No one remembers Boris Rego

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Boris Rego was a 23-year-old boy whose dream was to follow in his dad's footsteps and become a chef. A recently-graduated management trainee from the prestigious Taj Management Trainee Program, his dream was brought to an abrupt halt last year when he was gunned down by terrorists in the kitchen of Mumbai's Taj. His father, a senior chef in the same company buried his son a few days later.

Watch: Taj trainee chef's father remembers his slain son

I had the fortune of meeting and knowing Boris during his short life. We were colleagues at the Taj. Though we never became good friends, or even interacted much for that matter, both of us shared one thing in common with the other 30 students who made up our management trainee batch and indeed with the remaining tens of thousands of employees who make up the workforce of the Indian Hotel Company. And that was a love, bordering on reverence for the iconic hotel, the flagship of our company, the Taj Mahal, Mumbai. I was transferred out of that hotel a few months before the attacks. Boris was not that lucky.

Coverage of 26/11 has captured the emotions and reactions of almost everyone who could be interviewed. But one thing of vital importance that was left out were the stories of those most affected - the staff present during the attack. Those who watched colleagues sacrifice their lives to save those of their guests, those who sat and watched a dream being razed to the ground. Of all the sacrifices made that day, what could have been more tragic than the general manager watching his room go up in flames with his wife and children inside. In the true credo of a hotelier he controlled his emotions till after the entire ordeal was over, the charred bodies were found, and the last rites conducted. It was only once the pyre was lit and the plumes of smoke rose up in the air that he allowed himself to break down.

But did anyone know that almost the entire staff of that hotel from the sweepers and gardeners to the top management, no matter how far they lived, attended the funeral to pay his their last respects? Did anyone report that the day the commandos left the first people in were the staff who had stood outside the hotel from the moment they got the news of the attacks. That they were the ones who found the live ammunition that could have set off another spate of blasts. Or that when rescued guests were removed from hiding spots it was the hotel staff and not the police or the NSG who herded them to safety and allayed their fears.

Nobody reported the story of Mallika, my friend, a 22-year-old executive at the Chambers lounge who steadfastly refused to leave till each and every one of her guests were safely out of the window to the awaiting rescue teams outside. Or the story of the waiters, paid less than 4000 a month, who stood in the face of oncoming bullets to close the doors of Golden Dragon while another escorted the guests to safety from the back area. Those waiters didn't make it out. The guests did. Yet even in the face of an apparent untimely death, did any of those young girls and boys flinch? Nobody told the story of the young hostess who hid below the table with a guest, held her hand and when the lady cried her regret of being able to kiss her children or husband goodbye did not mention even once that she was due to get married in a few months.

When I was in college, a professor was once asked what happens if there is a bomb scare. The professor replied, there never is a real bomb. However if the guest wants to leave, let him. you don't leave. The student, not satisfied pressed ahead, insisting that there really was a bomb. The professor's reply was 'Tell the guest, I'm running, you follow me.'

However on 26th November, 2008, not a single waiter, receptionist, house-keeper ran away from a guest in need. They stood their ground, often in front of a guest to shield them, and escorted to safety every one who wasn't in the hotel's uniform. They took a call that day - faced with a choice to save a strangers life or their own, they protected as many as possible. And many of them fell on the way, prey to terrorist bullets. Those who could escape, didn't, just make sure others did.

Unknowingly, the terrorists made a mistake. By attacking the hotels, they could not inflict enough damage in terms of human lives as they would have liked. And the people who foiled that plot were not the police, nor the NSG commandos. But the people who bore the brunt of the first strike, the untrained unaware staff who in the flash of a second collectively decided to put the safety of the guests before their own.

When a person signs up to be a policeman, or joins the defence, he knows that one day in his life he might face bullets. He is trained in firearms, has encounter training. His JOB is to protect human lives. Death on duty is a possible future, though it doesn't make it any less fearsome. My friends and colleagues who died that day had none of these skills. They were not trained to fight gunfire or save lives. But they stood their ground and did the nation proud. They exemplified the spirit of Mumbai that was the pride and joy of the city for so long.

Each and every survivor of the Taj and the Oberoi have extolled the behaviour and actions of the staff over and over again. Most of the tear-jerking stories of the actual victims of 26/11 are about their courage and bravery. Even the international travellers who fled home as fast as they could have sent back heartfelt thanks to these youngsters. People who without training, without reason put their own lives last and braved a bullet to saved a life of someone they had never met before. They displayed courage and selflessness in the face of fire that would be lacking in a large number of even our highly skilled security forces. The biggest compliment was from an American guest who came onto an international news channel and said that the hotel staff and their selfless deeds at the hour of need were the best advertisement their country could get.

Yet, even now every one knows Hemant Karkare. Everyone thanks the NSG. Only a handful of us remember Boris Rego.