife was preparing tea, Naresh said, his body still trembling. There was the blast and we both ran outside. I saw lots of smoke. And then bodies.There was an infant very badly injured. A woman left with no clothes trying to lift her dead husband. I just got my auto and started lifting and putting them in. Seven bodies later, there was no space any more in my auto. My wife drove the auto to the hospital. I then got a hand-cart and put on it four more bodies. and then pushed them to the hospital a kilometre away. Pal’s eyes were full of tears. As Pal ended his story, the TV man looking over my shoulder realised he had ‘missed’ the ‘big moment’. Out of nowhere, and in quick succession, a dozen boom mikes were thrust in Pal’s face for him to repeat his story. But Pal disappointed them all. Chale jao, this is no entertainment. log mare hain yahaan. Inhee hathon se uthaya hai, he said again, walking away.I met Naresh later that night at Lady Hardinge hospital. He told me he had come to inquire after those he had carried there: jinhe laaya tha, unhe dekhne aaya hun.
