Mumbai rains filling me up

It is believed to make Mumbai look 'romantic' and 'beautiful'. It is the ruthless beauty people want to abstain from but can't resist falling in love with. It slows down the city which is in a perennial state of hurry. The Mumbai Rain has arrived.

I'll fail to understand what's so romantic about wading through the muck or getting drenched right before entering office or college (School kids are always happy). I fail to understand the aesthetics involved in over-flowing sewers and stench that gets a booster from the rains.

But, i admit, I love the rains here! It has a strange calming effect on the city. The fast pace exists, only it is happier now. I have been in other places during the rains, and even if the momentum of the rain drops were similar, Mumbai responds differently to the rains.

There are dull rains, boring rains, depressing rains, creepy rains, lazy rains, scary rains, truculent rains and miserly rains. Rains in Mumbai are  generous and happy rains. It satiates your monsoon cravings and sometimes fills you up (and the city) a bit too much. The good part is that Mumbai is ready for the rains - only mentally. There are huge puddles filled with water that looks like coffee. As long as I don't have to negotiate with these man holes and car holes, i'm not complaining! However, I wish people in the admin would gobble up less public money and put at least some portion of it to use here.

I love the bus/auto ride to University with the rain spraying on me and I'm happy as long as it is only rain water that fills my shoes. Today I saw a couple maneuvering their way out of what clearly looked like very very dirty  water from a nearby drain. I cringed, but when I looked at their faces, it seemed like they were walking through a path laden with rose petals. More than Mumbai,  Mumbai people intrigue me. But, I like it in when it rains here!

Full Circle

I have been resisting the temptation to get back to my blog with yet another one about my unwavering love for Delhi! However, by virtue of me heading back to this city for a summer internship, Delhi has swept me off my feet yet again. And, I have finally given into the urge to write about it.
A trip to Delhi in summer? I got to have some major reason! I have. Many!

Now, i don't want to sound bad for Mumbai University, but that place did make me quite passive for the past one year. I noticed that creep up on me, but i was hardly much able to  shake it off me. So, the only possible escape route i could envision was a summer stint in Delhi. After much effort, patience, frustration I received a confirmation call from IDSA for a month long internship with them. And, the victory dance that followed was one of a kind!

I also wanted to get back to Delhi before i began my second year in Mumbai (so that i didn't have much Mumbai all over me). I know that's provincial parochialism, but what the hell! I feel the need to list down the things I missed about this place, so I will.
1. The broad, smooth roads. The vast gardens, the Amaltaash and Gulmohar trees which are in full bloom now splashing the city with their bright and delicate yellows and fiery oranges.
2. The DTC buses which have now become smart and swanky. Making the roads look better with their green, red, orange and purple contributions!
3. The extreme weather. The heat has been intense and it has sapped a lot out of me for sure. When I was about to slump on a chair and give up, we had a strong dust storm followed by fat drops of water from the skies shaking my soul up.
4. My all weather friends here. I know this should be right up on this list. But being the friends they are, they won't mind.
5. The dashes of good looking people all around. No matter where one is. (Does that make me sound vain? Do i care? No!)
6. The intelligence all around. IDSA has been an amazingly stimulating experience for me. Having so many people wanting to and doing the things that I aim to and am working towards, I suddenly see things more sorted out for me.
More on IDSA now. The Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses. A think tank organization and what style! Go on their website if this interests you. I have come across such a large number of interesting people that i feel i needed more time here to take back more with me.

We have 'Research Clusters' at IDSA and the group of interns here who are the fun lot here, have set aside 'Lunch clusters', 'Ice cream clusters' as well.

So, on one of the lunch times, I expressed my desire to make a trip to Old Delhi and my Cabin partner said in almost my style "let's go". It took me some time to realise what she said, and when i did, i couldn't be more thankful! We did go. And the day had to be the hottest Summer day yet- with Delhi searing at 44 degrees. We went for it. A super fast and packed trip down the mystery lanes of Chandni Chowk. Pani Puri-check. Mango Kulfi-check. Now let me write a bit about this piece of heaven called the 'Mango Kulfi'. Alphonso mangoes- de seeded and filled with kulfi and frozen. Served after being sliced and spread on a large leaf made into a bowl. It takes much time to convince oneself to eat it! And when you do, your eyes close out of their own will and you go into a mango world while the kulfi reminds you of its presence time and again. okay, so after that trip to heaven, we headed for the 'Paranthe wali galli' where we saw not-so-appealing men deep frying paranthas on huge pans. It was too hot for that. So, we gave it a skip and headed for the 'Desi Jalebis'. A long walk it was in search of the 'T-junction' which seemed to be running away from us. Almost out of breath and about to collapse, we saw our life savior- the Malai Lassi in Kulhards. One sip and you can almost see your escaping soul come back to you. Just then we noticed a man with a big piece of wood beating the crap out of a big block of ice covered with a big sheet of black rubber on the road. And just when i was thinking..'wow, that's a lot of work on a summer day", I stop stunned as a tiny piece of ice makes itself felt in my mouth! Too late, the lassi is too good to be thrown away. The Lassi guy smiles at us almost saying "We are like that only, kindly adjust and don't mind". We break into shrieks of laughter and head for our destination. Finally, Desi Jalebis! These are supposedly 'Jehangiri Jalebi' that were the Mughal emperor's favourites! We all love such stories, don't we?
What can be better than a cool and fast Metro ride after this crazy day out! The announcer's concern about the traveler's safety.. "Please mind the Gap", "Doors will open on the Left"..bring a tear to my eyes as i remember the ruthless local train rides in Mumbai that i have to return to! Let's not crib about Mumbai here. It just has to be my punching bag. I feel bad.

