I believe that:
Har shehar ka ek kirdaar hota hai, aur har kiradaar ka ek sheher!
(Every city has a character, and every character has a city!)
After having lived in Mumbai for all my teenage years and some more as a young adult, the city and I began morphing in a way that felt more natural than invasive. Let me tell you how and why: a lot of my firsts happened in the city.
I meant the first time I learned how to drive; the first time I voted; and the first time I moved into a house minus my parents. What did you think when you first read “firsts”, eh? If there was a coming-of-age film to be made about my life, it would be set there.
Anyhoo, I took to the city like fish to water. It didn’t matter that the city was deluged with heavy floods seasonally, for like a fish, I had learnt to breathe underwater. What was one to do? The city might be modern, but its drainage system is surely ancient (from the British era, if I’m not wrong).
Also, it didn’t matter that the traffic was horrible either, as the infamous “Mumbai local” came to my rescue. It was a respite on the working man’s pockets, much like the famed “vada pav” and “cutting chai” combo–heavy on the tummy, but light on the wallet.
Shor In The City
In my one and only year as a reporter for a local, English daily, I would diligently take the train from Wadala to Bandra, Tuesday through Saturday. While in the local, I would get to hear a smattering of many languages and end up picking up phrases in many of them as a result.
I must admit: a lot of it was a result of strategic eavesdropping, as women in the ladies compartment jostled each other. Marathi, Gujarati, Hindi, Punjabi, Tamil and Telugu were some of them; even Arabic at times… To say the least.
When I lived in the city, Marathi, the language of the so-called “sons of the soil”, called so by those who self-proclaimed themselves to be the very same, was not only spoken by the Maharashtrians, but by many whom the city had embraced with open arms, SRK style. This is the reason Mumbai is often called the mehbooba (beloved).
Now that I don’t live in Mumbai anymore, I miss hearing the familiar khichdi I had once characterised as crude. Not only Marathi, but every language was bastardised and thoroughly Bambaiyya-ised. I ought to confess that I am biased about the city in the way only loved ones can be. Please pause for a second while I proceed to put my rose-tinted glasses on.
Life In A Metro
Moving on… Talking about languages has reminded of the recent public debate sparked by a personal one between Bollywood actor Ajay Devgn, and an actor from Karnataka, Kiccha Sudeep.
While enough has been said on the matter by them and others, here’s what I have to say: both of them have their family names at different ends of their first names. That’s how diverse India and mini-India (read: Mumbai) are.
There’s no one way to speak, live or be. There might be a “right” way to live, but what the city of dreams is known for, is accommodating even the wrong ones. You might ask: who is wrong? Depends on your worldview, I guess.
Growing up in the multicultural metropolis of Mumbai was certainly formative of how I view the world now. There were Hindus, Muslims, Parsis, Christians, Sikhs, Jews, and more. You didn’t have to go too far to run into someone unlike you. But, just because they were unlike me, doesn’t mean they didn’t like me.
Even Babasaheb spoke about the merits of living in a city, over living the oft-romanticised rural life, where he believed that the shackles of social inequality are more ruthless.
Jai Bhim
Because, Dr BR Ambekar spent a significant amount of his schooling and working life in the city of Mumbai, there are Ambedkarite symbols all over the city (statues of the man, nay marvel, or flags proclaiming his victory with a ‘jai Bhim!’), be it near Dalit bastis (colonies), government buildings or at the intersections of streets.
The city is also honoured by the presence of his house, Rajgruha, and final resting place, Chaityabhoomi, a site of reverence for Buddhists and others alike
Apart from Dalit symbols, the defunct mills that dot the city act as a symbol and reminder of its communist past. On the other hand, the way malls and other commercial ventures have taken over these spaces, remind us of its capitalistic present.
Salaam Bombay!
There is no denying the fact that there is a scarcity of space in the maximum city. The rents are maximum, too. Actually, the rents are sky-high, as if competing with some of the tall towers gracing its skyline. I have lived in a matchbox house in the concrete jungle.
No balconies and a dire lack of open spaces, I have seen it all. There is both a scarcity of space in the city, and the availability of space for everyone, simultaneously. Yes, at the same damn time! Paradoxical, isn’t it? This is the least of Mumbai’s many wonders.
Space is not always physical is it, although it can be. I haven’t even begun talking about what it’s like to glide across the sea link, or simply sit by the samundar (ocean) with a loved one, especially at the promenade that runs along Marine drive, from Nariman Point, all the way to Girgaum Chowpatty (literally, four creeks; actually, the beach).
They don’t call it the “queen’s necklace” for no reason. But, I’ll leave that tale and more musings of mine for another time.