In the early aftermath of whatever struck you about 9/11, the life math itself action replayed mind-numbingly. The body count, the bangs through the buildings, and the private and public aches of a stunned America. And the united colors of breathless TV studios. Shedding nationalistic heat on a moment that may have needed some light and a balm instead.

One had to take a deep breath and find other ways of seeing.

Thus, poetry.

Wislawa Szymborska

At that time, much of the poetry I read vacillated between American school assignments in cathartic mode to quick-fire book-length poems; all of them, of course, having their own coming-to-terms story. And then there was Wislawa Szymborksa's poem PHOTOGRAPH FROM SEPTEMBER 11.

'They jumped from the burning floors—
one, two, a few more,
higher, lower

The photograph halted them in life,
and now keeps them
above the earth toward the earth..'

Wislawa Szymborksa. I did not know this Polish 1996 Nobel Laureate until then. She had continued to study underground during

Srinivasa Shreyas Ranganath's father refused to meet me, and that was understandable. To this elderly employee of Bharat Heavy Electricals Limited, I was just another nosy reporter hounding down a story, and seeking my trophy — a byline. His 26-year-old son, on deputation with Marsh and McLennan in New York's World Trade Center, was among four Wipro employees and hundreds of others killed when terrorists flew hijacked airliners into the Twin Towers. One year later, I had tracked him down to request an interview.

"For you it's just a story," he said acidly over the phone. Until he pointed that out, I must confess it was. Just the previous evening I was in Puttur in southwestern Karnataka to meet the family of his son's colleague Hemant Puttur, another victim of the terrorist attacks. Now, here I was in Bangalore hoping to make my trip worthwhile. I felt like a jerk.

The New York City skyline on 9/11

"Just a story."

The truth in Ranganath's words tore into me like shrapnel. Shamed, I flinched. Then I steadied my voice,

Another day, another blast, many more lives lost, another day of constant bickering on TV, another day for indignation and hopelessness. Where exactly are we going wrong in our war against terror?

For starters, I'd like it if we didn't have to hear the platitudes that our politicos insist on mouthing ad nauseum, thank you very much. Here's what we hear every time a bomb rips apart a place, a family, a city - and here's what I'd like to hear instead.

What we hear #1: We strongly condemn the attacks.

Substitute with: We're tired of condemning attacks; if we don't come back to you with the justice that you, as citizens of this country, deserve after trusting us to protect you, we'll add another amendment to our constitution that makes it legally possible for you to remove the expensive security that we're granted with your hard-earned money every time we use the word 'condemn' after an attack.

What we hear #2: It is a cowardly act.

Substitute with: How do we know it's a cowardly attack?

USA and the world reeled in shock as two planes flew straight into the twin towers, destroying not just the twin symbols of success, but leaving tens of thousands of bereaved families in its wake and the nation and its economy reeling in the aftershocks of the attacks even today. As with any other incident of irrevocable loss, 9/11 saw itself becoming inspiration to artistes of all kinds. Writers particularly wove the attack into various narratives as a coping mechanism, something that has attracted its fair share of criticism.

It wouldn't be amiss to state that no other event has inspired literary catharsis in recent history as 9/11 has. Some of the most noteworthy (not necessarily great) fiction in the last decade have used (arguably) the worst ever terror attack in the world's history as the backdrop, some to good effect, with others falling prey to ill-conceived or over-ambitious plot lines.

Jonathan Safran Foer, praised and panned alike for his novel, Extremely Loud and