I’ve long toyed with the idea of writing about Mumbai and life here, but have been putting it off for no apparent reason. It’s probably just the sheer magnitude of the task. After all, how can one capture the madness, the spirit, the pure essence of this city in a few hundred words? Movie after movie has been made about Mumbai glorifying it, berating it, romanticizing it, personifying it, but they all seem to be dealing with disconnected, disparate aspects – the rains, the trains, slums, poverty or the crowds. Not one of them has captured the city in its entirety. I’ve been here for over a year now, but I still haven’t come to terms with this city. Each time I think I have Mumbai all figured out, it throws up something that completely catches me unawares and I discover a whole new side of Mumbai, not always pleasant. When I was new to the city, someone told me that one can only love or hate this city, that there’s no in between. Black or white, no shades of grey. But even after a year here, I’m sitting on the fence unable to make up my mind.
Do I love this absolutely mental city? Yes, at times - When an absolute stranger on the packed local train flashes a smile despite being elbowed from all directions, when people queue up at the bus stop in an orderly manner despite the horrendous peak hour rush, when I go jogging on marine drive and the sun peeks from behind the Trident, when I’m sitting on the broad pavement and watch the grey waters crash onto the rocks below me at Nariman point, when the first rains hit the city with a vengeance in June, when I spend a sunny Sunday morning just walking alone along the broad wide roads of Fort, when I saunter around the meandering old roads named after long bygone Parsis in Colaba with a camera in hand, when I see kids running to school in oversized raincoats, when I stand on the footboard of that rare empty train and feel the wind in my face, whenever I visit Café Madras and the guy behind the counter flashes me a familiar smile, when I step out on the streets alone at 2 AM and still feel absolutely safe, when the auto and cab drivers take pains to give me exact change even if it’s just a rupee, when I see people going through the same routine for years on end to earn an honest living… Yes, this city does bring a smile to my face.
Do I hate Mumbai? Oh yes. It drives me mad that I cannot find a moment’s peace here – a minute without all the honking and din, that I just HAVE TO leave my house not a moment later than 8:02 to catch the 8:12 local so that I can get to office in one piece, that it invariably rains nay, pours non-stop every weekend in the monsoon causing all weekend plans to go kaput, that there’s no place outside my home where I can be completely alone whenever I want to, that I’m still to find my “happy place” here, that I cannot find time to do anything apart from work and home on weekdays, that I have to put my life on the line every time I attempt to board the general compartment of a local at peak hours, that everything is a fight here, a challenge that one must face every day and every moment, that we have to live in houses that are more like matchboxes… ok shoeboxes and proudly call them “home”, that a few potted plants on one’s balcony are labelled “gardens”, that ten trees lining a road is considered a “green locality”, that a substantial amount of one’s income has to go on rent, that mountains of garbage lying on the side of the road is considered normal, that taking 2 hours to cross 12 km to get back home is “acceptable”… Ufff.
Despite all this, do I defend Mumbai? Yes, and vociferously especially whenever someone compares it with Delhi. After all, how can Delhi with its corrupt politicians, snooty uber rich people (no offence to friends staying in Delhi), spoilt brats and its “oh-so-perfect” roads even come close to honest, hardworking, matter-of-fact Mumbai? I agree Mumbai comes nowhere close to Bangalore on any aspect, but its miles above Delhi.
But does life at Mumbai sadden me? Yes, enormously. It pains me to see the colossal rich-poor divide in this city… it probably compares to no other city in the world and is just getting worse by the day. This is a city where models sporting Louis Vuittons and stilettos, super rich business honchos in their expensive suits and movie stars in their BMWs and their Mercs whizz past millions of people living on footpaths on less than a dollar a day without a second glance. It distresses me that people spend thousands of rupees to buy clothes they don’t need, but cannot spare a rupee to an old homeless lady, that hundreds of people die on the locals every year but nothing has been done to make the trains safer, that Mumbai’s famed “resilience” is actually sheer apathy, that the infrastructure is crumbling and living standards dropping by the minute, that thousands of children have no childhood but have to earn just to be able to eat. It’s depressing to see a little girl of about six squeezing her body through a six inch ring to earn a few rupees, a little boy of five selling odds and ends on the local train and an aged blind beggar singing so that people who have eyes and can see but are blind in every other way can take notice of him. It almost kills me.
Yet despite all this, something about Mumbai binds everyone together. It’s a melting pot, a smorgasbord if you may, that offers something for everyone. “One for all and all for one” they say. Everything comes to a grinding halt when Sachin scores a century, when another bomb explodes, when the millions of Ganeshas are taken to the sea for immersion, when the roads flood and both prince and pauper have to swim back home… and then life goes back to normal - the machine starts running again after a brief pause.
Is this city for me? I don’t know… I think not. Will I ever be able to make up my mind about Mumbai? Nope. I don’t see myself getting off this fence any time soon.
