For three days in November, millions of citizens of Mumbai stayed at home to avoid being caught in the gunfire that consumed the city. I stayed home because I could not believe what was happening in my hometown. I saw live pictures of a car chase down the road I travel most and of hijacked police vehicles firing indiscriminately. All that kept ringing in my head was that it could have been me. I could have been that person with the bullet in my head or that hostage limping out of the hotel or that man waving a makeshift flag out a window or that person caught in the crossfire.

Mumbai (Bombay) and India are no strangers to terrorism. Since May, seven large-scale attacks, many in India's most populous cities, have struck the country. It is therefore no surprise that by last week, the country was frustrated with terror.

To me however, this latest attack was different. This was the first time terrorism was personal. It was the first time I knew people who suffered and it was the first time I knew people who died in these horrific acts. Had this happened next month, when we are on break, it would have been even more likely that many of my friends would have been there.

I first heard about the attacks from a high-school friend, whom I was visiting over Thanksgiving break. He'd heard something was happening in Mumbai and said to check in with my family. I called my mother. She wasn't sure, but could hear gunfire and grenades. But she knew that my family was safe. That assurance quelled the initial panic going through my mind. The gravity of the situation did not hit until later.

Naturally, my friends and I stayed glued to the news. We saw reporters running for cover outside the two hotels we frequent (in Mumbai many restaurants are in hotels). Our parents and friends would say they had just heard another explosion, sometimes in the distance, sometimes around the corner. Minutes later panicked correspondents would confirm what we'd already heard. The reporters were not in a remote, troubled region; they were reporting in front of Mumbai's most famous monument, the Gateway of India. We saw armed police officers stopping every vehicle travelling to the places we live our lives. My home had become a war zone and thousands of kilometers away my friends and I were helpless spectators.

A few hours later, one of my friends returned to the room, distraught. He had just received the news that one of our teachers had been killed. She had taught my class for five years. After hours of hiding in one of the many kitchens of the Taj hotel, officials attempted an escape. She was heading toward the door when she was caught in the terrorists' gunfire. Her husband was able to hide behind a pillar but for three hours, he could not move from the spot - not only because he was shocked at seeing the love of his life on the floor in front of him, but also because if he took one step forward, his daughters could lose both their parents. After hearing this, the enormity of the situation struck me. This was the moment when we felt the full weight of the danger.

Many went through a similar hell. At one restaurant, terrorists rounded up all those who had not escaped through the kitchen and took them upstairs. Once there they lined the 20-30 hostages in the small service stairwell and opened fire. Four men, alive only because they were shielded by others' bodies, lay there for 12 hours. During that time, the terrorists returned with a video camera and cracked jokes as they filmed those they had so effortlessly executed.

This shows us that we're not fighting people on a mission greater than us; we're fighting inhumane, brainwashed brutes. Let us not give them the honour of a God, of a religion, of followers or of a country.

Albert Einstein said peace cannot be achieved by force but only by understanding. I think he was right. I think while the calls for war may be justified in the same way a war against Afghanistan was, war is not a long-term solution.

We need to push forward and keep trying to make them understand. We need to keep asking questions and stay tolerant. But more importantly, we need to return to life but never, ever forget and never, ever forgive. We need to keep driving them mad. We need to show them that nothing they can do can overcome us. It is what makes us great, and them cowards.

Rishav Kanoria is a College sophomore from Mumbai, India. He is formerly a Daily Pennsylvanian beat reporter.