Our city, my life!

The media keeps talking about Mumbai's spirit. Especially during tragedies. A bomb blast here or a falling bridge there. But nobody really knows what Mumbai's spirit is all about. It's like the word 'rehabilitation' in that epic movie called The Shawshank Redemption. Nobody really knows what they are talking about. Unless someone with a voice like Morgan Freeman's tells you what it really means. 

Here's a lowdown (in Naseeruddin Shah's voice, if you may) on what Mumbai's spirit actually stands for and how Mumbaikars inadvertently exude it in their daily life. These are just some of the many instances...

• When an overpacked train arrives at Kurla station, some poor souls alight demoting it from its overpacked to packed status. And amid this spatial trauma, somebody standing next to you on the platform says, "Yaar, andar jagah hai!" 
• When your mother doesn't speak Marathi and your neighbour doesn't speak Hindi. But that doesn't stop them from gossiping. 
• When it's hot like hell outside and still there's no place to stretch your limbs out.
• When vada-pav replaces a meal.
• When commuters quarrel for the imaginary fourth seat.
• When the potholes speak for themselves and Delhi rolls on the road laughing.
• When Mumbaikars read about rapes in the Capital and angry silence follows. 
• When it's too late to let others down and too early to give up. 
• When people fight on the street and more people gather around them because everybody can afford to miss their schedule but nobody wants to miss on live action.
• When couples (both married as well as unmarried) realize that the world is basically turning into Taliban. 
• When Bollywood is considered as a compliment, not a derogatory term.
• When the migrant in you doesn't feel lost. At all. 
• When you unequivocally acknowledge Parsis' benevolence.
• When you have no clue who the Baghdadi Jews were or what their contribution to our city is.
• When somebody asks you "Where are you from?" and you say "Bombay" as the question wasn't "Where are you to?". 
• When you cross track because time is more precious than life.
• When a person falls from a bus and your humanity runs towards him/her.
• When the rent is too high and your gumption, too low. 
• When you have a problem with Big B being a farmer in UP but no problem whatsoever with him endorsing Gujarat tourism.
• When you haven't attended your school reunion nor your school friends' wedding.
• When you wave your hand at the bus even though it's going to stop at the bus stop. 
• When you wave your hand at the approaching train because habits are habits.   
• When you won't get a house for rent if you don't follow the same religion the housing society does or come from the same region the housing society does.  
• When you get down from the plane and you know this is where home is.  
• When Sanjay Dutt is the only reminder of the '93 bomb blasts.  
• When chasing local trains is the only form of exercise you get. And you don't wish to miss it.
• When you respect the three defense forces but don't give a shit about the police force or the traffic policemen although these underpaid 'corrupt' people ultimately serve us more.
• When the heavy rain makes a guy offer to share his umbrella with you. And you're not a pretty girl. 
• When your Tamil colleague is celebrating Mumbai Indians's win against Chennai Super Kings.
• When you've made peace with the pace of life in this devilfostered place. 
• When a Maharashtrian knows there were six Marathi films releasing on a Friday (like it happened on April 19) and still opt for that one Hindi film (Ek Thi Daayan in this case).
• When you wonder why people in SoBo are fairer than you are. Also, you thank god for making them cloth-intolerant. 
• When Navi Mumbai is that fancy place with a lot more space than it actually has. 
• When you know Gateway of India but you don't know that the last unit of British Army walked through it, making us truly independent.  
• When the college students believe more in being socially cool than in being politically active.
• When you don't bother to know who the corporator is but you're damn convinced that s/he is not worth voting for. 
• When the city is crumbling and you're essentially busy doing nothing.

If we could...

If we could smell poetry, 
If we could see music,
If we could touch others' pain,
If we could hear their eyes rain, 
If we could taste sunlight,
If we could run wild, 
If we could do what we really like, 
If we could believe in ourselves,
If we could depend on no one else,
If we could speak our mind,
If we could age like the wind,
If we could smile, 
If we could stand up for our rights,
If we could wait for sunrise,
If we could remember our past life,
If we could overcome desires,
If we could settle for less, 
If we could breathe a bit deeper,
If we could feel the dark sunset,
If we could hold hands,
If we could let our souls dance,
If we could share,
If we could cry without maudlin,
If we could laugh without malice,
If we could, we'd have done a lot more than this.

Doggy style

I respect street dogs. I don't love them as such but i do admire their ethics. Had i loved them, i'd have done a bit more than feeding them Parle-G every now and then. Speaking of which, almost all the dogs in my neighbourhood recognize me. It's like saying "Sanpada ka kutta kutta jaanta hai mujhe" and then actually saying it. They are wonderful creatures. Instinctive, free, fun-loving, hungry, fierce and true survivors. Coming back to how they won my admiration, there's a small theory behind it. You see dogs did a favour on us by letting us domesticate them. And both our speices go back a long time. Of course, there comes moments when they teach us how to run fast by chasing our buttocks. However, they've helped us understand boundaries. Invisible, that is. You see street dogs respect each others' space. Over a period of time, they build these fences that need no mending. Unlike Korean 38th Parallel. Yes, there are incursions that never go unpunished but the idea is to bite and fuck within your own territory. The fittest survive but rarely tells a tale. He eventually gets replaced by someone who barks louder and snarls wider. It's a 'healthy' setup as long as the human government decides when and whom to spay. If you spend some time understanding how they look out for their friends and treat their enemies, you'll be stunned by the amount of justice they dispense. We love reminding ourselves that it's a dog-eats-dog planet but the canines certainly don't believe in such nonsense. They are far more sophisticated than that. If only this world was indeed going to the dogs.

When mosquitoes don't bite...

