Mumbai, for the past couple of years, had become a pilgrimage before becoming a home. It has been six months since I boarded a local train and three months since I last flew to leave Mumbai not knowing when I will come back.
A nomad Malayali, in July of 2016, told me what his father had told him once.”Bombay is like a University, you come, you learn, and you leave. Whether you graduate, drop out, or stay back, does not concern Bombay. It lets you be.”
I remind myself here that I have always been wary of romanticizing Mumbai. The city is brutal. It will pin a stranger down, mercilessly asks him to bow down before her, and demands to confess that she indeed is superior. Once he bows down, she leaves him to roam around and enjoy what she offers.
I think of Marine Drive which has blessed its seekers for so many years, the Bandstand and Carter Road, and the Powai lake up north. I think of the dabawallahs who often made the local journeys bearable with their bhajans. I miss the shared taxi rides which ensured that I travel from the station fast and cheap.
I think of Mumbai and wonder about the countless people who add to its clamor. Among many things, I think of the irresistible bhurji pav, the Bambaiya sev puri, the old Parsis running their outlets, and the countless Cafes that decorate Fort and Colaba.
I think of Anna, who has served me idlis and wadas with his amazing chutneys innumerable times. My mind wanders to the chaiwala who served me his trademark cutting chai, best savored with rains.
I think of all these people and wonder about their life. For absolutely selfish reasons, I wonder whether I will see them again at the same spot where I met them for months.
I think of Mumbai and I hope that this too shall pass.
terra incognita 