iTALK Features Editor Tinaz Nooshian and freelance writer Anjana Vaswani spent the night to the sound of incessant firing and grenade blasts, trapped at Nariman Point and Colaba, a stone's throw away from two burning five-stars

Anjana Vaswani, stuck at Tetsuma till 3 am

Two of my dearest friends turned 40 yesterday; a couple so much in love, they share everything including their birthdates. I spent all day wondering what to get them and finally decided on a spa-voucher from Oberoi Trident. When I learnt they didn't offer spa vouchers, I chose to pick them up elsewhere. A simple choice, but hardly one I thought would save my life.

We'd barely arrived at Tetsuma, a lounge bar in an alley behind The Radio Club at Colaba, when one of my friends stepped outside for a smoke. Just then, the security guard rushed in, shut the door and insisted, "No one's going out!" We saw people race past, and heard gunshots. Someone said they'd heard bombs go off. A friend called to say a gang-war had broken out.

Text first, think later

I have lived in Nigeria for six years. You hear gun shots in Lagos ever so often, and you alert your loved ones right away. Now, it's instinct. I sent out my first text messages right then to family and my dearest friends. I wanted my daughters to know I was safe. There was already talk of the use of AK 47s, and my friend Rustam just had to hear that before he declared this was no gang war, these were terrorists.

News started coming in about the attack at Leopold Café, walking distance from where we were. Text-messages poured in to each of the 13 people in our group, and we had different pieces of a massive puzzle.

Tension escalated

There was mention of an explosion around Metro Cinema, on the news, reports of the Taj and Oberoi Trident being taken over by terrorist groups. Some of the men wanted to leave "before the army's called in and they impose a curfew". And we saw flames take over one of the higher floors of the Taj. An Italian acquaintance telephoned to say he'd managed to get out of Trident, but his wife and baby were trapped.

I was sitting just a few steps away from the door, alone at the bar, trying to stay abreast of the news. There was a loud slam while someone tried to enter the restaurant. My heart stopped. The men raced to the door. Would they be able to hold it closed?

To stay or to go?

Our group grew divided in opinion. Half of them wanted to leave, I didn't. But I knew that I'd had to go along with whatever they decided, or stay back alone. Someone proposed we walk down the road to get a cab since our drivers weren't being allowed past Electric House. A gentleman adamant to leave, moved towards the door, before the sound of a Colaba petrol station bombed, threw him back.

It was well past 3 am when my driver managed to make it back to the restaurant. Four of us decided if he could get this far, we could make it back. We left and took a winding route past Nariman House (we had no idea there were armed terrorists and hostages inside), Eros cinema through Opera House to Kemp's Corner. No one in the car had much to say, save for the prayers we went over in our hearts.

Tinaz Nooshian, stuck at Inox multiplex till 6.45 am

On the night of November 26, 40 Mumbaikars were treated to free cola, Georgia  coffee (Expresso or Cappuccino, ma'am?) and Nachos with Salsa. That's before the bunch of hip South Mumbai residents wrapped in perfume-tinged cashmere, punching "we're okay" on their Blackberrys, kicked off their shoes and their propriety to lounge on the carpeted floor of the food court. So, when staff walked in lugging giant handis of chawal and dal, they relished it, some sitting cross-legged. 

It's comfort food for Indians, better eaten with your fingers, no matter what your address. But I'm not quite sure if it managed to do more than fill grumbling tummies for an audience that had originally planned to enjoy a film, but ended up tracking bloody drama on a Nariman Point street. 

The price of a juice

Having downed a chilled Watermelon juice at a roadside stall, I walked towards the car with a friend when we heard what was too staccato, to be cracker noise. We turned, expecting to see an empty street, the one we'd just walked past, but were caught in a wave that surged towards us. Foreign corporates sprinting down the tarmac in suits, files in hand, front office desk executives from a five-star, a chef perhaps, recognisable from his ankle-length apron and tube cap. We ran into INOX multiplex, racing up the first floor to meet a crowd of harrowed viewers, torn between the second half of Dostana and getting home on a night that some said was picked by terrorists to set off serial blasts.

Home wasn't safe

A torrent of text messages, most devouring cell phone batteries to make everyone hunt for plug points to fix chargers in, and news on plasma screens exposed us to the madness raging outside. A couple argued over whether to leave or stay, while a silver-haired lady stood by the Brownie counter muttering, "What's become of this city?". Breaking news about a gory shootout at Metro Adlabs, brought on a torrent of messages from those who know I can touch the cinema façade if I lean out far enough from my balcony. Petrol pump blown up, boat laden with explosives found, militants escape in police van... the night dragged its feet, as women clung on fiercely to their men.

An announcement of forced calm about jotting down our names and numbers "for a routine head count" felt like let's-see-how-many-can-make-it-in-the-lifeboat moment. Blasts at Oberoi Trident next door, and firing outside Maharashtra assembly on our left, made the staff dim all lights, moving us away from the glass frontage into screen 1. Indians love guarantees, on their toasters and their safety. "How can we be sure they won't break through your glass door entrance?" asked frantic guests, most of them Napeansea Road Gujaratis.

The staff listened, requested, reassured, babysat us all through till 6.45 am, when they said it might be safe to leave. People walked the streets, fearless. My phone beeped. "As a mark of respect to those who lost their loved ones, the Karaoke night is postponed to Sunday," read a group SMS. Life would go on.

We were there

At party at Indus, Hotel Diplomat, behind Taj

Nikita Phulwani

"At 9.35 pm, someone walked in ranting hysterically about a shoot-out. A friend called to describe the dead bodies she had passed on the streets. We panicked when we heard the blast that blew up the Taj dome. We were all praying. Some foreigners from the Taj were stranded without money or passports, so, they were given refuge at Indus."

At Vetro, Oberoi Trident's Italian restaurant Matteo, Sales representative for Italian firm "Around 10 pm, I heard gunshots from the lobby. The restaurant entrance was shut. We escaped down the stairs to the kitchen, then to the basement, before we ran onto the road. We managed to find refuge behind INOX multiplex, in an open parking lot. I'm lucky to have escaped."

How a 23 year-old escaped being shot at Leo's

Rohan Lilani, works for online ad department of leading search engine

"I was with a friend at Leopold Café on Colaba Causeway, when we heard a shot, followed by a 5 second silence. This was followed by the sound of firing, but we didn't know where this was all going on. The guests were shrieking. We hid under the table. Then, I grabbed my friend and ran out from a side exit. By the time we reached the exit, my friend's T-shirt was covered in blood. We sprinted till the Gordon House hotel, and took a cab to Metro Cinema. A crowd had gathered there. Suddenly, a car pulled up, someone from inside fired randomly at bystanders and sped away. Nightmarish!"