Bombs and Bakeries

I am sitting in a cafe two doors down from what used to be the German Bakery in Pune (Poona), which six weeks ago I had been reading about as I ate lunch in a similarly touristic cafe in Kolkata. Six weeks ago a bomb took nine lives and injured forty five people. The denotation was well timed and the restaurant was packed full of tourists and locals. Now all that remains is a empty shell of a building, surrounded by colourful cotton sheets and metal railings. Police stay on a twenty four hour control at the corner of the road protected in what looks like a bright green hippy bus. Their constant vigil does little more than 'terrorise' passers-by, reminding them of the invisible but potential threat to their lives. The only time I actually saw the squad of police pay interest to anything other than their metal tiffen boxes filled with their lunch, was after I began to poke around the rubble, and even then all I received was a cursory second glances with a few follow up questions of where I was from, what was my favourite place in India and how old was I. Such questions I suspected, were not part of their campaign against terror, and they were equally eager to answer my own questions. They admitted that they were indeed very bored and although one of the perks of the job was to talk to the tourists, they would be stationed on the street for another two months.

Next door to the German Bakery is a tiny liquor shop. The three men squashed behind the counter were also there on the day of the bombing. “You were very lucky” I tell them. They all flash a smile in response and look around their huge selection of bottles, “Our shop is very lucky! Lucky shop!” I guess the sale of alcohol has now received a divine blessing in a country where sale of liquor comes under strict control. Above the shop the window frames have been blown out replaced with jagged glass and black holes. The blast even took with it an auto rickshaw which was parked outside of the.

“I was standing here” motions one of the shop keepers, moving half a meter to the side of the counter, “I heard a huge bang and the shop shook, there was dust everywhere and we couldn't see because everything was black.” I asked if he realised what had happened, that a bomb had just been denoted meters away from where he was standing, “as soon as the noise from the blast had finished, all I could hear was screaming, and then slowly the dust cleared and I saw all the blood and injured people standing on the road, then I realised it must have been a bomb”. What was interesting was that the liquor shop had received a warning three months prior to the blast, and the police had been patrolling an area one block away; next to the Israeli Chabad house, and on the corner of Osho's International Ashram. “Now there are police live outside our shop. Now it is too late.”

I asked if the German Bakery was going to reopen, and he told me that they had already received compensation from the government, “too much compensation” were his precise words. How much is too much? “Five lakh” - or around £7300. However, when I did my own research all I could find was a pledge from the government of five lakh to the family of those who had lost their lives, and this had still to be paid.

Next door to the liquor shop is 'Cafe' a chain of Italian inspired Indian coffee shops. According to the waiter there are 47 such shops in Pune alone and 880 'plus' in India. The waiter is particularly helpful, possibly because I am the only customer and on a Saturday afternoon they are staffed to deal with many more than just me and my order of one overpriced masala tea. I ask him about the blast and despite my fears that perhaps they would be tired of talking about it, he eagerly responds by telling me in the same excited tone of the shop owner that he was working during the blast, and standing in the kitchen. Unlike his neighbour, he had no idea what had happened, all he knew was that the huge glass windows fronting the Cafe had imploded, bringing with them a thick black dust.

I asked why he thought they had targeted the German Bakery and not the Cafe? He replied: “because of the foreign tourists” and was quick to add, “like you”. Killing foreigners makes for more publicity and ironically enough forces the government to take a stand; which in this instance seems to have resulted in a hefty compensation sum for the German Bakery and a semi-permanent police force camping out on the street. But the waiter is optimistic and prophesies that “all will return to normal in a few months” and the Cafe will again be a busy bustling hub for Pune's growing class of city coffee lovers.

I ask him if he is scared of working here, “life is too short to be scared” he replies. “I can die in a bomb blast today, tomorrow or in ten years, when it is my time to die I will die; it is not to be feared.” The waiter, is young and smiling and wondering if I would be so relaxed if the street of my work had been blown to smithereens because of people 'just like me', all I can manage to say is “crazy world”. He nods his head, but then corrects me, “the people are crazy, the world is not”.

Behind the counter the area trainer is introducing the “summer special” and as I look out of the newly replaced glass windows onto the busy road outside, I hear her shrill voice instruct her staff on how to put the finishing touches to the cold coffee, “just turn it around, and put two dots, and there you go; there is your smiley.” Life continues in its craziness. The German Bakery will be rebuilt, the liquor shop next door will continue to feel simultaneously blessed while resenting the “too much compensation” of its neighbour. Business will slowly start to drift back to the Cafe, as the fear of locals is numbed by time and the police will continue to bask in the afternoon sun safe, in the knowledge that there is little they can do apart from wait for another high alert to relocate them and their terror instilling presence.