WHAM-BAY!

'Saab, aap Bumbai mein kaam kar liya toh akkha world mein kidhar bhi kaam kar sakta hai...’

When I had first come to Mumbai as a kid in the mid 1990s, it was called Bombay. I instantly loved the name. It had a bay attached to it. Funny how other port cities did not follow suit. But Bombay in those times was more of a tourist destination than the hardcore industrial hub it is now. I remember people visiting the Gateway of India. Going to beaches for picnics. Enjoying rides in Essel World. They filled movie halls to the brim. At least that’s what I can recollect now.

As I grew up, I forgot all about it. Life moved from here to there and I ultimately ended up in the media industry. A few years into work, Mumbai came into conversation and I was psyched to know what the city had become through my growing years. It had become important.

Last year, I got a job offer from Mumbai. I was elated. I took it up almost instantly and started making plans for this massive shift.

Delhi to Mumbai. Poori aloo to vada pav. Metro to local.  I was ready.

The night I reached Mumbai, it was raining. My landing got delayed by half hour as the plane kept hovering over the airport, looking for a safe spot. Finally, out in the open I simply stood and took a panorama view of the city. A sudden unknown feeling of self-realisation took over my body.

I did not feel like a stranger in a new city. But I felt like a lonely person in a huge crowd.

It was then that I realised, I wasn’t ready at all.

I was hit by Wham-bay.

*

To set contexts right, I will go back a little. After marriage, the two of us took a place in Vasant Kunj, a relatively posh residential locality in south Delhi. We used the Delhi metro to commute and later on bought scooties to make travel more fun. We had a comfortable, somewhat perfect life.

Before my wife could join me here, I took on the task of finding a place for us. And, wham!

I received the first blow from the tightly squeezed, non-balconied, joke-of-a-space flats of Mumbai.

See, Mumbai is typically looking for two sorts of people. The very rich and the downright poor. The stars and the strugglers as some may call it. And both of them have their own kind of places to live in. We, the third kind of people made our way into the city and expected it to treat us well. Well, why should it? They introduced a whole new scheme to take care of us.

The rich stay in bungalows and apartments. The poor stay in chauls. We, the simple middle class, stay in little flats where the rents are atrociously high and getting a proper house in a good locality is quite a dream for many. If you’ve saved up, say goodbye to it and get ready to start all over again. Believe me.

First thing you notice about living here. There is no space, anywhere. So much so that most of the houses don’t hold balconies. The buildings are squeezed against each other and if at all there’s a gap left anywhere, you can soon see new chaul rising. But listen, Mumbai doesn’t have time for your tantrums.

You will have to deal with a hectic work schedule, a frustrating travel routine and a disappointing food experience as you search for a house here. After looking at about twenty odd houses, I finally fixed a place that I could afford and somewhat adore.

After emptying all my pockets, I sat in the empty house looking out of the window. The city of dreams, I thought to myself and smiled. Tomorrow is a new day.

**

And wham!

Traffic.

Apparently the two weeks I had spent here were part of the vacation period.

One thing I instantly learnt. Mumbai is a straight line. A single railway runs through the city, splitting it into two sides. West and east. The other thing I learnt was that the city split itself from the north and south, naming the northern part the suburbs and the southern part as the town.

Autos or rickshaws are the chief source of travel in the suburbs. From a place called ‘Sion’, the famous kaali-peeli or the better known taxis run their business. Yes, that’s how you really distinguish between the well-off and the ehh sort of people. At least it’s simpler than the caste, creed system we follow.

The roads, well, if I can call them that are rarely that simple to follow. First of all, they are not just roads but a mixture of some road, some concrete, some slippery smooth tarmac and some building blocks. Don’t think that I’m that naive. The rains play a major factor in building these roads. They perish soon. That is why they try and fix the roads with whatever they think is viable at that time. What a planned city, I must tell you!

Anyway, secondly, the roads are pathetically narrow. A single bloody incident can make the entire highway to stop moving.

After tirelessly trying to cope with the travel scenes here, one eventually ventures out to the local.

The local. The lifeline of Mumbai. Three railway lines that carry about seven and a half million people across the city. When I heard this fact for the first time, I was blown by the amount of people that really reside in this city. But anyhow the fact was that the local was truly magical.

The two ends of this city that are joined together by this slithering local are actually just a ten buck commute. And, you reach your destination in half the time. What’s the catch? The crowd. If a person gets to work his way through the local, he or she more or less, is now a citizen of Mumbai.

I, for the longest time avoided it. But once, I had to travel far and I kid you not, the Uber price crossed a thousand. I finally took the local. From Goregaon to Lower Parel. But guess what? It was a breeze. See, you need to fix your time to catch the local. Train rides are awesome around the afternoon time. I intentionally tried to fix my meetings in the afternoon from there on.

