Overflowing

Mumbai, Dec. 3: Mumbai has a new problem on its hands: its overflowing baskets of mercy.

The government-run JJ Hospital, treating victims of last week’s attacks, is choked with foodstuff it had asked for from Mumbai’s citizens.

But it hadn’t bargained for the surge of social commitment that has gripped the city, especially its chatterati who have, alongside the war on terror, launched their own battle against the political classes.

“We are not accepting anything, repeat anything, from any donor anymore. We appreciate the people’s goodwill, but are now requesting them to stop the train of gifts and donations,” said Dr Jai Dev, in charge of routing the donations at JJ.

At least 30 people with bullet and shrapnel wounds are still being treated at the hospital near Victoria Terminus, where the first attack last Wednesday killed around 60 and wounded hundreds.

The doctor, who sent out a message for fruits and biscuits for blast victims the day after, says he is at a loss trying to figure out what to do with the donations.

The most popular gift is the ubiquitous Fruit Basket — pretty cane and wicker hampers lined with cellophane and stacked with fruits ranging from the mundane banana to Chinese melons.

“I put a packet of strawberries in mine, you know. They have just started appearing and looked so pretty next to the pears and tangerines. The poor darlings — they need all the vitamins they can get. They are so malnourished as it is,” said the wife of a top stock-broker. The victims at VT were mostly from the low-income group.

Heaps of fruits and other foodstuff, along with clothes, blankets, napkins, stainless steel plates and glasses, thermos flasks, even packets of two-minute noodles, line the corridors of the hospital. “I need extra staff to dispose of them now,” said Dev.

Adding to his woes, the cast-off items have begun drawing beggars and petty thieves to the hospital. “This is a security nightmare,” said Dev.

The hospital has stopped allowing people inside the building after the blasts, but some still manage to squeeze past.

All through the day, swank sedans ferry Chanel-clad ladies to JJ, where they head to the social service help desk.

A prominent art gallery owner who decided to play angel is disappointed by the hospital’s reluctance to accept any more donations.

“I have short-listed two children — one 10 and one 14 — for support,” she announced over coffee at the upscale Willingdon Club. Her criteria for choosing them — “they looked so lost and cute”.

The lady has decided to “look after their education and make sure they learn some vocational skills”.

“My friends and I will pool in the money for that,” she says, but admits she is yet to seek the permission of their injured parents.

Hospital authorities said such plans, if sincere, were welcome. “However amateurish, it is these long-term rehabilitation plans which are going to be more useful now. We have a huge list of donors and we are dividing them into groups based on what they can bring to the table. We are trying to assess the long-term requirement of patients so we can channelise these donations,” said Dr B.M. Sabnis, the dean of JJ Hospital.

But he added firmly: “We are done with the fruit baskets though.”

Some said they were done with the text messages as well, still urging Mumbaikars to send aid to JJ.

It has been a week of text messages.

On Wednesday, one set of messages culminated in a congregation of thousands at the Gateway of India to protest against the terror attack.

This time, however, the chatterati were joined by the ordinary folks but the common enemy remained the same: the nation’s favourite whipping boy, the Indian politician.

The war on terror — as many posters read — translated to a war against politicians, at least as far as sloganeering went.