For the record, i've got six tattoos (seven, depending on how you look at it) under my skin. They don't make me a better person or a member of  a gang. [Related: I won't mind being a member of a Russian-mafiosi-with-a-desi-touch group where everybody else fears me and my tattoos.] Coming back to reality, none of my artwork seems to have impressed my parents so far—not even the one that has both their names mentioned in it. Regardless, i somehow feel vindicated by my choice to go under the needle. Besides, what more can a son do to express his love to those who are convinced that he's a perennial underachiever? Anyway, i digress. Everyday we discover something new. Not in the way fire or faith was found but somewhat close. Like the other night, i woke up to an itchy acidic experience only to confront my worst nocturnal problem after sleeplessness: mosquito bites. These wannabe-lesions appear somewhere stuck in between love bites and hate bites. Anyway, i digress again. That night, i observed a distinct pattern. Mosquitoes are afraid of my tattoos. No, seriously. They don't dare poke their hideous proboscis into the area that's inked. In fact, they go for the tiny space that lies in between the black design. Isn't that astounding? Of course. Do you know how it feels to have an entire community fear you? Hitleresque, yeah. Milosevican too. Thanks to this rather intriguing behavior amongst Sanpada mosquitoes, i've grown more confident of my pursuit to get a lot more tattoos than i initially intended to. I just hope this ain't Mother Nature's conspiracy to make my face end up like Mike Tyson's or those Maoris who intimidate you with their Haka moves.

Are we square?

Not sure whether duniya gol hai ki nahi but nearly all wells certainly are. Now, why ain't there a well available in any other shape? Or is there? It's like a blindly accepted universal law that a man-made deep hole has to be circular in design. It's a fixed template. Everywhere. But does it really matter to the water beneath? The liquid treasure would rise any which way, wouldn't it? That's plain physics. Maybe the architectural fixation has something to do with the easiness that circumferential digging facilitates. Maybe not. You get to 'cut corners' when you're going round right into earth. Interestingly enough, modern septic tanks are usually rectangular and we don't have an issue with that. Keeping up with this thought, imagine how a square well might look like. Seems good enough. And guess what? You're thinking into the box for a change.

B for boat, S for sailing

I haven't ridden a motorbike in more than three years now. I don't know how to drive a car. I don't wish to learn how to drive a car either. I'm really good at cycling though but i've gifted my bike to a friend who told me he'll be needing it to get back in shape. Turns out the bike is out of shape now rusting away in his balcony. Happens. I used to commute on that bicycle as my office was barely two kilometers away from home. Now i require trains to reach my workplace. Natural progression perhaps? Anyway, the other day, as one of these trains was speeding over the Vashi Bridge (the one that connects Bombay to New-Bombay), i was staring at the creek beneath. I noticed two things: the noisy sea gulls are conspicuous by their absence (or maybe it's the season or something which i may not be not aware of) and the small boats scattered everywhere. At that instance, i realized the freedom as well as the bond a humble boat embodies. To be out in the sea with water all around you, can solitude get any better? I'd love to read a book there or just lie down with my feet dangling on the edge. As long as you're not sharing your boat with Richard Parker, things are only great. Several such thoughts crossed my mind that evening. That's it. I don't understand the formalities required but I'll buy a boat someday and sail out from Vashi Creek towards the Arabian Sea and post pictures on Facebook for a change. Besides, owning a car or getting your shoulder dislocated TWICE in a motorcycle accident is too mainstream. 

Poetically challenged poem

This may not look like a poem
But trust me, it is
Although too coarse and unrefined  
It has all the ingredients necessary.
Check.
These lines are speaking to your soul
Like no else ever did 
No, really
Your mind shall realize it a bit later
But trust me, it will
Being in a lecherous relationship with words 
For months and years and more
They've learned to listen to me
They'll listen to you too
All you've got to do is shut up and read
Anyway, what your eyes are going through is poetry
In its purest form
In fact, formless 
In this particular case—senseless
Whatever.
This poem could have been subtler but what's the point?
Who cares?
Other than you of course.
But then, you've got too much time on your wrist to waste
On my verses
Thanks indeed.
You're encouraging a groundbreaking phase in literature. 
Just so you know.
Never before has prose sashayed so bizarrely as now
This may not look like a poem
But you've accepted it
You just don't know it yet. 
Aren't you silently wondering?
Yes, you are.
What more proof do you need?

Saddies, it's not THAT bad!

If you think you're born to be unhappy, you are not alone. That's also why you shouldn't take pride in the fact that you reek of sadness. Sad folks—or saddies if you may—by definition, take delight in being unhappy. As if an invisible compulsion is stopping them from smile and breathe a bit deeper. They are an interesting lot though. Their whole operation is conducted furtively and not everyone notices some of their most subtle nuances. All it takes are some moments to spare and observe. You talk to them and you know why they spent so much time on the non-living creatures and so less time on the living ones. There's a set pattern in behavior too. Unfortunately, like i said earlier, the non-saddies prefer to stay away. Perhaps sadness is a communicable disease and hence it's avoided. Nobody wants to take a chance. Having said that, a part of the blame should fall on the saddies as well. They don't want to look beyond the darkness of grief. Their pain is deliberately amplified everyday so much so that they refuse to heal. The warm tears in their eyes soothe them to such an extent that laughter sounds like noise. Loneliness turns into a thick blanket and memories victimize at will. If only they could see how beautiful the world is despite its flaw and unforgiving nature. Shun society if you like but why not give tomorrow a chance? Life seems worst but it could have been worse. Survival ain't a curse. After all, it allows one the strength to be proud of being alive, unhappy, lonely and yet kicking.

Facing a verbal void

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