An evening...for Mumbai...

“This isn’t a crowd that has been paid to attend. They all have come on their own. I love them, yaar!” I heard someone say.

I turned around. It was a young man’s observation. He was on his toes, looking admiringly at the people ahead. “It’s unreal!” he continued.

My cell phone rang. It was Neha, an office colleague. “I have reached Ghatkopar.. where are you?”

“I am near the Gateway” I replied. I was unsure if she heard that.

“I am near the Gateway. Call me when you reach CST.” I shouted again. She had already hung up.

       I was near Tendulkar’s when the people ahead stopped. I thought someone was about to address the crowd. I soon realised why had we stopped. Everybody was chanting “India.. India.. India!!” It was deafening but better than any music that I’ve heard.  The chants gained momentum and people started clapping in unison. It was slow and rhythmic, the clapping. I could sense the anger of the people in those loud claps. I too, was clapping hard. I looked around, I saw many people crying, clapping and chanting simultaneously.

 

                We resumed the walk. People had lined up on both the sides of the road. They were egging us on with loud cries of “Vande Mataram”

“Bharat Maa ki Shaan hai.. Mumbai meri Jaan hai!!!” I looked in the direction of the voice. It was a strikingly beautiful girl who was shouting at the top of her voice. She and a group of collegians were distributing placards and candles to the ‘protestors’

This event was organised through SMS, Orkut, E-mail and Facebook. I got an SMS and I had expected about a few hundred people to be present. It turned out to be the biggest leaderless rally in India. The event was devoid of political presence and organisers. This was clearly the sentiment of the Citizen.

         “Politicians and Dogs not allowed!!” Screamed another banner, reminiscent of the legend that the Taj was built as a result of a similar racial discrimination. I reached the Gateway of India. I looked at the Taj. It was still the same magnificent building, but people were not looking at it admiringly, the expression was of curiosity, horror and anguish. The building now stood as a grim reminder of the worst terror Mumbai has faced. There were some 20 odd lights that were turned on, in stark contrast to the thousands we’ve been used to see.

People were thanking the cops around. The cops too, were emotional and some were shouting slogans with us. Opposite the Gateway of India, a small group was shouting Anti Pakistan slogans. A very old  man asked them to sing the National Anthem. They obliged. Then they did more. They started singing “We shall overcome”. I was immediately reminded of a friend who said that the song, when sung in chorus fills one with energy. And here it was, hundreds of people singing the song in chorus. I was at the front, singing, my voice quavering. It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, I saw faces, lit by candles,  smiling and singing, some crying and singing, some singing for the first time in their life and some, simply awed by the scene. Behind me was a statue of Shivaji Maharaj, the Warrior, upon his horse, looking at his people proudly, probably for the first time.

People singing “We shall overcome”

 

                 As if reading my thoughts, I saw another banner “ Thank you Mr. Terrorist for having united us like never before.”

           There was no shoving or pushing, something that is so characteristic when it comes to the crowds of Mumbai. The Police were being polite too. I reached the Regal Cinema. The scene there was no different. No politician was spared. The PM, the CM, the Home Minister everybody was flayed. I was happy for the politicians who chose to stay away from the rally or they might’ve been lynched by the crowd.

“Mr.Cheap Minister, We accept your resignation” I burst out laughing. I felt like hugging that person.

                      The life behind Taj had already bounced back to normal. Bade Miyan, the Kebab shops, the roadside book vendors were enjoying brisk business. I reached Leopold’s. It was packed with patrons, with people waiting outside the bar to grab a quick drink. For Bombay’s sake.

                             I chose McDonald’s. McDonald’s employees were a harried lot. They were not used to serving tens of thousands of customer’s in a span of two hours.

I tried calling Neha for the umpteenth time and finally got through to her. “Where are you?”

“I am near Regal Cinema. The Phone lines are jammed.” She replied.

“I know. Come to McDonald’s, I’m waiting”

By the time she came to McDonald’s, It was time for us to leave. We took a walk back to the CST station. And I chose not to tell her about the bomb they defused there earlier that evening…

My principles .. and some bottled water!

