In the process, what became clearer by the day was the knowledge of what made me tick and stick in here instead of any other destination in the world. The answer is dichotomous, complex and corny, easy and earnest. At the same time, it comes across as the most clich̩d thing coming from me РI love Mumbai.
Breathing the same air as 1,20,00,000 odd individuals of various shapes, sizes and sentiments, Mumbai produces all kind of emotions in me like awe, angst, anxiety and acceptance, any thing but ignorance for its sheer energy and life.
I can always find my own inner calm thinking of the quaint mornings of Marine drive that awaken the Arabian sea with sunny faces of office goers heading to Nariman Point - our very own Manhattan. The Dadar flower market becomes functional from a few hours back when the vendors get their delivery from horticulturists, who haven’t heard of horticulture but grow flowers a plenty. They have a tough nose for business contrary to the soft nature of their produce. Fisher folk from Vasai reach distant suburbs and city heartland with their catch sometimes before the twilight and the students too unfortunately have to make it to their classrooms before seeing the great star in action. Somewhere in Thane at the same time, the creek gives way to the sun from between the mangroves and a flock of sea gulls merrily perform a task normally a cock would do i.e. to provide a morning wake up call.
As the clocks gain momentum, the city awakes with a buzz of people boarding local trains and chasing the bus that revs up before most passengers board it. Mumbai is music to my ears, be it mayhem of day long trading of spices and clothes at Masjid Bunder or mundane banking routine, the rhythm pulsates its very being. Maybe that’s why there are a few dozen classics and many forgettable hindi songs that pay their tribute to living in this megapolis. If I had to compose a song reflecting the sound of this city, it would be a kaleidoscopic mix of clanking of cutting chai glasses, piped ambience music of an uppity 5-star outlet, giggles of girls at work and prayers chanted in all faiths all synced to the steady rhythm of a local train in motion.
When the daylong song and blazing sun settle down with dust on the mean streets, crimson rays make the city blush by tickling its… love spots… I mean the narrow lanes known as khau galli and the sea sides are suddenly infested by couples who are out of their hidings of concrete to breathe in fresh air. Its time for brisk business for ice candy vendors who sell by interrupting in the love routine time and again causing them to buy sometimes unwillingly. Also those lucky ones who own a home next to the sea in these days of sky rocketing realty rates, stand by the window and see life pass by in form of health conscious elder ones at Joggers Park and many other patches of greens.
At dusk, the roads are brightly lit with neon as disposable income of the city is being splurged at eateries, malls and brothels alike with each trying to outdo other promising newer and better temptations as the soot of night covers this beauty. Dinners are set at homes for the returning fathers and young lads & girls working in BPOs leave for their graveyard shift like other nocturnal beings that live dark lives in this big bad city. Soon the pulse of Mumbai, the local trains stop for a couple of hours but streets are still abuzz with nightlife
The only ones standing tall at night are a few timeless and eternal sentries of this island, the Gateway at Colaba and Sidhdhi Vinayak at Prabhadevi , Jeevdani at Virar and Haji Ali at Tardeo all face skywards with their lungs filled with life and pride of admiration that millions of visitors each day bestow upon them. On my prowl, I often find some or the other destitute on the roads on my suburb reminding me time and again to count my blessings.
So, here goes (well don’t expect it to be better than my Oscar acceptance, which I aim to deliver some day). Thank you god for making Mumbai the space, where after midnight a pregnant woman can trust a cabbie to drop her home or nursing home safe and free at times. Thank you god for letting me know that while traveling together in a journey (mumbai or elsewhere) or life, smiles work the best and make it easy. Thank you god for letting me know that one man’s poison is another man’s food and thus the differences must not be begrudged. Thank god for showing me that each individual in this city is in pursuit of happiness and finally, a request for them to be on the move forever
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, March 26, 2007
Mumbai – A metropolitan tale of musing, melancholy and mayhem
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Summer days of contradictions
It’s a sunny day today. Pleasant and familiar, taking me back to the idle afternoons of childhood and discovery of many joys in boyhood. My world as a child revolved around my home in a sleepy suburb of Mumbai. Somewhere close to the mean madness of the metropolis, my township provided me ample of adventures to last one summertime after another.
I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.
As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.
As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.
Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.
In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house
I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.
Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.
I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.
As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.
As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.
Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.
In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house
I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.
Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Blog - a four letter word
As I slowly gain more knowledge and exposure to blogging, my experiences and instincts tell me that blogs are just like anything else in life. It has its uses and abuses, upsides and flipsides. I only hope it is not cyclical like life or else the quality of my blog is going to nosedive soon and I cant do a thing about it. I read some blogs today and found them interestingly candid and beautiful.
As far as my blog goes, it’s an extension of my personality. Thus its verbose but does not let out a thing about my inner world. I am so guarded about my likes, my dislikes, my hopes, my dreams and desires that it is highly unlikely that I express them on such a public platform. Yes, I am a self confessed voyeurist but that remains at visual level and about getting eye candy rather than being one.
I haven’t yet figured my equation with attention. Although, like everybody else I like attention, most of the times I would rather be inconspicuous. I like to play it safe by revealing my inner thoughts only to a privileged circle of friends like any other scorpion. I must admit that I have a strange attraction to public domains like blogs where one can command attention but I shy away from putting up a great show.
Now that I accept it and acknowledge it, my task remains easier to apply the same knowledge. I have never been scared of trial and errors and thus I have had 6 job changes in last 8 years and at the age of 25 I preach like a priest, look like I am 18 and dance like no ones watching. A few nuggets or feathers in my caps that help me are my spiritual streak, movies and music.
Now that I have began opening up and warming up to this blog, I hope this online affair survives through thick and thin. Also that unlike real love that people curse after its out of their life, I don’t want to end up saying that Blog is just a four letter word
As far as my blog goes, it’s an extension of my personality. Thus its verbose but does not let out a thing about my inner world. I am so guarded about my likes, my dislikes, my hopes, my dreams and desires that it is highly unlikely that I express them on such a public platform. Yes, I am a self confessed voyeurist but that remains at visual level and about getting eye candy rather than being one.
I haven’t yet figured my equation with attention. Although, like everybody else I like attention, most of the times I would rather be inconspicuous. I like to play it safe by revealing my inner thoughts only to a privileged circle of friends like any other scorpion. I must admit that I have a strange attraction to public domains like blogs where one can command attention but I shy away from putting up a great show.
Now that I accept it and acknowledge it, my task remains easier to apply the same knowledge. I have never been scared of trial and errors and thus I have had 6 job changes in last 8 years and at the age of 25 I preach like a priest, look like I am 18 and dance like no ones watching. A few nuggets or feathers in my caps that help me are my spiritual streak, movies and music.
Now that I have began opening up and warming up to this blog, I hope this online affair survives through thick and thin. Also that unlike real love that people curse after its out of their life, I don’t want to end up saying that Blog is just a four letter word
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