A long time ago I’d read that every city has a word. For
Rome it’s “SEX”, for Vatican it’s “POWER”, for New York its “ACHIEVE”, for
Haridwar it’s “FAITH”. I have long wondered what the word for Mumbai is.
It’s “MOTION”. It’s easy to confuse Mumbai for a money
hungry city with no soul. It’s difficult to think of Mumbai moving seeing
hundreds of people idling about at the shores of the Arabian Sea after sunset
on a weekend. But if you live here long enough, you realize that this city
cares little for idle chats and somewhat lesser about money than what you’d
expect. Mumbai earns, but Mumbai spends.
I come from a Maadu city where people hold the opinion that
any expense should transform into an investment. Otherwise it is a waste of
money. Mumbai doesn’t care. People here want to see their money move, even if
it doesn’t grow. Maybe it’s the stress which is inherently built into Mumbai’s
lifestyle. If that can be alleviated on a weekend by watching a play for 3,000
bucks, why not? But you need to keep moving.
I think it comes from to each Mumbaikar by design of the
city. For no one grows up in Mumbai without being pushed inside a crowded
train. No one ever thinks twice about taking up a job 3 hours away from home
and spending a quarter of their day in travel. Being raised in such an
environment, you get tuned to keep moving. You become impatient like the crowd.
And life becomes a constant struggle to move ahead.
In many ways these trains represent everything Mumbai is
about. A class divide. Crowd. Motion. Structure. Trade. Struggle. Friendship.
Fear. Courage. And most importantly, movement. Moving on.
I remember the other day in the train I was engrossed in my
Kindle that I completely forgot that the station had arrived. Not that it
mattered. It was the last station and an emptying train would surely catch my
attention. As I realized the station had come I packed my Kindle in my bag and
started getting down when I heard the words, “Who’s bag is this? Get down
fast!” Apparently someone had forgotten their bag in the overhead compartment
and gotten off the train. Now in most parts of the world this would be a sight
ignored. Or perhaps a good seminarian would take the bag to the lost and found
section on the station. But for Mumbai, this was terror. At first I did not
understand why people were running out of the train in sheer terror at the
sight of the bag. It was a harmless bag. But more I thought about it more I
realized that trains were a vulnerable point in Mumbai’s security. With a
hostile neighbor attached to Mumbai by the sea, Mumbai had been a victim of
repeated terror strikes in the past. Even though the last one had been 8 years
ago, the memory of a 21 year old boy with a machine gun in one hand, and blue
bag slinging on the other, on this very train station was still etched clearly
in the memory of these people. It was a morning pretty much like that one. The
station must have been as crowded as it was that day. And the people would have
had been as unsuspecting. Proceeding to begin another day of firefighting with
their jobs. Little did they know that it would be the last day of their lives.
Mumbai remembered this. But Mumbai moved on. This city does not stop for
anything. Not the wrath of Gods or men. Because that is what Mumbai is about.
Moving on.
As time moves on, so does Mumbai. It is not a very old city.
In fact till 1845, geographically it didn’t even exist as a single landmass but
only as a collection of islands. Maybe that’s the reason the sea could never
truly leave its hold on Mumbai and sends showers every year to try and reclaim
its lost child. In the short span this city has been in existence, it has grown
to account for nearly 10% of the country’s GDP. Most people would agree that
this is an amazing feat and Mumbai is the most developed city in India. Others
are obviously Delhites.
Still, as the Harbour Line moves down Central Mumbai, one
cannot help but notice the heaps of garbage alongside the train tracks. To an
amateur economist like me, dumps of plastic are also an indication of a
flourishing economy, but one can’t help but wonder if the cost of such
development is worth it. Those who are responsible for the mess are seldom
affected by it, leaving the poor to grapple with the problems. An interesting
thought came to my mind when I visited one of the many flourishing offices in
Lower Parel, as shown in the picture below. There were air-conditioners on
almost every window, and no single window was open. It wasn’t summer time in
Mumbai, and I daresay the wind was pleasantly cool. Yet it didn’t seem as if
those windows had been opened in a very long time, nor did anyone seem to be
interested in such an ordeal. Closed boxes of offices with temperature
regulation have become the norm and when something of this scale happens in a
city like Mumbai, it cedes to become the action of a single individual. It then
becomes what is known as an institutional
phenomena, i.e. it’d be foolhardy of me to even recommend a solution like
“turning off the AC and opening the windows” to any of my peers. Institutional
problems are to be solved by institutional solutions.
But when did this ever become a problem? Was I too hasty in
my judgment to claim it as one? No one seems to be really bothered by the
air-conditioners running all the time. In fact, they welcome it. After all, one
does need respite from the Mumbai heat. As the ocean proceeds to engulf the
city once again, we happily seat ourselves in leather chairs and cool offices,
never to mind what happens outside.
This makes me think, in our pursuit of development, are we
proceeding towards our fall? The internet was invented to save time, yet it has
allowed time to enslave us beyond the normal hours of any work. Air
conditioners were invented to keep us cool, and now we’ve reached a point where
they have become a bane for the planet’s atmosphere. Cars were invented to
quicken and ease the journey, but one cannot drive in Mumbai without being
stuck in dreaded traffic jams and shifting between the accelerator and the
break. Our lives have continually progressed towards more and more complexity.
Stress is at an all-time high. We strive to buy houses which we never have time
to live in. We wish to buy things we don’t need to impress people we don’t like
with money we don’t have. Everything the wise had predicted once has come true.
We never realize when the hands change the strokes on a piano to strokes on an
excel sheet. And life goes on… As comfortably and predictably and you may
imagine.
Yet, when the night falls, sooner or later it always does,
and when it falls, leaving starry skies and quiet souls, the heart yearns for
what it was born for. It yearns for the peace it has long left behind. Behind
the tears of remembrance one dreams of enjoying the tranquil moments of
serenity it was born for. And as the clouds approach you from the ocean near
Marine Drive, a child beggar-performer begins to sing,
