11th July, 2006 - A very normal day at work. Infact, the reporters heaved a sigh of relief after reporting about the incessant rains in Mumbai. It was one of those rare days when we were blessed with time to have a proper lunch at a proper time. Everything seemed so nice, so smooth, so normal... completely unaware of the existence of some 11 people who were planning something... something huge, big and explosive.

Within minutes, seven bombs ripped apart different trains on the Western line in Mumbai, killing more than 200 people, injuring thousands of them and shattering millions who lived in the city.

The first image that comes to my mind when I think of that day is the helpless look on the faces of the people. Faces that were looking for different answers - Who did it" How many must have been killed" How to go home" How to reach my loved ones and tell them I am safe" Why would anyone do it" Who is involved"

Everytime I recall that day, images of dead bodies being rushed into KEM hospital, long traffic queues, anguished Mumbaikars waiting to get home... flash over in my mind. To say the least, it was one of the most dreadful moments of my life. Everything that I feared of - bomb explosion, dead bodies, dead families, the smell of the hospital, people searching for their sons, fathers, husbands was actually happening right before my eyes.

In days to come, it was only work, work, and work. Waking up everyday to look for stories where families had lost a sole earning member or had lost their only son or people still looking for their relatives.

That is when we came across John Doe.

Lying at KEM Hospital's makeshift emergency ward, John lay there with most of his body parts exposed, with huge holes that I could actually pass my hand through it. He had three such huge holes in his body. One between his neck and collarbone. One on his shoulder. And one near his kidney. That man was on life support system. Doctors termed his survival as a miracle. The RDX had ripped apart his body. Not a single system in his body was functioning properly.

Still he was alive. He was blinking. Falling in and out of consciousness. However, nobody knew who he was. Nobody had come looking for a man like him. Nobody knew if he had a family in Mumbai or whether he was just visiting the city.

Nobody knew his real identity and therefore, we nicknamed him John Doe.

John Doe needed blood. John Doe needed surgeries. And for this, John Doe needed his family. And his family was nowhere near him.

It was scary to see him. He breathed heavily. He grunted in pain. And those parts of his body which were open for us to see scared me. I could actually see his muscles, his veins, his arteries, those numerous little pipes we have in our bodies. He made several attempts to communicate with the doctors but in vain. He could barely speak and was in tremendous pain.

Next day, John Doe was on air on CNN IBN. Our channel was trying to re-unite the families with their loved ones. And within hours, John Doe was recognized. He was Sanjay Shirke. He had a wife, a brother and many relatives and friends who were looking for him.

CNN IBN's role had ended there. We had re-united the family. We later learnt that Sanjay hadn't survived. After fighting hard for a week, he succumbed to his injuries.

And Sanjay Shirke was just one among those hundreds who lost their life thanks to some fanatics who got disgusting pleasure out of killing innocents.

(Mosiqi Acharya has worked as a correspondent with CNN-IBN. She currently works with a private FM Station)