To Mumbai | From Delhi

May 02, 2016, Monday, 19.30 hours - I land in Mumbai to spend a month with my Sister. “Haanji” changing to “Kaye” and in disgust I squirted my snooty Delhi nose.

Mumbai unlike Delhi is not a pretty city to look at, infrastructure is a mess, buildings are dilapidated, green is scarce, roads are colloquial for pedestrian walks, heritage architecture is amiss, the demography doesn’t boast of the best ‘looks’ in the country. Then why is this city a home to many, a dream for more?

At 1ish in the night when my Starbucks addict Sister said, ‘let’s go for a coffee?’, I looked at her in bewilderment. In the rickshaw, at 1.30 am, 2 girls, wearing shorts, head to Hiranandani Complex, for a coffee. PCR though on my speed dial. On reaching Hiranandani, I was taken for a surprise. Being from Delhi, women, alone, wee hours in the night, dressed casually, gait even more casual, are a series of together-words I don’t relate to. In a very long time, I felt normal and shackles-less, as much as men in the country feel.

Using public transport has been my biggest learning lesson in Mumbai. They say you learn more from people than from paper. Well, true. The autowallahs have been extremely welcoming and not once did I catch anyone sneakily using the rear view mirror for the intrusive male gaze. It surprises me how money and means to money are so piously embedded in the food chain here. Change be it be Re 1 or Rs. 9 were always given, without any delay. Dignity of labour advocated and practiced.

Sitting, cross legged, wearing a dress, on Carter Road Promenade, I enjoyed the Bombay sunset and the calm ocean without worrying about whether my upper thighs were on display. It’s not the city is on a run and no one has time to sit and stare, it’s just that women anatomy is not an object of stare. Covering up myself with a stole while cabbing it and wearing a dress is a norm in Delhi but Mumbai….. Breasts, legs and buttocks are a part of the entire woman population in the country and hence ordinary- Kudos Mumbai for resonating this fact. Thank you, Mumbai for making me proud of my adornments, my womanhood, rather than being conscious of it and guarding it out of guilt.

Something that makes us very proud of Delhi is that the city looks ‘rich’. The slums are ‘sheltered’ and are not easily visible to the passerby. On the contrary, Bombay slums, chawls are in your face. Once I stayed in Bombay I understood the synergies. Acceptance! Acceptance of all the people, no matter where they come from and where they go, Mumbai is as much theirs as that of the aristocratic class’. What ‘shosha’ is to Delhi is ‘dream for one and all’ is to Mumbai.

You know the times that we live in where everything and everyone is taken with a pinch of salt and trust issues are an epidemic, Mumbai ‘Human’ is a little out of ordinary. When lost on the road (which is typical of me) and a car stopped by to help, I trusted. When a man approached to strike a casual conversation in a pub, I trusted. When the autowallah, at 11.30 pm, asked if he should take another route (which I wasn’t acquainted with) because Saki Naka was choc blocked, I trusted. And my leap of faith was not molested once.

There is another aspect about Bombay- of being non-judgemental. So when I saw a 60-year-old elderly woman taking swimming lessons with enthusiasm, a homosexual couple leaning against each other while watching the sun set on Marine Drive, television celebrities hitching an auto ride, a transgender enjoying cafe latte at Café Coffee Day with no inhibition, a small Deepika from the slums looking and smiling at Deepika Padukone’s hoarding thinking, ‘One Day’, I learnt that life is not barred by age, sex, class, bank balance. Life is a potpourri of emotions, experiences, dreams and learnings (from both success and failure). At the end, life is to be lived not suffered.

Uptill living in Mumbai, I thought only Punjab could boast of ‘Happy Cheerful People’. But Bombay, you are a city of happy emotions. Gleaming faces everywhere. Rage, cussing, honking- I hardly witnessed here. Not that struggles here are any less but somehow the calm of the ocean has rubbed on people. Even with worst episodes of trafucked, I did not witness the atrocious Delhi noise pollution. Howsoever, an average Mumbaikar is, whether living in pigeon holes or in sky rises, whether raving at fine dining or quenching the hunger with vada pav, whether partying at the high end clubs or enjoying a ‘bhutta’ on Bandstand, smiling is their adrenaline rush.

Yeah! So this is me. Delhi Girl who hated Bombay during her flying visits but one month of staying here and this city has grown on me. Grown to the extent that I don’t wish to go back. Made new friends, reconnected with old, introspected on my Delhi glutton, imbibed the Bombay ambition and simplicity. Though I still like to dress up, unlike the casual Bombay and love Hindi music instead of techno, but there is so much of Bombay that I shall take back.

Thank you, Bombay! For letting me experience the free bird escapades, for letting me to not be conscious of my woman body, for trusting the men specie when they acknowledge my presence, for helping me shun my prejudices and for letting me understand the power of dream and struggles.

With Love!

Best always.