Life post break

is different. Bombay post break is different. Three short scenes on this different life so far. Thoughts and comments, as always, welcome.

*****

When did this being on break become cool? We (self and wife) were out for an evening walk the other day and I get a call from someone I know who was – as the term goes – slogging away at office. And it’s not the first one of these types I’ve got. Now I don’t think I’m appearing cool because it’s a decision I took and remember it’s you who’s getting the monthly paycheck. But if you’re gonna shower me with all the “lucky you, how does it feel” thing, then well, what do you expect? So here, this is what I’m up to. I’m taking a walk, seeing the sunset, soaking it all in, on a weekday. I never thought I could do it, and believe me, I wish I can keep this going for the rest of my life. And since you asked, yes, it feels great.

*****

The Bombay I knew from my office cubicle is so distant from the Bombay I see now. One thing I’m sure about is that Bombay sure isn’t dead. As long as its people run, Bombay’s full of life. Overflowing with life. Man, except me, everyone’s running. The poor run, the rich run. So do the young and the old (this seemingly 70+, woman almost trampled me when I came in her way today). Rich and poor alike. Running on the road, running on the railway tracks, running with their cars. All running for something, with something, because of something, towards something. I don’t know what makes them run. But as long as they run, Bombay runs. Don’t mistake this for the “spirit of the city” – if you did, then you’re probably a Bombay romantic. Or work for the media. Me? I’ve never believed in a “spirit of Bombay”. The only spirit Bombay has is money and it sure as hell keeps it high.

*****

The scene that will remain me for a long time is when I’m at a school playground catching up with someone I haven’t met in a while. We’re sitting, watching the kids play. They’re practicing running, athletics or whatever it is. Instructors are pacing the kids, the kids are racing with each other. The older ones are running laps. Over the playground and over the mud-kicked dusty air, the sun is setting, setting off its usual riot of colors in the sky that makes me linger on more to sunsets than sunrises. And there’s this palpable sense of freedom. Of absolute, boundless freedom. I can see it in the children, I can sense it in the air. As a passing thought, the concept of open space becomes more real to me than it ever has in my life. But there’s this freedom. As if all that’s there is that moment. That’s what it’s about really. How free do I want to be. Everything else kinda settles down around. Just like the dust and the grass around those kids.

Scenes from a city abroad

Singapore. Some scenes, some thoughts below. Comments, as always welcome.

******

Too sleepy to check out Changi Aiport. We’re now on our way to our hotel. Groggy, red-eyed, first impressions of Singapore. Long roads with loads of cars, all kinda cars. What speed are we going at? 100kmph? On city roads, what’s the deal? Am I dreaming or was that an angel I saw flying past in a Mini Cooper? Fast, but not furious.

******

Freshed up at hotel and out on the roads. I’m head over heels. What a city. The control freak in me implodes. I want to relocate here right now. I can’t believe there’s any place in this world where everything is so damn orderly. It’s too much to handle, really. Everything’s so clean, squeaky clean. I mean, why is everything so lush green here? (Updated: Here's the answer). There are plants and trees sprouting out of everywhere. Everywhere. I mean outside my hotel, on every street, corner, nook and cranny. All concrete and loads of jungle.

******

Malls. Lots of large malls. They call it Orchard Road. You can shop here forever. Which is something I don’t get. I mean, how much can you shop? Clothes, perfumes, jewelry, leather…How long can you spend there? Wife isn’t listening to me. But hang on, what’s this shop? Says “Bookbinder Designs, Sweden”. Such exquisite stuff, diaries, calendars, pencils. Must see. Must go. Must buy. Must shop.

******

“It’s the Truman Show, yaar” drawls a friend, puffing clouds of cigarette smoke. Huh? “Oye, I tell you. You look at each road at any given time. You’ll see the same car, taking the same turn, going to the same place. It’s all staged. There’s cameras everywhere. They’re watching you.” Too much coffee. But for a minute, he spooks me.