                          I was on my way to Ghodbunder Road earlier this week. The afternoon sun was merciless and I was riding pillion with my friend. I asked him to stop over for some refreshments. We stopped at a very well known sweet shop. I was sorely tempted and settled down with a couple of samosas and was eyeing the Rasmalai. My throat was feeling parched though I had already drained a bottle of coke. I looked around for some water. I couldn’t find any. I knew that it was a reputed shop and all the people buy bottled water.

“Why don’t you go for bottled water?” My friend suggested.

I don’t know if he knew that I don’t buy bottled water out of principle. Maybe,it’s my misplaced sense of self-righteousness. But the point is, that I don’t buy bottled water.

        Some days back, I saw a presentation on Bisleri by my batch mates. It was a very well researched presentation and they were enthusiastically showing the rise in demand for bottled water in India and the monopoly that Bisleri had in this field. The group’s efforts was very visible and it sounded heartening for a moment that it was not only the Metros that reveled in the luxury of bottled water, but the Sub Metros, Small towns were also catching up.

                     They predicted that, with India ‘Shining’ , the demand for bottled water is sure to increase. The rude fact, however is that a large number of our population find water unsafe to drink. I personally saw it as a failure on our part that we have to resort to drinking bottled water even in restaurants.

“So, shall I ask for a litre of Bisleri then?” My friend asked again.

I shook my head and looked around. It was a sweet shop I was in and hence the only source of water was from a tap outside and it seemed potable. I gestured for the Rasmalai and got up to drink the water.I looked around. Everybody was drinking various brands of water. I was kind of feeling noble for not falling into the trap of bottled water.

          When I reached the tap, I found that the water was refrigerated. Also, I found some dirty kids drinking from the tap. A dirtier man was standing in queue.

I turned around and asked for a litre of Bisleri.

In a Quandary...

I do crazy hours at the Office. One of my most regular times to return home would be at 11.30 in the Morning after a night shift. And almost everyday I see an old woman sipping tea at a tea stall near my house.

She seemed to be from a well to do family and who had recently fallen upon hard times. I didn't know much about that old woman. But I did know people who knew her. I asked around. What I learnt was quite depressing.

She is  a Jewish Lady, very educated and is a retired employee of BARC, Mumbai. (Bhabha Atomic research centre). For those who don't know, an employment at BARC is something most Indians would give an arm and a leg for. Her family members abandoned her and moved to Israel some years back. She now survives on a paltry pension and is in a deplorable state, both financially and  physically.

I have been thinking about her for quite some time now. The reason I am talking about her today is because I am very worried about her. She is too old and frail to find work anywhere. Maybe she is losing her mental balance as well or the hardships of the last few years have taken it’s toll upon her. Her dress is so worn out and dirty that you cant help but feel sorry for her. When it rains, she carries an umbrella which is in such a pathetic condition that it makes no difference. Still, she tries to lead life with dignity.

I wish to help her. The problem is that she has never asked for help from anybody and I don’t know if she would accept any help from me or not. I am thinking of providing her with some clothes for the winter. I don’t know how would I approach her. I don’t want to hurt her pride. But I can’t even let her to live this way either. I asked my Mom if she could do something for me. My mother has agreed to approach her, but the problem is that my Mom has never seen her.

And the bigger problem is that I am not sure of what’ll happen after that. The last time I tried tried to do some good was when I donated some money to CRY. It was very upsetting. I was not that happy then and am not too keen to experience the similar emotions again. But then, the lady too, can’t be left alone.

 

So reader, what do I do? I am in a quandary.

                   ***************************************

An Update :-

When I mentioned my upsetting experience with CRY (Child Relief and You) , it had nothing to do with the organisation. CRY is one of those organisations that I would trust with my money. My turmoil was MY turmoil entirely. Many would understand what I mean.

A Driver, Me...and Raj

“Faaltu main aaya main!” I said, scanning the roster. I shouldn’t have come.

The three guys who were supposed to be with me in the cab did not come fearing for their safety.I was in the cab alone with the driver. I wished I knew in advance that they weren’t coming. I would’ve stayed back too.

Sighing, I rolled down the window and looked outside. The normally bustling streets were deserted today. The empty streets somehow reminded me of Mani Ratnam’s Bombay. The scene where Tinnu Anand surveys a burning Bombay from inside a white ambassador car flashed before me eyes. Somehow, I felt I was him.

