Mumbai Diaries - Monsoon Mystery

Inhabitants of Mumbai, or Mumbaikars as we are called, are the luckiest in the country as far as public transport is concerned. From the local trains (akin to tube or subway) to buses to auto-rickshaws to taxis, the city has all modes available depending on the budget and fancy of the traveller. I am very happy to cab it up often or even take the bus for short distances.

It was pouring today, and as my luck would have it, my car needed to be sent to the garage for an engine fault. With meetings crisscrossing the city I had to rely on Ola (Indianised Uber) and surprisingly not only was I lucky to get them immediately on request, but also got upgraded each time. The only once I got dinged by Ola was at the end of the day, when I decided to leave office.
 

Not one to fret, I walked into the drizzle and asked a standing black and yellow cab driver if he would drive me to my destination. While he said yes, he did not budge from his position in front of the driver's door. He kept looking on and then suddenly opened the cab door for me. As I sat in, I felt a bit uncomfortable. There was no other cab available so I decided to stick on. At the traffic signal 200meters ahead, the driver was busy staring in the rear view mirror and had to be prompted to move on. A bit weird, I thought and felt it more reasonable to call a friend till we reached the traffic dotted Marine Drive. I just wanted to be cautious.

When we reached Chowpatty, I decided to attend to emails and till the end of the journey did not pay any further attention to the driver, the taxi or the traffic. I alighted, diagonally opposite the building, intending to cross the road quickly. However, something struck me as odd and so I ambled on. The cab driver, to my surprise, kept standing. I had not disembarked at a taxi stop, there was no passenger in sight and the light on that part of the main road was also dim. I could not fathom why he was waiting. I stood on the divider allowing two cars, far apart from one another, pass by. Crossing slowly I turned and looked at the guy and he started to slowly drive on or amble on as I had. Did he want to know which building I got into, was he just bored or was he waiting for someone! I don't know. And that is when suddenly the traffic on the opposite side starting increasing, forcing the cabbie to move on further. Once he was out of sight I walked on home.

I still find the entire experience, the journey and the driver's behaviour bizarre. It is not my first or last strange encounter with a black and yellow cabbie in Mumbai. But something about today's trip makes me uncomfortable even as I am writing this from the comfort of my own room. I am not scared. I am not anxious. I am not disgusted. I am just a little unsettled and curious about the driver's motivations...

Mumbai black and yellow taxi drivers know the roads of Mumbai at the back of their hands. They also have a need for speed. Most of them are nice people too, but then there are some strange apples like the man at the wheel tonight or an indifferent blind eye turning individual I encountered last year.

It was another rainy day in Mumbai and another late night at work, but that day I had the car and driver to get me back home. On the way, at a traffic signal, I noticed a couple making out in the back seat of the cab that had stopped just ahead of us. What was strange though was that the woman seemed to be pushing the guy away and moving towards the door. Suddenly I saw a third man sitting besides the driver, in the front. Something was amiss.

At the next signal I asked the driver to overtake the taxi and then stop. Once the car was stationary, I got off and marched towards the cab; with my eyes on the woman. I was hoping she was not in trouble. Seeing me approach she looked down and started rummaging through her hand bag. Doubt broke my steps, was I overreacting and misreading a situation...

I did a U-turn and went and sat in the car, but my brain had somewhere stored the number plate. At the next signal the cab driver swung from the left most to the right most lane and took a right turn. Very normal rash driving for Mumbai taxi drivers, but I just felt a kick in my gut. The entire next kilometre I was cursing myself when I saw two cops below the flyover. I asked the driver to pull aside, walked up to them, explained what I saw and my apprehensions, and finally gave the number plate details. I was assured that they would be on the lookout for the cab.

Many hours later, once again in the comfort of my room, I had felt uncomfortable. I was also anxious. There was a nagging feeling that maybe I should have carried on and confronted the girl at the traffic light when I had the chance...

I could never find out what happened to the girl. I will never know but I hope she is alright. I can never find out why my cab driver behaved the way he did tonight. I will never know but I hope that my unease is misplaced. But what I do know is that my first reaction, the one straight from the gut, was not completely incorrect last year or today. And I also know that it is not just in case of these unpleasant instances, but even when life has thrown happy occurrences my way, my instinct has been mostly right.

There are times when we distrust our own judgement and there are times when for no reason we don't trust people. But when it comes to total strangers, maybe we need to follow our gut instinct and go with the initial reaction and not over think. Who knows the first flush could really become the first bloom. Who knows maybe over thinking kills a perfectly valid view. Who knows maybe the maybes spin a web that can never be entangled...