******

So, we’re waiting at the corner of a junction hailing a cab. Waiting and waving at cabs. Wife nudges, points to a small line of cars that’s formed in front of us, out of nowhere. They’re all calmly waiting. Huh? Duh? Wife whispers – “They’re waiting for us to cross”. Inadvertently we were standing at one end of a small zebra crossing. So, they’re waiting for us to cross. We hop over to the other side, barely four steps. Calmly the cars pass us by. These guys, they actually give way to people to cross the road. Faint.

******

The first Airbus A-380 was delivered to Singapore Airlines that day. On TV it’s the Prime Minister himself, addressing an event. Before I start scoffing (you know, what’s the big deal?), I catch the phrase “… in our relentless pursuit of excellence…”. I’ve never heard a nation premier talking about pursuit of excellence. Now, I’m feeling like the tourist I am from a poor, third-world, developing country visiting a developed one. Ticker below moves across “Mumbai Sensex: all-time high”. Am feeling a bit hollow.

******

At Night Safari now. I’m marveling at how these guys have done it. We’re in a tram with a guide explaining everything. We pass a rhino here, a lion there. Oohs and aahs rippling across. Louder ones at the amphitheatre with the nocturnal animals show. Hosted by nice, funny, trainers entertaining the audiences. And I’m thinking, ain’t this cool? This is what tourism is about. Making life easy and fun for tourists, make them go ooh and aah. You know, few animals, some fire-eating tribal dances, food joints (they’ve got a Ben & Jerry’s here). These guys are just brilliant, they’ve got it all figured out. I mean, there’s nothing particularly spectacular about the whole place. But they’ve put in focused effort, planning investment and packaged it as must-see Singapore. And it is, it is worth the visit. I’m thinking, what have we done with Kazirangha, Bandavgarh..just to name a few? More hollowness.

******

In conversation with friend. Idle touristy chat, I’m telling her “You know, someone once told me, long time back..pata nahin when, school, college, naukri.. that these guys throw vessels in the air to keep their names. Bartan phek ke naam rakhte hain.” Friend says “Haan suna tha. Not funny any more, na?” Silent nod.

******

I’m driving across the streets, seeing all the cleanliness, efficiency, order, discipline. We don’t hear a single honk – and I mean it, not a single honk – in all our time there. The cars, all of them, shine as if they’re new. No scratches or dents. So, I’m taking it all in. From nowhere I remember that Laloo-Japan PM joke (read the last one here). Not funny any more.

******

Walking across Clarke Quay. Vibrant, party atmosphere everywhere. People milling around, unwinding on a Friday night. Out on the streets. All dressed up and everywhere to go. Loads of trendy restaurants; there’s one based on a hospital (people sipping from an IV, chairs and tables themed on hospital beds. We go “Morbid”) and there’s even an oxygen bar. There’s this whole line of restaurants with seating extensions near the quay-side. Spanish restaurants, guitars strumming away. All in the open. I think I get the term “nightlife” now. Cross over to Boat Quay, which, I’m told is the poor cousin to Clarke Quay. Dinner at a “desi” joint. Friend says, best kaali dal in all of Singapore. Very, very yum.

******

And before I know it, too soon, I’m back in Bombay. There’s an Indica cool cab in front of me. One single word emblazoned on its back windshield. “Jesus”. Around the corner, three traffic cops talking to each other, some wearing tired expressions. Their day’s just over. Or just begun. Moving out of the airport. Across the slums, its dandiyas. Huge posters with bloated netas and a small place for God. Crowds of people thronging the dandiyas in those slums, colonies and chawls. Some watching, some dancing the night away. Lines of people, crowds of people, circles of peoples.

Dandiya. Mumbai. Jesus.

I’m home. Back home to the crazy, crowded, corrupted, congested city. Enough of Singapore detox. This is Bombay. I’m drugged to its delusions. Addicted.

