It was a bright morning in Srinagar- and I was quite cheerful- I was going home to Delhi. We had been covering the breakdown of talks and the end of a ceasefire between the government and the Hizbul Mujahideen for some days. And now we were pulling out.

Leaving my cameraman Sanjiv and editor Rajesh to put their equipment into boxes- I decided to go visit an old friend, and then, to buy some walnuts and saffron at residency road.

Out of nowhere- a bang. Not a big one- but loud enough for me to know this was no scooter backfiring. And some pesky reporter voice inside me saying "go on- find out more".

It turned out to be a grenade blast- and me and a few other similiarly curious journalists reached the spot to see it- no bigger than a pine cone- spent inside a ditch. Not big enough for a story. I said this to Pradeep, the Hindustan Times correspondent, as we all sat down on some steps nearby- some to smoke, some to take notes, others just to chat. Pretty soon it was evident the cops who had arrived were interested in an ambassador car parked right there. Its doors weren't locked and policemen suspected the car could be a clue. As more and more and policemen trooped into the spot- they started to herd the journalists and photographers out. We protested- especially after one policemen started to put up barricades. Our Srinagar stringer- and a dear friend Mukhtar Ahmad arrived then and I got distracted.

The rest was probably nano-seconds, but is a long memory in slow-mo, like in the movies. The wind around us stopped- the ambassador blew up, with one forceful move Mukthar pushed me to the ground- and I remember seeing bits of glass, like little bullets, whizzing past my head. A lot of screaming- a lot of wailing.

And then Mukhtar said- that was a big one- lets go file the story. But then- firing. Policemen and CRPF jawans were firing - ostensibly at whoever had set off the bomb, but if you ask me, just in blind panic. Mukhtar was no more thinking of the story- he just wanted to get us out of there. And that's when it hit me that I was still lying on the ground- my head was definitely hurt, and something was wrong with my arm. But the next shot made me forget any pain- and I jumped up. We spent the next hour trying to keep out of the cross-fire. I just thought it would be stupid to survive the blast, but get killed by a stray bullet. There were several bodies everywhere- among them Pradeep the photographer, several shopkeepers, women, and one vegetable seller. Later, at the hospital- I saw all the footage on television- limbs tossed together, the mangled car, and those steps we had been sitting on -now a canvas of red and twisted steel.

As I lay on a triage bed at the Army hospital- I also started to see how lucky I was- watching civilians and soldiers wheeled in with wounds, and awful, undescribable burns. Families of those injured (20 people died, I was among 30 injured) were rushing in- crying and crying.

To get back to my bright morning- and what happened after- nobody (except the bomber or gunman ) really wakes up knowing they will be wounded or killed that day. The uncertainty is meant to frighten people.

Professor Puri's wife in Delhi was expecting a call from him in Bangalore when gunmen shot him down. Simputer co- inventor Vijay Chandru, Patelappa, and Pankaj Gupta were just scientists at a regular conference when they walked out of the J.N. Tata memorial auditorium. No one expected they would be in hospital just hours later. And the same for all those people shopping for Diwali and Id in Delhi two months ago when bombs went off.

Policemen, army jawans, even government offices are normally prepared for attacks. When they are targeted, security is increased, as it should be. But what happens to the rest of society? As Indian Institute of Science professors themselves said on TV this morning, they cannot have gun-toting security follow each and every professor and guard every campus across the country.

I don't know if the attack in Bangalore is connected at all to the one where I was injured all those years ago. What I do know is that when it comes to attacks on professors, shoppers, wedding guests, school children- there is no reason to hurt them, no precautions they can take, no solution those innocents can be expected offer. Most importantly- no lessons to be learned- nothing at all that any of us can do differently the next time.

That's what makes terror.