PS I wrote this last week but got around to posting it only today 

Perspective

Standing ashore, watching the waves come and go, I could not stop myself. I asked the waves why did they deplete the sand into the sea with every motion.

The retreating waves smiled and gently said, "It's your perspective. What we do is bridge the gap between land and sea."

Mumbai Diaries - A Monsoon Memory

"You must have all sorts of experiences in life", were Bonsai's infamous words to me when I came face to face with my first failure -  I had managed to fail an exam! A grade A student till then, I was in a state of shock and shame when the wise one enlightened me.

 

Driving home in the rain today, I am not sure why I am reminded of that day. Maybe because it is a grey, rain soaked, Mumbai Monsoon day; that was after all another rainy afternoon when I had gone to the university to check my results, only to find that my roll number was not on any of the displayed lists. That meant I had probably failed in at least one subject. I maintained my composure through the journey home. I was strong, I could not cry in public; but once home, the dams broke as I sat alone, my head hung in mortification.

 

My mother tried to tell me that as long as I continued to use the grey matter nestled in my skull, this one setback would mean nothing in the long run.  Sequoia comforted me by pointing out that asking for revaluation was always an option I could exercise. But Bonsai did not understand the fuss. For her, it had happened, I had to accept it, and rock on the road ahead. I was unable to swallow the bitter truth and chose to keep mum about the entire situation. It was my doing and I had to deal with it.

 

I was trying to find comfort in To Kill A Mockingbird when Spectacle called me. It was Ganesh Chaturthi he reminded me. Lord Ganesh, the remover of all obstacles had come yet another year to bless us all, spread cheer and guide us forward. I had to be at his home for the evening aarti (prayers) and he would not take no for an answer. I did not know why I had to go, when with his arrival, the Lord had put a gigantic road block in my future plans. All I wanted was to be by myself and lick my wounds. But Spectacle does not back down easily and I had no energy to put up a fight.

 

I wore a mask of bravery, my favourite white salwar kameez and stormed into the rain to face my friends. The bravado melted half way through and I arrived with a subdued smile that showed all the effort it had created. There was not one person wearing kids gloves in that house and yet it was the most peaceful time I had that day. I was pulled up for being late. My peculiar mannerisms were made fun of; but there was not one person who spoke about college or of results.

 

It took me a few days and a few friends to get over the lump in my throat. Once I had kicked myself for being so pathetic,  I started to try to unravel the mystery of my dismal performance. As the layers peeled away, a realisation began to form; hard work had to be accompanied with smart efforts too! So troops were gathered and individual friends were tasked with explaining different aspects of Engineering Drawing; including the bizarre concept of imagining an object lying right in front of you to be at infinity. Why would anyone want to confound their brain with this insanity was beyond me! So I decided to understand the rules instead. They made sense and gave a framework to the otherwise ridiculous exercise.

 

The gradual process started giving me a context. As I began to comprehend the subject, my confidence grew. The layers of the mystery started coming off more easily. Soon I realised that my failure had been a composite mix of a closed mind, being too hard on myself and a lack of confidence in my own abilities. At some point I had stopped understanding the fundamentals. Instead of getting someone to explain things to me, I was hard on myself for not being able to keep up with the others. I had moved from Maths Honours to Engineering. I had taken admission in the college and vocation of my choice. I had to be able to stand up with the rest. That I did not enjoy Engineering Drawing, made me less  capable, suddenly, in my own eyes! All these pressures led me to create a scenario where I was not just good enough at Engineering Drawing, and my results ensured that my hypothesis was proven.

 

My first failure taught me that all of us have our strengths and weaknesses.  Planning and asking for help to supplement a weakness always improves chances of success. But most importantly, integral to every victory is self confidence. I guess it was overcoming that one hurdle that laid the foundation for my future risk taking ability and every achievement going forward.

 

I guess Bonsai was right after all! We must have all sorts of experiences in life! Or in Randy Pausch's words "Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. And experience is often the most valuable thing you have to offer."

A Tale of Two Cities

A Tale of Two Cities is what I have begun calling my last few days. Between London and Mumbai, the two cities have been hogging my brain span and getting most of my attention. As I sit with a cup of hot tea, staring at the rain pelting on the roof of the neighbouring building, I cannot help but think of how these two cities are so different and yet so similar.

