Clueless but resolute, I begin to rush with countless other commuters at the railway station, hoping to not miss my train. I stop midway confused, and to myself I mumble in Hindi, "Arey ye kaunsa train hai?" One lady stops, enquires about my destination, and then guides me to the right platform. I thank her for the help and proceed to become a part of the peak hour circus that unfolds at every platform. She is MUMBAI.
I wade through knee-deep waters wearing slippery shoes, and hope to reach home without any mishaps. The street which was bone-dry hours ago is now drenched and flooded. However, it somehow radiates a peculiar warmth when I see people going out of their way making sure everyone gets home safely. The nearby residents in raincoats, providing food and hospitality, some directing pedestrians through meandering paths, some offering biscuits to people stuck in traffic since hours. A man guides me towards a rope, and with it's support, I manage to make it home unharmed. Each person out there on the street helping, is MUMBAI.
I go to my favourite book-stall and the man there greets me and starts suggesting books that I'd like to read. He doesn't know my name, but he almost nails my 'to-read list'. When I apologetically tell him I'm too broke to buy books, and I came only to look at his collection, he smiles at me warmly and welcomes me anyway into his crowded book store. He passes no judgement as I wander and sniff the yellowed, frayed pages. When I leave, he tells me I can visit any time, even if I don't want to buy any books. He is MUMBAI.
You will not find Mumbai in the heritage buildings of CST where the British left intricate carvings, or in the slums of Dharavi. Neither in the sky scrapers of BKC, nor in the tiny cramped flats of Mahim. You will only find Mumbai in the hearts of its people. The undying spirit, the relentless determination to brush off the previous day's terror, and continue the next day with a new beginning. The audacity to look at every terror attack, every natural calamity in the eye, and pick up the broken pieces and mend them with each other's help. That's what defines Mumbai for me. It is less of a city, and more of an emotion.
We complain about the climate, the crowd, the traffic, the constant government glitches, but the fact is, once you live in Mumbai, you become a part of it no matter how flawed it is. The city that never sleeps, permits people to dream. And with open arms it welcomes anyone who wants to be a part of it, no matter how much it is running out of space. There are a thousand things I can mention which Mumbai needs to change. This is not me being pompous and declaring Mumbai the best city, this is me accepting those flaws and admitting that we could do so much better, but yet, embracing this imperfect city that I call my home. Where the rich businessman stands under the same Tapri to smoke a cigarette with a labourer. Where someone who owns a Mercedes has no qualms about travelling in a local train. Where people lose hope everyday, but a chat with a train-friend, over a journey from Thane to Parel, gets them back on track. This is a city which nurtures you and also wrecks you enough to survive anywhere else in the world, which passes no judgement and lets you build your life no matter how skewed it is. This is a city which shatters dreams, but also makes them come true.
This is my city. We call ourselves Mumbaikars. We can leave you happy and content with whatever little we have, just like our Vada Pav. 😉
Painting by- Mr. Mukhtar Kazi
