'That's when I broke down and cried ... that's when it all sank in'

Not many memories from 20 years ago are as vivid in my mind as the drive into work on that fateful Tuesday morning of Sept. 11.

On most morning commutes, I'd be listening to Steve Edwards host WBEZ's then-daily magazine program, Eight Forty-Eight.

But my morning routine changed when I had to drop off my sister at her workplace.

She popped in an audio cassette of Hindi songs into the player. And I continued jamming to the music for 45 minutes until I reached the Daily Herald's Lake County bureau in Vernon Hills.

Once I parked the car and the moment the cassette popped out, I heard the news on Chicago Public Radio of the World Trade Center towers collapsing.

I didn't understand what was going on. I walked into the newsroom to find reporters huddled around our bureau chief Pete Nenni, who was on the phone with other editors getting instructions.

Everyone looked stunned. A visibly shaken Neighbor section editor, Gail Kahover, walked over to explain, "they are gone ... the towers are down."

I barely could discern the images on the small black-and-white TV in one corner of our newsroom. And before I could fully comprehend what was happening, Pete was off the phone and giving everyone their marching orders.

I was headed to Waukegan Airport to interview grounded travelers.

On the drive there, I got a call from my father who clearly was agitated.

It wasn't just that he was worried about my cousins living in New York City. But early reports and assumptions that this was a terrorist attack perpetrated by Islamic extremists set him off on a rant.

"This is the religion that you want to be a part of," he yelled.

You see, my father and family belong to the Hindu faith, and he had learned only recently that I was interested in Islam.

I told Dad I didn't have time to have that conversation. I had to go to work and needed a clear head.

At the airport, stranded passengers watched in disbelief video footage of the first tower coming down being played on a loop. The airport's radar screen, typically lit up with thousands of red dots representing airplanes in flight, was clear as the nation's air traffic had been grounded.

I returned to the office and turned in my story.

At the end of the day, we collectively listened in silence to the news coverage on that small black-and-white TV.

Some news anchor said authorities had found a Quran in a vehicle near ground zero, possibly belonging to one of the suspected hijackers or perhaps just some random Muslim believer now tainted by association.

That's when I broke down and cried while my colleagues comforted me. That's when it all sank in.

In the days and weeks that followed, our newsroom, the nation and world tried to make sense of what had happened and explain that to readers.

Overnight, I became the de facto resident newsroom expert on Muslims and Islam - a religion I had embraced after study during my first year of university.

While a herculean task, I recognized the weight of that responsibility. And I knew the only way to fight misinformation about Islam, in the media, in daily interactions with random people and within my own family, was to gain as much knowledge as I could to speak with authority on the subject.

All the while, I, like many suburban Muslims, had to deal with scrutiny of my faith, the stares, harsh looks, and, at times, verbal insults, because my religion had been hijacked by madmen.

I've told this story many times over the years and the memory of it is still fresh, just as that video footage of the towers collapsing and the horrors of that day are etched in my brain.

And I won't ever forget.

• Madhu Krishnamurthy was a Daily Herald staff writer on Sept. 11, 2001. Today, she is the paper's diversity editor.