 

Thanks to the British, Bombay is endowed with beautiful Victorian architecture. From The Gateway of India to Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus (erstwhile Victoria Terminus) to Opera House, there are so many dilapidated examples of brilliant English construction. If one ever visits The Pantry, a quaint café in the alleys of Kala Ghoda, immediately you are transported to London's Shepherd Market.

 

It had been a couple of years in London when I bumped in to Bing Master at Marks & Spencer. Having not met for a long time as neighbours in Bombay, the chance meeting in London was surreal and we decided to catch up. I do not remember if we went to Shepherd Market, or the now shut Indian restaurant at Piccadilly; but to go back to respective homes we walked to Green Park tube station. His train went north and mine south. As I turned right to go towards my platform he stopped me. He would not let me go till I sang. That was ragging a friend! He did not care. Either I complied or we would both be at the station. It was late and the last tubes would pass by in sometime. My options were limited but my anxiety knew no bounds. He is an accomplished singer, musician and painter. I would only make a fool of myself. But I had to get home, and so I sang an old Hemant Kumar favourite when the demand came for a ballad, and so I croaked out one. Surprisingly he liked the Hemant Kumar rendition and suggested that I learn music. That was then and ten years or more later he still remembers the songs.

 

I wonder what would have been the memory had the same thing played out in Mumbai. Instead of an empty tube station we would have probably reminisced about a sprawling and smelly platform spotted with people and red Paan spits marks. The comfort of a girl and a guy being seen together late at night would be replaced by miles of distance between us, to ensure no law enforcement agent could have any confusion at any point. In fact I don't think in Mumbai the scene would have played out at all, as the trains run until much later in Mumbai(London tubes are 24/7 only now), alternatively I would have hopped into the relatively more affordable cabs.

 

The two cosmopolitan giants are the centre of attention of the individual countries they grace. They lure individuals from far and away with dreams of treasures and success. Both can boast of a personality and character that can pale many other global cities. But while one is beheld for its acceptance the other is feared for its rigour. Where one provides opportunities a plenty the other tests every bit of perseverance. And where one invokes inspiration the other can shake an unprepared visitor.

 

I have lived and worked in both. They are both home to me. Each one of them has contributed to who I am in their own way and so it's only fair that they both get their own space in my thoughts. The tale of my short life so far would be incomplete without either of the two cities. And so a Tale of Two Cities it is - one shining under the skies most often and then other standing tall under grey skies. Only today they have interchanged their usual getups, and so the rain soaked Mumbai has taken me back to London.

Harried Potter and the City of Dreams

Harried Potter (HP) called, totally miffed at all my writings on London. He was ready to put me back on the next flight back to Heathrow (ouch!) because he just did not understand "all the fuss about London". Another bitter taste of Heathrow would do me good apparently. "Let me take your friends out of that city and let's see where your lurve for Londres disappears". The impulsive and irrational reaction from one of the most controlled and calm individuals I know, over some writings, left me amused and dumbfounded.

 

The statement that London is special because of friends made me think hard. Now, all my friends know how special they are, and those who don't,  please rest assured that you are. Without any offence to any one of those kind souls living in the British capital, the honest truth is, with or without friends London would remain as special. However, I cannot say the same for Mumbai!

 

Yes I have called Bombay the city of my dreams. I accept that it sowed the seeds of ambitions that are beginning to sprout. But those aspirations were carefully cultivated in London under the most trying and exciting circumstances. Yes Mumbai has been home for the longest time. After having lived across India and Malaysia, I had the opportunity to put my roots down here. But those roots sprawled across continents and oceans to take shelter under the grey and cloudy London skies. Yes Bombay gave me friends who have become my anchors in life. I have become a better person thanks to their feedback and affection. But you see London did that and does that for me on its own. It connects me to my audacious aims, it gives me a strong gigantic leaping pad and it shows me the mirror that I need, to take the next chance in life; and buries any lingering fear.

 

Mumbai makes me work harder than I thought I could. It never fails to surprise even if it is only estimating the travel time for the daily route to work. The city decides whether it will be twenty, thirty or forty minutes. Bombay throws me off balance just when I thought I had it all under control. Flash strike of taxis, or a surge pricing of onions or simply unavailable medication! The simplest tasks can drain so much energy that there is no bandwidth available to enjoy the city on a normal day.

Mr. Potter cannot deny any of the above and I am sure he is thinking of his miserable luck in finding a driver for almost two years now, the horrible commute that he has to undertake behind the wheel daily and the long traffic jams that have caught him off guard on multiple occasions. 