“Itna bhar de, ki khaali kar de”

This city I tell you.

Cityscape Series

A.k.a. the "Scenes from a city" series. Just to put all these cityscape posts in one place, because I'm hoping that this becomes an ongoing series here.

1. Just another day in Sailu's life
2. The one about Delhi
3. Scenes from a city
4. More scenes from a city
5. One September Sky

One September sky

Or just another scene from the city. Just one this time.

I think Bombay reveals itself in these brief glimpses. You have to see it to know it. And they're always around. Like this one.

Around 6.30pm. You know, the time when nowadays, the clouds and the sun and the sky seem to come together in a riot of colors. September skies. I'm not kidding you. Check out the skies during sunset in September and they will be different than other months. The kinda skies that make you want to halt everything and marvel at the beauty that one sunset can be. Like an entire ritual on its own.

But this is Bombay. Life zooms you by.

So, I was halted at a signal, on Marine Drive. And I see this young lad cross the road before me. Shirt out, something held in his left hand. He bends and with his right hand reaches for the footpath. Gently touches it, then touches his hand to his forehead, his lips and his heart.

He strides forward on to the footpath and in a single movement his left hand unfurls and out comes one of those lighted yo-yos. The kind kids like (or do they any more?), the kind that make a line of light when you flip, toss and pull it. You know the kind you see people selling on Juhu, Chowpatty. On Marine Drive.

That's it.

He's selling these yo-yos. Or whatever they're called in Bambaiya.

That's him. Beginning his working day at 6.30pm on Marine Drive. A place he regards as his source of income. Something holy. He seeks blessings from it, says a quick prayer before beginning his day. You know, maathe pe lagaa ke.

Quite like the broker entering the stock market. Everyday. They do the same thing. Before they climb the stairs, they first touch the ground to their forehead and then begin their working day. Or the coolie at Dadar platform. Or...well, this is Bombay, I'm sure you've seen them. Business is religion. This is Bombay.

And Bombay treats its people the same.

That traffic signal where I saw this lad, had share-a-cabs and buses loaded with people returning from Nariman Point to Churchgate. And it had loads of cars with people. All going back after a day's work in the city. Earning a living. All of us in the same journey.

Just like this one lad, whose day would probably end at midnight.

All of us are one in our pursuit in the city. That fresh, clean-shaven, suited, booted lad who walks out of Bombay Airport, armed with his degrees and an acceptance letter for a high-paying job at foreign bank. He might not touch the ground and then his forehead when he walks off the airport. But he's in the city for the same reason as the lad above. I see both of them as one.

Just as I see the wealthy seth and the top-ranking CEO. All of them, they're the same as this guy selling these yo-yos. Or whatever he calls them. We're all the same, aren't we? In the pursuit of wealth, happiness, sadness, money...or whatever you call them.

Yes, Bombay is lived in these flashes. In these moments. Did you catch one?

More scenes from a city

Another trip back home, more sights, more thoughts. The city's the same.

For once, I leave when the sun's almost melting into the sea. Not after.

And a sunset at Marine Drive? Yes. That's what gets them there, doesn't it? Nothing like the sun and the clouds in frenzied colours. Grey, black, hint of white here, blue there. Oh and Marine Drive is being done up nowadays. Looking all swanky. Hong Kong, Shanghai, Singapore. Everything but. Bombay is only Bombay. Forever.

So there's the sheng-chana wala. There's the kids from Jaihind, Sydenham, KC, HR. Man, I used to come here on weekends with my friends all the way from Bandra. You know - lets go to town for a drive. Check out the babes, the townie crowd. Sheesh. I still come here. Everyday now. For work this time.

So, there's the kids. Then there's the posh variety. Young, old. Walking their dogs, brisk walking in their track pants, furiously, staring and glaring at anyone in their way. Evening walks and all. Man..where do they get all that time?

