This is the first one in the series of posts that will have the origin in Mumbai Locals. One way of getting something out of the 1.5 hrs of travel one way that's required for me to reach office. Over the past 7 months that I've been travelling here its not surprising that quite a lot of ideas germinated in the train journeys. Some of them that I've lost and some that I remember. Some that are worth capturing and some that are not. Thus I'll try to capture the essence of those that have crossed my mind and left a mark behind.
It is strange sometimes how your thoughts replicate themselves in life oblivious of your conscious mind and the vice versa. And then it hits you or strikes you suddenly when it is relegated to your subconscious. One such question that used to cross my mind was about the famed Mumbai Spirit. Before coming to here itself people (who hailed from Mumbai) had more or less tired me out into believing something special about this city. And yet as my inquisitive self would have it I used to wonder that is it really so. If yes, where and if not then why doesn't someone question it. Nonetheless the question seated itself on the back bench of my mind.
When I landed here it was the month of May with the advent of the renowned monsoon rains of Mumbai and its travails round the corner. And yet the daily grind that I got into didn't make me worry about it till it hit here. The daily ritual without rains itself was enough to cope with it and I was still learning. Every morning at 9:15 it would be a wrestling match with the Vashi station being the arena. After sometime I stopped struggling much and tried learning the art of reading and listening to music while standing itself. I had the choice of having clean clothes to office or a seat for 1.5 hrs and I chose the former perhaps.
Nonetheless the spirit issue raised itself twice in my conscious mind soon. First was the advent of monsoon. And behold the spectacle the race against something became a race against nature perhaps. There were three incidences particularly which made me think.
One : I got down at VT with the much needed aid called umbrella. I was waiting for a cab (they somehow just change their mind to take you or not with the changing direction of flowing water perhaps). Suddenly one shove and I realise there is not one but two people under the same umbrella now and asking me to move to hire a cab. With one shoulder exposed to the rain, even before I could question if I had the right to actually "share" my umbrella or not I was moving in ankle deep water. And while thikning of my poor shoes I got into a cab and was left wondering as ever.
Two : The same place the same rain and the same plight. I was wondering what to do with rain too hard to prevent me from getting wet even under the umbrella. Just then a cab came and a guy got into it. Even before he could question I was into the cab as well thinking it was a shared one. And my friend joined in. That person didn't say anything. Till we reached our destination and when we tried to give him money he just didn't take it. And then we realised he had hired the cab and it wasn't a sharing one!
Three : I was getting down the foot overbridge at Kurla station. There was an old lady walking ahead of me. So I slowed down and was resisting the force coming from behind so as to not push the lady. But then one gentleman wearing Allen Solly gave me a mouthful and said why the hell don't you move. He pushed me and hopped a step pushed the lady who almost fell and moved on. I took a step back and tried to soak in what had actually happened.
Three incidences, three experiences. All during monsoons when Mumbaikars wouldn't stop talking about 26th July 2005 when they all came out in hoards to help eachother. And each time it left me amused more than admiration. I asked a couple of people what would happen if same thing is repeated in some other city ?
This was followed a little later by the cruel act of Bomb blasts and the famed Spirit came alive in its glory. But this time it was different as well. Because the questions that came to my mind suddenly found other voices as well. They were just dormant perhaps. Including some renowned faces to those voices (whom I don't identify with for other reasons). The voices feeble but definite were echoing in Media also.
Given this backdrop I set about thinking. This city is full of life yes. But what life? Its a city with dreams but no options. If your dream is fulfilled well and good you start moving. If its not, even then you don't have and option. You still need to live. When its survival at stake it can bring out the best and the worst in you. This city brings out both. And yet it choses to look at only the best when it comes and then frames it like a painting on the wall to call it The Spirit. The holy mighty spirit.
And then the next question arises. If I can see it why can't the people see it? Or has it become a divine piece of art like the Last Supper or Monalisa who has to be appraised no matter how you may not understand it? Or you just have to admire it for the sheer imagination and hard work behind the creator of it? The things that he saw and the others didn't. The things that Mumbai saw and the lesser
But then why do I seek answers? After all Mumbaikars are also normal human beings and have a right to feel good about themselves. Ah but herein lies the crux perhaps. "Normal human beings" did I say? That's something they are for sure not! Tell them that and they'll pounce on you.
No matter how you argue to tell that travelling in local might require inhuman effort but doesn't make you a superhuman because you don't have any option. No matter how you tell them that the next day of blast you can't take leave because an absence without leave may cost you 7 days of bread and butter. No matter if you tell them that a spirit would perhaps halt and see the damage a bomb blast wrecked rather than ignoring the injury to move on. No matter how you tell them that its the location of corporate offices that makes them the highest tax paying city and not the fact that it has 1.5 crore people living in here. No matter how you tell them that there is life beyond this humdrum of activity where a man takes a breath, asks the neighbour if he's alright. No matter how you tell them that there is a need to tell them. No matter how my friend no matter how .. They will not listen. For this is a city of bad listeners. Half of the populace is deaf. Another quarter that is unwilling to listen. Another quarter that doesn't understand. And the voice of the rest (yes half + 2 quarters is not full just like a packed local doesn't mean its full) is not heard for its the noise that's overwhelming. Noise of humans teaming like bees. Howling of the "wolves" in cars. Of "rats" in slums. This is a jungle without trees. Without silence. Without water. Without options. So live before you are crushed. Jump before you are pushed down. Crush the next guy before he walks on you. And when you've succeeded put a frame in your house around what is called "Mumbai Spirit" before it sneaks away out of your house and you lie naked in your bed alone.
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