 

What endears me to Mumbai are the red, blue, orange and green beacons like HP. They make me smile at the most unlikely of times. They surprise me when I am least expecting it. And they size me down when my idiosyncrasies start to soar too high. It is they who make Mumbai home I want to come to after a fantastic week in London. It is they who make the Mumbai monsoon even more magical and it is they who make life in Mumbai meaningful and lovable. And just for that, Mumbai will always be special.

The Mystery of Being Normal or a Normal Being

Is a normal person conformist or is a conformist actually a normal person? Are those with linear life trajectories normal or do the normal just inherit linear career graphs? Would a normal person abhor outlandish behaviour or would outlandish behaviour desert a normal human being? Who is a normal human being and what defines being normal?

I am not sure when or how these thoughts boarded the backseat of my brain, but since they had been around they were driving my focus off the road. I consider myself very normal, ordinary and the average person next door. But I am far from being a tradionalist. My career choices have always been geometric leaps and to know how atypical I can be, one only needs to speak to just a few of my friends; which is why I keep them hidden from plain view. But thinking about it, all those who have the pleasure of being called my friend, display very similar traits as the ones above!

"So what is normal", screamed the gang of backseat drivers and I kept looking till I chanced upon this - "A Normal person is the sort of person that might be designed by a committee. You know, each person puts in a pretty colour and it comes out grey!" Oh yes! That person I am not and neither are my friends! We love to shine our own lights be they red, yellow, orange, white or blue.

It is true that the seven colours blend in to make white light but it's the rainbow that lends beauty to the white clouds. Red and yellow come together to make orange, but it is when the red, the orange and the yellow are interspersed, that autumn becomes breathtaking. Even a black and white photograph gets character when dotted with the entire spectrum of black to grey to white. Standing alone, no colour is highlighted; and in the backdrop of a range, even the dullest can become a pretty sight.

Then why does the world insist that every person conform to a type? Why does society expect individual lives to follow a pre defined linear path? How can originality be expected separated from being outlandish? Why cannot my normal be mine and yours be thine; and why can we not acknowledge, appreciate and accept that different normals make the world a better normal...

London Diaries - Que Sera Sera

After all the London love that has poured out in the last week, let me just say that as I sit waiting to board my flight, an equal amount of anger and frustration are my emotions towards Heathrow. This miserable travel and transit conduit does not deserve to be called an airport, forget being called a global aviation hub.

Heathrow is the symbol of long queues, tardy hands moving through machines and baggage and the stiff upper lipped staff are convinced that their employment is a favour to the world moving in and out of Heathrow. To start with, the boarding pass scanner was not working and the lady spent more time on her radio than clearing passengers manually. Then only 50% of the security scanners were being used despite the weekend rush; and finally the staff operating the machines and checking the luggage were playing musical chairs leading to a human traffic jam ready to compete in the Guinness Book of World Records. It took 30min for my bags to reach me and by the time they did my brain had frozen watching the appalling functioning. I left the security check without my bags and realised when I found my hands too empty for a journey!

My possessions reunited with me, I called Bonsai. It had been a wonderful day to end this trip. The sun shone, the birds flew and there was a warm cheer all around. At Cutty Sark I sat and sipped coffee at the Gypsy Moth, a brunch pub I favoured, especially in the winters for its bright and cosy fire place. From there I made my way to the Greenwich market and scanned through multiple photographs of the city that made me smile, laugh, cringe and sigh. Picking up favourites I made my way back to the Wharf, ready to pack my bags and leave home, calling it so for the one last time. Enroute I could not resist and picked up my classic Cheddar and Ploughman Pickle sandwich, so quintessentially British and still a big comfort food. 

Having bid adieu to everyone, I was all by myself with my balcony on Thames. Thirteen years ago I had come alone and set up a house, today I was to wrap one up and hand over the keys to the landlord. It felt a circle in life had been completed. Standing on the balcony, soaking in the view and the start of a new chapter, I captured some last memories and made my way to the waiting cab.

The city, through the years has given me a lot. This trip  too I got all that I wanted from it once again, except for the one photograph of Tower Bridge that I could frame. I was lost in this thought when the driver turned left and I realised we were going over Tower Bridge and that too in slow moving traffic! My opportunity had come and I seized it in a blink. Two beautiful shots of my confidant of so many years and I felt satiated. Goodbye for a short while became easier.

The moon, in the bright sun lit September late afternoon skies seemed misplaced. I stared at it as we waited endlessly to exit the Motorway towards Heathrow. Maybe my leaving seemed incorrect to London. Maybe it is. Maybe I will return. Who knows? As they say, whatever will be will be, the future's not ours to see. Que sera sera...