It was cold. Even for a city like New Delhi. And it was a dull, dull day. Nothing really was happening. At rediff.com's Delhi bureau, we were having a rather relaxed day, despite occasional calls from our headquarters in Bombay: our colleagues there were infected by the Christmas spirit as well and wanted to go home early. Hence, they wanted us to send our stories "soon. Like yesterday." But, like I said, nothing was really happening. All animated conversations revolved only around the varied parties dotting the Christmas/ New Year week. Which, I suspect, must have been the state of affairs at most news organisations. Stories, in fact, were so difficult to garner that editors were turning to 'soft features' -- on the coming millennium, the movies on television and even the festive season discount sales -- to fill up the resultant gaps. One phone call changed all that!! A good journalist-friend of ours, working on a routine story at Delhi airport, was told at 1700 hours IST that an Indian Airlines aircraft had been hijacked. For the next immediate scene, imagine a fire alarm going off in a highrise building. We scrambled!!! My colleague Josy Joseph raced to the airport on his dilapidated two-wheeler. Poor Josy, who had these grand plans of going home early that day, had only worn a thin cardigan to work. How he shivered on his way to the airport!! That, though, was the least of his troubles. Eventually, the poor man spent the entire night there, ineffectually fighting the cold with endless cups of hot, expensive, watery tea. I was a tad luckier, since I had rushed to Rajiv Gandhi Bhavan, which housed both the ministry of civil aviation and the Indian Airlines headquarters. Unfortunately, the entrance blocked by throng of journalists. The word, obviously, had spread like wildfire. The morning after, and through the day, the officials appeared smug, almost arrogant. This, even after the flight took off from Amritsar and headed towards Dubai. "Don’t worry," was the perennial, parrot-like, disinterested refrain. "They will be here soon and you can all go home." The clock continued to tick away. None of their predictions came true. We scrounged around for informative tidbits: The aircraft is in Dubai... Negotiations are under way... What I remember more than anything else is the bone-chilling cold that had permeated the building. It was so cold that we could not even sit on the floor for long. There were, of course, no chairs. We were hungry, but food was not really a priority. One thought dominated all our minds: "If this crisis is solved, we want to be the first with the news!" Newspapers delayed sending their edition to bed. Television crews and we at rediff.com kept giving constant updates about talks and talks and talks... The wait was gruelling. But not one of us stirred from where we were: Neither Josy at the airport, shivering away, nor me, freezing at Rajiv Gandhi Bhavan. It was only when the aircraft left Dubai for Kandahar in Afghanistan -- and after this bit of information was confirmed by the Government of India -- that we headed home. Our colleagues stepped in. Neena Haridas, Onkar Singh and Tara Shankar Sahay kept vigil at the same frenzied pace. Neena began to find out about the bereaved Katyals (she was, in fact, the only journalist whom the family tolerated, simply because she chose to respect their privacy as much as she could and not adopt an in-your-face attitude). Onkar and Tara made rounds of the various government offices and departments. Through the next seven days, the pressure was intense and the fear, constant. We raced to keep pace with the developments and even the non-developments. Normal essentials like water, food, sleep, rest and homes were forgotten, even on days when things actually seemed to crawl and no one made any sense. We were in a state of adrenalin-alert; so terrified were we of missing any breakthrough, should it occur. There was also the need to cover other aspects of the hijack -- talking to the experts, exposing the security lapses, profiling the negotiators, discussing the Taleban's dubious role... The only thing we reporters did not worry about in the last week of 1999 was searching for stories: they were all over the place!!! By day three, keeping vigil at Rajiv Gandhi Bhavan had become so commonplace that the airline officials actually provided us with beds and blankets and served tasty, hot food and coffee through the night. Clearly, even they did not expect the crisis to end in a hurry! Another favourite source of stories happened to be the Cabinet meetings: while no journalists were allowed inside, we could always get a couple of quotes from the ministers arriving at or leaving the meeting. Jaswant Singh, in particular, was a favourite -- especially after he was designated official spokesperson for the crisis. Which is why, wherever the Cabinet meetings were held -- the prime minister's office at South Block or his residence at 7, Race Course Road -- one would also find a huge group of journalists, waiting patiently in the cold. The days and nights blurred into the heavy mist that descends on Delhi every winter. No one even thought about celebrating the New Year -- or the dawn of the new millennium. Our families had been abandoned; we were only concerned about keeping track of the events as they took place in faraway Kandahar. Just as everyone was beginning to despair -- it was beginning to look as if the crisis would continue into the New Year -- it ended! Just as suddenly as it had started!! For the night of December 30 had passed without event. No progress had been reported and, for once, we reporters actually spent the night at home, catching up on some well-earned rest. The next morning, the phone rang. Again. But it was only a worried colleague from the Bombay office. "Hey, give us some news. We haven’t updated the homepage the entire night." What were we to report? Nothing was happening!!! The negotiations had apparently stalled; a sense of stalemate hung in the morning air. An hour later, we had the best newsbreak of the entire crisis. An excited Tara was literally shouting into the phone: "Jaswant is flying to Kandahar to bring back the hostages. The government is releasing three prisoners." We swung into action, for what was to be the last time in this crisis. The news was immediately passed on to Bombay. Within moments, the report about the deal being struck was up on our site. On New Year's eve, Delhi's airport was jammed with reporters. CNN was doing a live broadcast; other television crews had grabbed every available vantage point; reporters and photographers swarmed all over the place. The hostages emerged from the airport one by one and were whisked into waiting ambulances. Then, depending on their condition, they were either taken home or for a medical checkup. We reporters milled about, getting snatches of quotes and soundbytes of information. By 2330 hours, it was all over. Reporters rushed back to file their copies; Tara, who had raced to the Maurya Sheraton to file his story from its cybercafe, was treated to wine and cake by the staff. Most journalists trooped back to the New Year parties they had very nearly missed. Others, like me, went home to catch up on some much-needed sleep. It was going to be a great new year after all. You might also want to read... The hijack: One year on Nightmare on Flight 814 Amberish K Diwanji, who headed rediff.com's Delhi bureau during the hijack, now champions rediff radio in Bombay. Illustration: Dominic Xavier Do tell us what you think of this diary
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