Outside the hospital were chalkboards with names of the admitted and the dead. By the hospital entrance a woman howled and buried her face in her husband’s lap, and family gathered around them in vain. His eyes had glazed and he looked straight ahead without expression while patting her robotically… People stood in groups, saying nothing, too tired to break silences. They either waited, or they knew. Every now and then people would stride in purposefully, their calm countenances constructed solely on hope, and they would leave lost and defeated when yet another hospital told them that the person they sought to find was not there.
Rahul Bhatia spent the night in the hospitals and morgues and stations of Mumbai.
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