Wednesday, August 8, 2012

The last seventeen months

Crammed up houses. Filth strewn everywhere the eyes can roam. Clogged roads turning seconds into hours. What is it that Mumbai uses to charm and attract? 17 months and I'm as clueless as the day I got down at Mumbai Central to give this city a try, like million others pouring in like tea from a kettle. It might be an old, ragged and an overused cliche, but this city is alive. Something beats through it constantly, pumping energy from god knows where. It's not just one city, it's a collection of thousand ecosystems striving each day, somehow. The rich jog on the same carter road that is home to a colony of fishermen. Spoilt kids tap on their smart phones while sharing the bench with a 10 year old rag picker who has discovered treasure in the form of a half-eaten burger.

The elitist South Bombayites or SOBOs look down upon anything north of Worli. Worli looks down on anything north of the sea-link and this hatred of north stops only at Delhi. It's a crime in Mumbai to be from the capital. As soon as you share your origins, snide glances are exchanged, judgements are made and artillery to put you down is loaded inside mouth shaped cannons. But then I found out, much to my amusement, that a poor Andheri dweller suffers from the safe fate. Being from Mumbai isn't enough to win you approval.

Everyone has a story to tell in this city, for everyone who washes up to the shores of Mumbai tugs along some baggage. People sit for hours eyeballing the setting sun near the sea, as if trying to reason the befallen misfortunes. They search for answers in low tides. Look for some deep-rooted meaning when the tide is high. I can vouch for it myself, having spent many a night at Bandstand, watching the Arabian Sea play Taliban to the horny couples on the rocks. Ofttimes you do silly things when alone.Like, make small talk to the guy firing up his make-shift stove to make bhutta. Only to be deterred by his talkative nature. Then feign interest and listen to his grouses, his aspirations. Get sucked into his story and suddenly feel shit that you can't even share your trivial problems with this guy. No one needs a psychiatrist in this city. We all help each other out.

This city is a barren wasteland for a loner and a throbbing melee for the rest. There is something for everyone here. Cold as a stone at times and warm as an embrace on occasions, it confuses the fuck out of you. You can't love it, you certainly can't hate it. This city could be your first love. It could very well be the one who cheated on you. It can pain you and also play the doctor. Mumbai is a teacher. Mumbai is a rapist. Mumbai is anything you want it to be.

So the question still lurks. What is it about Mumbai?
I don't know. I guess nobody knows.
What I do know is, I loved every day of my 17 month stay.