Hearts bleed.

It is not always that a terror attack chokes your voice. An average human being almost never dies of a terror attack. It is perfectly normal to want to write slogans and feel empathetic towards a nation's loss. But how does one justify weird imaginations?

Those bastards planted bombs in my German bakery. In OUR German Bakery. There might be 20,000 other people writing about this right now but each one of us is going through a different feeling in a painfully similar way. I've spent umpteen weekends at German Bakery with the girls and with my sister. The coffee pot, the apple pie, the tiramisu cake and the mushroom omlette. The cigarette stall next door and the silver jewelery shops. Those handbags and embroidered t-shirts on the 1st floor. Those sign boards saying - Drugs and Pets not allowed. Those wooden stools and the cute chink waiters. Those men and women in white/maroon chogas. Those little kids coming in to sell flowers... that's German Bakery for all of us.

My German bakery is mindless laughter with the girls. That evening with Cams when his bike was towed away. That afternoon when we played 3-things-you-hate-about-me and fought like school children. Those celebrations for everything - from passing Physical Exam to French, buying scooters, cars, new cell phones, cameras, birthdays, break-ups, holidays, new jobs, joblessness. We've celebrated life in general at German bakery.

Somehow when I saw the video clippings on TV I kept imagining that one evening when we went after Gayu bought her car. It rained that evening. We clicked so many pictures and had so much fun it is inexplicable. Today I kept imagining all of us getting blown up in the midst of our giggle fits. I know, it is a sick imagination but the fact is it could've very well been us. If not for Budds' plan of coming to Bombay, I was supposed to be in Pune and we would, in all odds, be in German bakery on a Saturday evening.

Germany Bakery must pick itself up and get operational soon. I hope it is just a rumor that its shut for good. This Saturday we'll go see whatever is remaining of our German Bakery.

You bastards, you can kill us. Try killing our memories. Hah!