Some call it Bombay, some call it Mumbai. But for now, let’s just call it my second home. When I first visited the city, I was around 12 or 13 years old. That time, I wasn’t significantly aware of the place I stood at. It was just another place to have good food and buy stuff. But the reason I wanted to visit it again, was not for just some material things. When the younger I left Mumbai, it felt as if she left a part of herself there and the older I had to go back and get it. So, without missing a chance, I went back to Mumbai in May 2017 for my internship as a teacher of a secondary school.
When I entered the city through the airport, it made me realize, that it has been calling me since the day I left. You must have heard a lot of things about the city, like, thousands of people come dreaming here, to make a living, to fulfil their utmost desires and mostly to become a star. Well, I just came here to experience how attracting and enchanting it was for me. To experience the roads, the people, the food and of course to see a glimpse of the greatest actor, Shah Rukh khan. You can call me just another crazy fan, but I must tell you, why some people come to Mumbai is just to see or meet Shah Rukh Khan or other great actors as well. The city of Bollywood, as people know it, where most of the films are shot, from low-budget to high, from documentaries to sagas, is a city which attracts tourists and aspiring people. Though Mumbai is just another land of selfish people and faithful animals, I mean to say, there is nothing Bollywood about it.
Amidst my journey from the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport to my friend’s home in Malad west, I saw people rushing like ants for their work, ignorant, self-involved and conceited. Nobody even stopped to smile or greet one another. Money was clearly everyone’s priority. From the regular ‘Dabbawallas’ to the multi-millionaires, taking the same road, filled with people and surrounded by slums, Mumbai is uniquely beautiful.
Moving ahead, still stuck in traffic, my senses got attentive and were drawn of this enthralling aroma of spices or masala. My stomach got greedy and I was salivating. I peeped here and there, back and forth, and then my eyes spotted Mumbai’s most wanted fast food, Vada Pav, also known as Bombay Burger .My cab was stuck, as the signal was red. I thought this could be a chance to run and get what the stomach wants. However, in Mumbai, when the cars stop at traffic signal, all you see around yourself are different kinds of beggars, mostly child beggars and ladies with a drugged baby in their hands. Some of them are there to wipe your cars and some make their living out of selling petty things. They are the people who are either forced to beg or those who have adapted and mastered the art of begging to make a living. I lost myself in the train of thoughts and when I was back, the signal turned green and we were ready to go. My stomach was now craving for it and I couldn’t, but pacify it at that moment.
It was an early evening, and I was enjoying watching a beautiful sunset from my cab window, also anticipating how much more I would have to wait for my destination to arrive. Quenching my thirst with water, listening to some random songs in the cab and taking selfies in the bright light of the day, my journey to my friends abode did not seem to be that tedious and boring. Soon, the cab stopped and I knew I was there. I walked a few steps and entered the apartment. It did not seem like a newly constructed building, but looking at the color and the maintenance, it wasn’t that old as well.
I reached for the bell at 206, second floor, and there she was, bright wide smile, gleaming eyes and a welcoming hug. I kept my bags and she got me a glass of juice and something to eat. Guess what, I was served Vada Pav. How on earth did I get what my heart craved for? I felt satisfied and wanted to get some rest. In the evening, I met her parents and her mother took me to the beach near her place. It was a scooter ride with her mother. Just she and I, zooming around, while the wind flirted with my hair. Mumbai is a city of freedom and yes, at that moment, it felt like freedom. Nobody cares, nobody is there to judge, and you have your own sweet company.
Apart from the internship, I was there to travel, to explore and experience things. I wanted to do all of it alone, so when I got time, I used to dress in the most comfortable clothes, keeping in mind the scorching heat and the limitless distances. I searched all over the internet, and made a schedule for myself, being my guide.
Well, those of you who don’t know, Mumbai or to be very specific, South Mumbai is the New York of India. In a city with a population of around 18 million people, Public transport is everyone’s lifeline. The only difference is that New York subways are underground and Mumbai local trains above the ground. It saves a lot of time and money for the people working there and the tourists as well. Both, New York and Mumbai are known for their street food and shopping, be it clothes, some antiques, junk jewelry, food trucks, Ice cream vans, intricate paintings, you name it and the city has it. If you are a foodie, Bombay bhel puri and pav bhaji is a must have. No matter what time it is, both streets are filled with people and there are thousands of visitors every year.
I visited Gateway of India, National gallery of Modern Art, some temples and beaches as well. But the place that holds a very special place in my heart has to be marine drive. Starting from the north of Nariman point and ending at the famous Chowpatty beach. It is a 3km long arc shaped road and trust me, it is magnanimous. It has its own calm and its own wrath. I used to sit there for hours like other people and think of the power it holds. One of the days, when, as usual, I was alone at Marine drive, lost in tranquility, I noticed a woman, who could be in the mid-thirties, wearing her usual sari with a big red bindi, looking at the sea and crying despondently. I could not stop myself from reaching out to her, after all, she looked like a story to me. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen, so there I was for her. Savitri, a small town girl, who came to the city of gold, with high aspirations in her mind and Ghungroo tied to her feet, to live the Bollywood dream. But who knew, a fracture would become a limp in her career. She had been on and off the jobs as long as a year, and nobody even bothered to look after her. The Husband was not ready to give away all his money to get her back on tracks and her boys had just started earning. She had nowhere to go so she came there just to think of her past and what she will do in her future. She did not know whether she should wait for a big break, or should she accept her fate of just another ordinary who wasn’t that special anymore. All I had for her were insignificant words to console. I wish I could tell you that she smiled back.
There were millions of stories, walking around in the city just like Savitri, undiscovered, unattended and unheard. No wonder, big cities make you dream big, aspire big and expect big. But what if you fail?
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