With just week remaining of my internship here and the first draft of my paper on Cote D'Ivoire gone for scrutiny at my Supervisor's, all I have to do is to look out of my cabin at the palms swaying along the cool winds that have brought a huge respite for all of us here, and listen to the super fun FM Radio.

As I finish a year in Mumbai...

I am about to finish a year of stay in Mumbai, and I believe there couldn't be a better time to bring my blog back into life!

So many things have happened in this one year since I said a sad goodbye to Delhi and moved to Mumbai for my education here. The first question people ask me is: "why did you choose Mumbai over Delhi for education?". I can understand their astonishment. I give them a number of reasons- I didn't sit for the JNU exam, I missed the DU forms, I wasn't fond of my job, and I missed home. Some of them tell me I should have waited and appeared for JNU/DU exams the following year. Yes, now I agree.

A year of being away from Delhi and i still can't get over it. Why? Isn't it supposed to be an un-friendly city, unsafe for girls, full of thugs, no night-life, pervert auto-rickshaw drivers, and full of men who keep staring till one turns to powder? All that yes, maybe.

Delhi's beauty-it is one of the greenest capital cities of the world. It's many layers of history- you drive around the posh and shiny localities of Delhi and suddenly at a corner you can spot the remains of a fort/tomb/an ancient structure protected from the modern world. It's nightlife- yes Delhi has a nightlife, and you are enjoying it best when you drive down Rajpath, cross the India gate and head towards the Rai Sinha Hill past the Vijay Chowk and stop to have a stick of ice cream on a spine chilling December night. The Chinese chaat at one of the best places to shop, Lajpat Nagar. Big Chill at Khan Market, which is also home to Khan Chacha's. The smart mouthed Blue line bus conductors who have an unmatched sense of humour and the crude yet amusing Jatt conversations. The intellectual crowd that one comes across at the India Habitat Centre. Old Delhi's history laden lanes. All this makes up the Delhi that I fell in love with the very first day I stepped into it in the year 2007.

Delhi was my first city. I grew up in the small towns of Panvel, Nazira and Ankleshwar. Yet, for some reason I was always preparing myself for Delhi. I would bathe in cold water telling myself it would be colder in Delhi. I always knew I would be in Delhi for some part of my education, I never knew when that would be. I landed myself into an under graduate course of Journalism in Delhi university. I knew immediately that I would be accepted without a fuss, and i did blend into the city before I or anyone else knew it. Three years passed and I never realized the days going past me. I made friends who I know I will have for the rest of my life. In short, I lived my life. I joined work immediately after I finished college and got overwhelmed by it before I had imagined. I needed to leave.Also, not having friends around after college made me a little bit less fond of Delhi (for which I feel guilty)! So, there was an attempt to go back home which had shifted to Mumbai.

Then it was time for me to bid goodbye, for which i never had enough time- I had just a day to get my tickets in place, pack my bags and leave. I remember my last bus ride in Delhi that night. I tried to fill my mind with the pictures of the roads, the buildings, the trees, the night in Delhi, the people, the bus stands, everything that had crossed my sight in the last three years.

I wanted desperately to go back to being a college student. Mumbai university and an M.A degree became the means. I entered the university and was hit by a strong craving for my old college and its people! I wanted to turn around and run back. I made life difficult for my folks by telling them every day how much I missed Delhi, its roads,its gardens, its people and its public transport. I missed even the rick drivers who refused to turn on the meters! It is not difficult to imagine what these people around me were going through. I was on a non-stop Mumbai bashing. I criticized the lack of aesthetic sense, the garbage strewn all around, the mind boggling traffic and the narrow roads. I spared nothing.

