Mumbai musings

Some people say they love the city of dreams. Others absolutely hate it. I have never quite been able to make up my mind about it, until recently.  With Mumbai it was never love at first sight, like it was with Mysore and Mussoorie. It was not pure flinching either like it was with a few cities I wouldn’t name. There were times when I hated the bantering crowd of a BEST  bus, but there were also times when I found myself enjoying the wind of a local train in my hair. After coming back from a hiatus from the city I have now lived in for 15 plus years, I saw it in new light. The first thing I noticed was the sounds. There are hundreds of them in each moment. There is the sound of a crow, of a vehicle, of a pigeon, of a child, of rickshaws honking, of my grandma cooking in the kitchen. The nose also has its fun in the green trees, in the tea pot, in the garland shop and in the not so pleasant smells at times. Overall it is chaos, but a beautiful one at that. There is action and life in every moment and in every corner you look.

I have seen Mumbai through various modes; sometimes luxurious , sometimes touristy, sometimes through the ways of a localite, but the closest that I have been to Mumbai has been through the  Sunday morning rides through BEST bus 84 ltd. My little adventure would start at Vile Parle and would take me to Nehru planetarium. This bus allowed me to catch the city, otherwise always busy and bustling, in a rather innocent, out of the bed light. The tea shops just opening in Parla West, Bandra with its sunlit buildings, a glimpse of the Mahim church and then of Siddhivinayak temple while they were still at peace and not thronged by people, the turn at Doordarshan after which the landscape changed  and finally a glimpse of Rolls Royce(my dream car)  in Atria mall before arriving at Nehru planetarium.

Mumbai is the local train and the Audi. It is Vada Pav and the Pad Thai. It is the street side tapri and the five star restaurant. It is of the poor and the rich. It is fancy pubs and it is also Dinanath Mangeshkar Natyagruh. It is not an or, it is an and, maybe hence it assimilates all the people that walk in and out of it. On a more personal level, Mumbai has given me the much needed hard push when I became complacent with life, and it has taken me lovingly into its arms when I have returned hurt and broken. The city through its spirit and numerous examples has taught me to hold on to things and with equal  intensity has taught me to also let go of things. It’s sunsets may leave you upset with life, but it’s sunrises somehow bring new hope.

I once asked a person I had just met, “Where are you from?”, expecting a simple answer. When they asked me in return, “What do you mean where am I  from? Do you mean where I was born? Do you mean where I currently stay? Do you mean where my parents stay? Do you mean where I did my schooling? Do you mean where I was in college? “,it was then that I realized the ambiguity of my question and changed it to ,” To what place do you feel you belong? ” and got a prompt reply. I am yet not sure if I love this city, for love is a word whose meaning is still beyond my tiny brain, but  if someone asks me, “What place do you belong to?” , I proudly say Mumbai.