The last obstacle in your travel experience is quite obvious. And it comes just like that.

**

WHAM!

Rains have become an identity for Mumbai. And quite frankly, the place is no fun without it.

When I had first actually encountered rain was when I was crossing a street.

I have seen rains. Rains in Delhi. Rains in the mountains. Rains in beach areas. But this one was bizarre. It drenched me full. As I crossed the street! And that’s not all, it went on till night.

Not surprising enough, I saw it in the morning as well.

The rains here go on and on like a rambling old grandmother. There’s no gradual rise in volume either. It falls down like a gown and floods the entire city, as if cleansing it from all its vices.

Rains here have the power of cancelling meetings, shoots, appointments and quite unfortunately parties as well. But on the bright side, it sometimes cancels the entire office time and that is when you really enjoy the downpour, sipping a cup of coffee.

If it starts raining whilst you travel, you’re in a pickle my friend.

I was once stuck in such a situation, travelling from the recording studio back to my place. I had taken a rickshaw and long rides make these rickshaw-walas talk. He came to know I was from outside and uttered something that still remains drilled in my head.

‘Saab, aap Bumbai mein kaam kar liya toh akkha world mein kidhar bhi kaam kar sakta hai...’

I quite believe him now. You don’t need to think of worst case scenarios here. They will happen.

I have heard cases of people being stuck in traffic for, wait for it, eight freaking hours. But I was stuck for only about 3 and another half hour more in this mess. Phew!

Quite tired of this hullaballoo, I eagerly awaited my scooty. It seriously cut down my stress by more than half. But riding on these streets gave me back ache as well. I knew there wasn’t a way out of this. I had to live how these people were living. In complete nonchalance.

It’s not like people living in Mumbai don’t know how tough living here is. They acknowledge it and seem to roll with the times. It’s a good thing, I guess.

But I’ll tell you what is ‘not’ a good thing... the next ‘wham’!

***

Coming from Delhi, I had an obvious liking for street and junk food. For almost two months, I did not have a cooking maid. My work timings made it hard for me to cook. I had to rely on food delivery apps and the nearby street food stalls.

Here’s what I noticed.

The only and I say only street food that won’t stress your belly is a simple vada pav. It became my breakfast for about a month. Then there’s a range of other stuff you make with the same pav. They don’t taste half as good.

Only a handful of restaurants will give you good north Indian food. But usually you would find that the butter chicken here is red in colour and spicy. All the daals look the same. And, the concept of adding bhel and chutney over curry is simply ridiculous.

Mumbai has a strange fascination towards cheese. There are hundreds of small pizza and burger joints across the city and nobody is scared of overloading the meals with cheese. A sandwich here would have two slices of cheese, then some grated cheese on top of it. Some sauces and you guessed it. More cheese on top.

But hey, all’s not that bad. The one cuisine that had my tongue waggling was Malwani. Mouth-watering sea meals with a unique south Indian flavour. A meal as such would put a smile on your face and calm you down.

Eventually, things were fine. I guess the stomach adjusts itself and accommodates the change.

I can’t say the same for the head though. Mumbai has a way of messing with those brain connections. 

And that’s the biggest ‘wham’ there is.

****

The city that never sleeps.

It’s not just a phrase given to the rapid lifestyles people have here but Mumbai is the city that literally never sleeps. The real party starts at night and goes on till morning. There are bars and restaurants that specifically cater to the night beings. Roaming around the streets at night-time is common. Sitting alone and staring at the massive ocean is a thing you begin to cherish.

Why though?

That’s because in Mumbai one starts appreciating little moments of joy. The day will be packed with back to back assignments, endless meetings and unforeseen, last minute projects. Everybody you would see is here to prove themselves, so coping with the stress and pressure will take a toll on you. So...

...an early dismissal from work, a delayed project, an appreciation mail from the boss or the client makes your day. And you head to the nearest bar and celebrate. That’s one moment of joy.

A failed project, a frustrating meeting or a stinker from the client will take that day from you. So you head to the beach and stare at the wide, open ocean. Then the breeze would wrap around you and give you a nice hug. That’s another moment of joy. And you’re happy again.

Nobody has a perfect life here. Everybody is just inching towards it. And that’s the biggest ‘wham’ there is. 

Finding happiness.

As I uncovered these aspects about the city, I realised one day that I had already spent almost a year here. And was it bad? Well, not really. It was interesting. At least for me. And you know what?

I guess I’m ready for more. 

Yes, finally, I think I’m ready.

*****