And then the couples. Endless pairs of couples. Arms around each other, intertwined. Sweet nothings all over. Coming back from work, going back home. Meeting up at Churchgate, going to Marine Drive. Catch the sunset. Spend time together till we get married. Or don't. So why'd you come home late? You know, work, it piles up.

There's also the singles. The men. Some staring vacantly into the sea. Unemployed, employed, lost-my-job-today, came-here-to-look-for-a-job. You know, nowadays they want someone who can talk English well, these private companies.

"I don't know if I can make it here. But hey, I'm enjoying myself before I leave tomorrow. I've seen Marine Drive in so many movies. When I go back and tell them I was here, they'll be impressed. They won't care if I didn't get a job. Wish I could take a photo. But tell me, uncle, how come they're no photographers here? there's so many of them at the Gateway of India."

Man, I feel so old sometimes.

Babulnath is really jammed these days. What is it with this Shravan fasting and the daily crowd at the temple? Hah. I remember what this Gujju friend told me about his brethren. Saale. Dikhaane ke liye vegetarian, Jain, no kaanda, no meat, no chicken. Saale. Then check 'em out in the night - having tangdi at Bade Miyaa and heading out to Topaz. Sab saale aisi-ich hai. I never met anyone who fit that profile. Yet I don't know why I keep remembering that story once in a while when I pass Babulnath. Funny.

Cadbury. Mahalakshmi. Traffic cops. That one looks new. Smart guy. Young. Crisp shirt, topi ekdum straight. Takes his job seriously. Maybe he'll stop that guy in that Skoda talking on his cell, while driving. Maybe he wont.

And the street kids. I think Bombay belongs to the street kids. I remember going to the Kala Ghoda Festival coupla years back to see a Terence Lewis dance show. So, once its over, they're packing up. There's still some chairs and tables lying around. You know, for the VIPs and all.

So, everyone's clearing the table, but somewhere some music is still playing. And there's this raggedy girl. Torn and dirty frock, frayed hair. Her family's begging somewhere around. But she slowly climbs on top of this white plastic table. No one's around her and the music's still playing. And she's swaying to the music. Unaware, unconcerned, blissful in that moment of nothingness and joy to some song. Her ma finally lands up from somewhere, drags her back with her. Oh thats ok with this kid. She goes off all smiles. That moment was hers.

Worli. Bus stops. Lots of them. And the people waiting for the buses. I don't know what it is about the journey home after a long day at work (are there any other types these days?). Its just special. Leaving for home to the people you love? Nothing like it. Makes the day worthwhile. Makes that boss a bit bearable. Even if he's the only thing on your mind at that time.

I see the people waiting there. You know, leaning against the bus stop. Looking out for the 83, or if you're lucky you might get an empty 84. If only they had more AC buses. The people at the bus stop. Some of them plugged into the radio on their phones. Some talking. That hurried smile. Two words on the phone, "attaach neeghaali", before the bus thunders in. Or a hurried one-word text - "left". Or a quickly wiped tear there, wonder what she was feeling sad about. She looked cute. What kinda guy....

Then Mahim. But you've been there. You've seen them, hunched up and bunched up. Waiting..hoping?...for food. They don't go away. They don't. This is Bombay.

And before I know it, I'm finally somewhere home. That familiar Bandra junction. That chaos at China Gate restaurant which is now an entire building. The traffic jam. Valet parking. Narrow, two-way lane. Chaos. All for food. Everyone lining up to get in. Minimum half an hour waiting. And they line up. Not hunched up but a bit bunched up. They don't go away. They don't. This is Bombay.

It gets tiring once in a while. This 20km trip I'm doing everyday. But its a journey home. Nothing like it.

Or the city. And its places and its people. Nothing like them. The city. If it won't kill you, it will probably make you harder. And run faster. And fall here and there.

This city I tell you.

Scenes from a city

The thing I love about Bombay is the space I get to think. Not that I need any space to think, except mind space. But still.

What works for me is the journey from home to office and back. Sure, traffic is torture, but what’s new?