Finally, one day I found 'enjoying' myself in Mumbai. I felt a funny feeling of betraying Delhi. I was alarmed! How could I like Mumbai? Had I unknowingly started appreciating the democratic side of Mumbai, where one of the richest men and one of the biggest slums co-exist? Had i become an admirer of the discipline within the chaotic city? Or had I just blended into it like I had in Delhi? Maybe. I did take my sweet time to do so. But ya, if given a choice, I would want to run back to Delhi right now! :-)

Co-passenger of the year

A year has passed since i came to Delhi, and so has a year of my DTC/blueline bus travels. I have had all types of co-passengers during this 1 year; most of them forgettable.
the only co-passenger I'll remember for many years to come is the 85 year old woman whose memories still send a chill down my spine. i had never talked to someone so frighteningly overpowered by age before this. each and every thing about her told the tale of her struggle with time and nature.

She hobbled towards me and grabbed hold of the seat, possibly scared to lose balance. her fingers were crooked and deformed probably because of rheumatism. i was overwhelmed with a mixture of shock and fear. i stood up and offered her my seat but apparently the girl sitting next to me was equally scared of her as i was and she insisted that i sit and so i did. thus began my most intriguing bus journey.

She sat quietly near the window. now that she sat beside me i realized how tiny she was..bent down with age. i had never seen a face like that before and it made me uneasy. her skin was folded and wrinkled. . her eyes caught my attention more than anything else. they were white and thick with cataracts and were sunken into folds of red skin. i decided i didn't want to look at her much as it didn't make me feel very good..also, she might find it awkward. but there was something which kept me glancing at her now and then..which made me curios and suspicious of her identity. who at this age would dare to get into a blueline?

The bus started filling up with its passengers and then came that child beggar who started singing in her robot like voice while clicking two pebbles in perfect rhythm. i stole another glance at the woman beside me and couldn't make out whether her eyes had got watery or were they full of tears. i had a strong urge to ask her but i stopped. however she began and my doubt was answered ..."what is this world made of? what kind of human beings? this girl-she has left all her dignity and self respect behind and is singing here in a bus to earn so that she can feed her family..and how many of us are even looking at her? what are we made of? where is our heart? people say that this old woman is crazy! no i am not mad ...i have a heart which still beats and cries for others.." i was taken aback .

All this while she was looking at the floor of the bus while tears trickled down her spotted face.never even once did she look up. she continued speaking like this for the next 20 minutes. and i feared she might make herself sick. but she continued and i tried hard to listen to her tiny but rough voice. i could catch a sentence or two at a time. "why don't people say sorry and thank you anymore? will it belittle them? no one gets hurt by these words.." she went on and i couldn't comprehend any more. the other passengers were looking at her suspiciously. they all thought she was a mad woman talking to herself. but i thought she was an old woman talking after a long time ..taking out all those bottled up feelings. "do you know the Urdu language?" she asked me this time. and i almost jumped. i managed a sheepish "no". she went on-"its a beautiful language the most royal language. you must learn it. the language of the kings who gave us culture and art.." she went on talking and occasionally popped a question for me which i answered with a 'yes' or 'no'.

The other passengers were now looking at her rather distastefully. i suddenly wanted to tell them all to mind their own business. "do you have an Urdu professor in your college?" she asked and before i could answer with a 'no' , she started off again-" there are many questions in my head which i want to sit and answer with a person who is well read in Urdu...."

As my bus stop neared i felt it necessary to tell her that. she immediately started opening her handbag clumsily with her crooked fingers. she was looking for something. she took out a piece of chart paper cut out in a rectangular shape with a triangular head. there were small orange flowers drawn on it and a tiny printed paper cutting stuck on the bottom of it. she drew it close to her eyes and read out slowly "if we spread love and peace around us, the almighty will live within us". She gave it to me and looked at me with those eyes which still make me feel uneasy. i remembered to thank her.

i walked back home looking intently at the piece of paper which i had just been given. it felt like an important document.

the road not taken...

As i was clearing up my study, i found a piece of paper on which i had written a summary of the famous poem by Robert Frost, "The road not taken"..its one of my favourite poems and I'm sure of many others too ..who at some point of time or other have had to make a choice between two choices ,both of which were close to their hearts.
here goes that summary:

the poet Robert frost imagines a situation where, while traveling in the midst of the woods the path suddenly bifurcates into two. to the poet, both the paths seem equally appealing although unknown. but one of them seemed less frequented than the other as the grass growth on it showed. the poet stood at the fork in the road undecided which path to take. finally he took the one which he assumed was less frequented. he assured himself that he would take the other path some other day. knowing fully well the absurdity of his thought, because he knows he has to proceed along the way he has chosen without looking back.yet even at that point of time the poet imagined that the choice was important, that one day he would lament but console himself at the same time by saying that he had chosen the path less traveled by and that has made all the difference to his life. he would tell himself that it was not only a 'different' road or the right road for him but in fact the only road for him.The poet has taken a slice from the real life scenario and has created a situation which beautifully elucidates this.
***

There comes in one's life a moment which proves to be a turning point. this is the moment when one has to choose between two options- be it choosing a career, life partner or a place to settle down for example. both the options may look equally good or bad. but one has to pick up one of them knowing fully well that there is no going back. only time can tell whether the decision taken was the best or not. but as there is no end to human desire, everyone laments that the other one might have been the better choice.

