Bombay

I visited Bombay last month. I visited the city after many years. And earlier, every time I was there, I was with family. I was a kid and I used to be shielded from the realities of Bombay. This time, I was really shocked. I landed in Bombay around 8pm or 9pm on the twelfth of December. We had to take a train to Dahod (Gujarat) at Borivali at around 11pm.

I was shocked when I saw traffic jams on a Tuesday night at 11pm. I saw a local train entering the Borivali station full of people, with absolutely no room to spare. There were people literally hanging from the train, holding on to a pole at the entrance of with only one leg on the train. There were even people on top of the train because there was no more room inside. This was at 11pm! This city really never sleeps. I thought now here's a city that means business. All it cares about is money. Not that it's bad. After all, it is the desire for money that drives people to work harder. (It may also give rise to organised crime, but that also requires a perverse sense of right and wrong.) I thought that here's a city that doesn't care about a person's antecedents, only whether or not that person performs.

My rosy picture was shattered when I read a hindi cloth banner outside the borivali station. It said:
"मन्दिर वहीं। मस्जिद नहीं। बाबरी कही नहीं।"
My first reaction was to say "Shit! Those assholes." I found it a little hard to believe that even here, people who work until late at night to just feed themselves, still have time to think about mandir and masjid! I guess the people who actually think about mandir and masjid here, aren't the people who work hard to earn a living. They aren't the true Mumbaikars. They certainly aren't the ones who made Bombay what she is today. They are the ones who are sabotaging her, the Bal Thakerays and VHP wallahs.

I and my friends returned to Bombay from Dahod on the 14th. We visited Bandstand, a posh Bandra locality and drank coffee at seaside cafe, right next to Searock Hotel. We walked along the children's park. The apartments there must be very expensive. The only things between the balconies of the flats there and the ocean was one broad road and a beautiful green park for kids. What hit me here was seeing very rich flats and abject poverty side by side. I hadn't seen that much before - not in Bangalore and certainly not in Austin and it was certainly discomfiting. I felt like I hadn't even really experienced a whole different world out there.

We took a taxi to the airport there. We struck a conversation with the cab driver. He had come to Bombay from Bihar, looking for opportunities, hoping to live comfortably. He first took a job of a mechanic and then after a few years became a cab driver. I had heard of the hardships that migrant workers had to face in Bombay, so I asked him which place he prefered, Bihar or Bombay?.He was clearly shocked by my question. "आपको क्या लगता है? मुझे भूख पसन्द है या दो वक़्त का खाना?" (Do you think I like hunger?) In Bihar, the equations of survival depend on variables like caste and proximity to powerful people. In Bombay, you can survive if you work hard. It's a controllable variable. This taxicab driver worked hard for many years and has been able to feed his family.

I left Bombay with a sense of awe. A city of great diversity. A city of hope for migrant workers. A city that never sleeps. Packed trains return to suburbs past midnight and just a couple of hours later, laughter clubs come alive in Jogger's park. That's Bombay.