I get some two hours to myself. I get two hours with the city. From Nariman Point to Bandra – that’s about 20kms. A journey that takes half-an-hour in the morning (I reach early) and about an hour-and-a-half in the evening/night.

Always a good time to think. And man, I’ve had stuff to think about. Loads and loads and truck loads of stuff. I hope to share what it's all about sometime.

But till then, here are some of my random thoughts and observations while I’m driving on my way home.

Nariman Point: Horse rides, merry-go-rounds, little scooters, bikes and various other paraphernalia. Yes, this is Nariman Point. After 8pm on weekdays and throughout weekend evenings, this place goes mad. It’s like a fair. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, all this in the middle of Bombay’s business district? Looks straight out of Juhu Beach.

So, I’m guessing that this crowd is from Colaba, Cuffe Parade, etc. You know, South Bombay yuppies and pappas and mummys, taking bacha party out for a ride in the only place available there. There’s a nice economy running there on its own. Including food, etc. etc. All they need is a park…which I think is also coming up nearby. Maja ni life.

Marine Drive: On the radio…

in dino, dil mera, mujhse hai keh raha…
tu khaab saja, tu ji le jara…
hai tujhe bhi izaazat, karle tu bhi muhabbat

I just love that song. That’s the only thing I liked in “Life in Metro” (that and perhaps Irrfan Khan and the ethereal Kangana Ranaut). Lovely song.

If only the 3-man band “Metro” had given this bearded dude more songs, because the other two (thin dude and angry dude) were very ordinary. (also read update below)

I love this song. Turn up the volume. Turn it up before they play something else. In dino, dil mera, mujhse hai keh raha…..oh yes.

I like Fever 104FM. I switched over to them (from Radio One) quite some time back. They have these RJs in the evening who go …“Hum hein aapke Drive Time Gangsters Divya aur Rohini”. One calls herself Uptown Girl and the other is…I can’t remember..but I don’t think it was Highway Star.

Marine Drive will always remind me of Sailu. Wonder where he is.

Chowpatty: This guy at office had once asked me why’s there a crowd outside Cream Centre every evening. I told him it’s because they sell leftovers at an 80% discount. So that big crowd you see, they're all waiting to get in.

And the crowd goes mad on the weekends. Those Cream Centre guys literally throw out food in the air, like people feed pigeons at Marine Drive. And all those well-dressed people, waiting outside for (almost) free food..they go at it like mad. You know, this is Bombay. He believed me. But then he’s not from Bombay.

Babulnath: Is Banganga somewhere near by? I just have to go there. (And also to these places that that indefatigable true blue Bombay Boy – Abodh – recommends.)

Vama Flyover: There’s this "HELP" sign at some Kemps Corner building that you can spot while passing over this flyover. Big bold letters in black. Someone once told me that people got spooked by this. You know, are there kidnapped kids trapped inside, crying out for HELP? But that’s not the case. It’s, in fact, a health library (not sure if its this). I tell you, this city…

Mahalakshmi junction: Street kid selling assorted books knocks on my window. I wave him off. "Nahi chahiye boss". He goes “Worli Naka, sir, Worli Naka?”. He wants a lift. Hop in kid, aaja meri gaadi mein baith ja. He tells me of a time when a driver in a Merc gave him a lift over the same distance. I tell you, this city…

Scene below Vama flyover: Yuppie in his Honda City parked below a 'No-parking sign' blissfully chatting away on his cell, in his car. Oh, he’s not breaking the law. Law says you can’t talk while driving. Law doesn’t say you can’t talk while you’re parked under a 'No-parking sign'. So it’s cool, dude, chat away. So what if the rest of the city’s honking behind you?

Oh, and those blinking indicator lights on your car? You know, those that go off together when you press that red triangle on your dash? See, those lights don't mean “Do not disturb, I'm on a call”. They mean "Help, help, I need help". Please remember that. Who knows..the next time I see you yakking on your cell in your car with those lights on, I might be tempted to break your window and rescue you.