Are you afraid of the 'A'?

As i pushed my way into the overflowing blue-line bus, a question popped up in my head-"why? why? why? Why are you doing this to yourself?". instantaneously came the answer- "because I'm afraid of the 'A'."
i spent the next 30 minutes of the life threatening bus ride musing over the fact that how scared i was of the first letter of the English alphabets. an excess of its presence in the attendance sheets had caused a letter to be sent at my local guardian's place. which was followed by frantic calls from my parents and then followed a string of explanations. thats the power of the 'A'. and all this while i knew it as just the first letter of my name.
its this letter which has changed my sleeping pattern. my cousin no longer shouts in my ears in the morning. suddenly i can hear my alarm clock's rings and the ruthless winter can no longer bring a rush of self pity.
it's really amazing when i think of it...
are you afraid of the 'A'? i am!

My morning struggles

“Its 7o’ clock!!!” my cousin shouted in my ears this morning. She shouted because she was absolutely disgusted with me. Since the last four days I have been asking her to wake me up early. She tries but has never succeeded; not even today.

I woke up at my regular 8.30 with a start- oh no! It’s the first day of your 2nd semester and you’ll be late” I shouted at myself. Then began my race against time - 30 minutes, and a hundred things to do. Finally I managed to get ready by 9:15. I was already late. So, I took an auto thinking it would be faster than the DTC bus. In spite of paying the driver 60 rupees he reached me10 minutes late. I was late to the first class of reporting and editing.

Well, this is what happens quite frequently. I have a soft corner for my ‘subah ki neend’. It’s the best during the 5-8 am period. At 7am usually I’m done with my sleep but I extend it to another hour. During that hour I curse the very idea of getting up early in the morning. I keep my eyes tightly shut and try to go back to that generous but unfinished dream. I don’t know why, but every time I get to the climax, the sequence of pictures, gets disrupted. As if some one tries to tease me! Finally, frustrated and disappointed and also with the hope of finishing the dream with ‘a happy ending’ the next time, I enter the daily routine.

Winter mornings are exceptionally ruthless. Sometimes I wonder why nature didn’t make human beings capable of hibernating.

It’s such a shame- I being a journalism student just cannot afford to be so fond of my extended sleeping hours. I’m trying hard to include ‘17. Wake up early’ to my year 2008 resolutions. Believe me; I’m struggling very hard to add the 17th entry to the list.

I don’t even remember how many years have been spent struggling over this issue. When I was in school, I was the famous ‘late comer’ to the bus stop. 9 out of 10 days, I would catch the bus only by running after it for about 50 metres. The remaining one day when I would be on time, it used to surprise my friends. They would immediately look out for the sun “just to make sure whether it was out from the right direction” while I stood and looked around with an embarrassed expression on my face.

On my everyday sprint to the bus stop (and beyond) I used to cross these two aunties who are regular morning walkers. They would invariably give me bright smiles. I used to smile back in spite of the great hurry.

The best sprint happened this time when I was back home for the winter break. Some of us (the ex-students) decided to go to school and meet our teachers and spend some time in the beautiful school campus which we were so fond of. I suggested that we go by the 7.30am bus. Every body wanted to go by the 2nd bus i.e., the 9am bus. But I insisted that we go by the first bus. As I was keen to get the ‘feel of going to school’. And, I did get the ‘feel’!

I had just taken a bath when I heard the screeching noise made by the bus. Suddenly I remembered how I had always feared this sound, which usually signalled towards the prospect of my having missed the bus. I darted to the balcony to check. Indeed there stood the white ‘Maan Travels’ bus getting loaded with kids of all sizes.

Then, started the storm inside my house. I violently tried to comb my hair while mummy tried to stuff a huge water bottle (which she insisted was small) inside my handbag. Papa just stood there smiling. My grandmother called out from the balcony “meet the new principal. I know you haven’t met him...but go and talk to him…touch his feet…he will like to know what the ex-students of the school are doing…and remember…” rest of the words I couldn’t catch as I had already started my race. I almost jumped down the 72 steps – three at a time.
After that, began my 50 metre sprint. I turned my head and waved at my mother who stood at the balcony waving at me (like she has always done).
I crossed those aunties who flashed their brilliant smiles. I smiled back while running with all my might. I heard one of them say “she will not break her record even if she goes to school once a year!”

I boarded the bus which was waiting for me (thanks to my friend)…and my smile broadened.