The numbers were ringing in my mind. As many as 202 State Transport Buses, 350 Taxis , 115 BEST buses, 3 trucks and 4 private vehicles were smashed or gutted down across Maharashtra in a frenzied display of hatred.  All for a man spewing hate, mocking the constitution and indulging in regional terrorism. If he had even an iota of concern for the Marathi cause, they would have prospered. I was thinking about that young railways aspirant who lost his life for daring to seek employment by just means. And I knew Raj would get bail tomorrow. For murder. Again.

“Sir, ek baat bolun?” said that driver, breaking my chain of thoughts. Can I say something?

“Aap agar aaj nahin aate toh kuch nahin hota. Nahin toh bhi 60% employees nahin aaye hain.” He said. If you would not have come today, it wouldn’t have created much of a scene, as it is, 60% of the employees haven’t reported to work either.

He then went on to add that he would have left for home too. His parents were very worried.

He continued, “Saala gaadi bhi darke chalana padh raha hai..kahin se aa gaye toh apne toh vaande ho jaayenge.” I can’t even drive without fear lest they pop up from somewhere... we can very well forget about reaching office then.

“Yaar, tumko kyaa tension hai, tum toh Marathi ho..agar pakda, toh bol dena, ‘Mee Pan Marathi Manoos aahe!’, chhod denge turanth!” I said. I think it came out more sarcastically than I intended. Dude, why do you have to fear, you’re a Marathi guy, tell them .. I am Marathi too; they’ll spare you immediately.

“Kyaa sir, aisi baatein karte ho. Abhi gaadi kaa kaanch phodne ke baad mereko sorry bolke kyaa faaida? Voh log toh sabse pehle phatthar phenkte hain..” How can you say that sir? They throw stones at passing cars. And what’s the point in apologising after the windshield is smashed?”

I knew the company wouldn’t pay for that. Nor can they claim insurance in riot like situations. Besides, windshields cost a bomb when smashed.

“Abhi voh Nashik main maara voh Hindustan Lever kaa employee, voh toh Marathi thaa. Kyaa hua? Raj ne maafi maanga. Lekin kya sir, Murder ke liye bhi maafi maangke nikal jaaneka kya? Saala, kuch kimmat hi nahi hai apna?” He asked. Last time, they killed an employee of Hindustan Lever. He turned out to be a Marathi. What did Raj do? He apologised. Well, can you walk away with a murder by just tendering an apology? What’s the value of our lives?

Well, it was an employee of Hindustan Aeronautics Limited who lost his life at Nashik earlier this year. And it was true that Raj’s men literally walked away with murder then.

The driver asked, “Sir, abhi raatko kaise kyaa neend aata rahegaa usko? How does he manage to sleep at night?

There was no way I could reply to this.

I looked outside. I was wondering the same.

Me and my Big mouth!!

I was at a queue again. This was for the ATM. It may sound quite boring too, but the song that I was listening to was "Hawa Hawa". I was smiling broadly and the pleasant drizzle was complimenting my cheerful mood.

The queue was not long but still an impatient man jumped the queue went ahead of us. The man behind me, well in his sixties, objected and asked him to join the queue. I was humming "Hawa Hawa" nonchalantly.

The man said, "Sir, I have to leave for Chennai urgently. Please understand."

The old man behind me was a Chennaite. He said , "Son, it's 4.30 PM and the next train for Chennai is at 7.30 PM. Whom are you trying to fool here?"

The old man looked at me for support and said ," I know! The train for Chennai is at 7.30 PM. He is lying. Are we fools to stand in the rain while he jumps the queue with such impunity?"

It was very evident that the man was lying to jump the queue. Yet I  said ," Sir let it be so. Who knows he might be in some emergency. This is the least we can do."

The old man looked at me with disbelief for having supported the man breaking the queue. He grumbled something about the lawlessness and indecency of people and finding no support, went quiet. A couple of minutes later, the man who had jumped the queue emerged from the cabin. He seemed a bit disappointed. He came out, stood lazily at the door of the ATM and said to his friend, "The cheque has not been cleared yet."

Needless to say, the old gentleman was seething!!