Haji Ali Juice Centre: This place..with all the cabs parked outside, some with those green tube lights inside...reminds me of a superb scene in Maximum City – the one where a goon takes out a dance bar girl and they meet here. He tells the cab driver to take a walk, releases love-birds in the cab, and both of them try to catch these birds…which is how he gets to touch her for the first time. If I remember right, the book said that most of these birds also die in the car.

Worli Sea Face: Have they really sold that dairy there? Will a five star hotel really come up in its place?

Shivaji Park: Man…when will they finish making whatever they’re making out there? I mean, its dug up for ages. Come on.

Mahim: Parking lot. Bottleneck. Shut down the engine, chill out. Pull those windows down. Catch a glimpse of the dargah to your left. It comes after a small temple you just passed by on your right. Mandir, masjid, one road. I think a sequence in "Maqbool" was shot at this dargah.

To your left, chances are you won’t miss those small hotels. With hordes of people bunched up, sitting on their haunches…waiting. Some have empty looks on their faces, some are hopeful. All of them wait for a car that stops and hands out a Rs50/100/500/1,000 note to the hotel. Depending on what the seth (or his driver) of the car gives, that’s their dinner. At least for the lucky ones who get waved inside. Till a hand suddenly stops those left behind, from going ahead. Because, Rs100 only covers 10 people. The others will have to wait. For the next car to stop. For some guy who’d asked mannat at the dargah, or at Mahim Church…or in his heart…and is now fulfilling it by feeding the hungry. Some of those passing by in their cars look at this wretched lot and curse under their breath “saale…muft ka khaate hain”.

Bandra: Home. Finally.

Another day in paradise. Another day in the city.

This city, I tell you...

*****

Update: Via e-mail from Amit Varma: "In Dino...was only picturised on Preetam in the film (the bearded guy). It was actually sung by Soham, who didn't appear in the film at all, but did in the promotional video." Thanks very much for that Amit.

The one about Delhi

Self, family and large part of our khandaan were in Delhi over this last weekend for a marriage. Below are some excerpts, thoughts and conversations from the trip. Comments as always welcome.

***

I just love this city. The wide roads, the trees, the greenery, the historic structures. I’ve not stayed here much, and I’ve not seen Delhi in its entirety, so I guess I'm biased and not fully informed. Yet, I wish I get the chance to explore Delhi. And its food.

***

A lot of my memories and images about Delhi stem from movies shot in this lovely city. In reverse order, the ones I can recall right now are – Khosla ka Ghosla, Rang De Basanti, Lakshya in the last few years, before that Monsoon Wedding (and man, did we have one this weekend) and before that Silsila and Trishul. Yes Lodi Gardens, oh yes.

Wasn't Chashme Buddoor was also shot in Delhi ? I’m not too sure (Lallan Miya was a Hyderabadi, right ? I’m a bit confused..but then that place where Deepti Naval stays – remember Kahan se aaye Bhadra? – was so Delhi).

***

The car that picks us up from the airport has a red “PRESS” sticker, at the top left-hand corner of its front windscreen. The car we travel in the next day has “VIP: Rajiv Gandhi some-nirmaan yojana” on it. Neither car has a yellow-on-white/black number plate, as required for taxis. And the traffic discipline. Oh joy. Lanes are for losers, so are signals and speed limits.

***

Single white-board on a tree – one of many trees on footpaths aside roads that seem as large and as smooth as expressways to me – says “Depressed? For cure contact 981XX XXXX”. It was this solitary hoarding on a tree. Too late to click a snap, the signal turns green.

***

Happens with me all the time. So, I wait to recollect what I forgot to pack. This time, it’s a tie. So we (self and wife) go searching for one and land up at “Gargee Mens Collections” – authorized Raymond showroom.

I see it also has a sale of other brands going on. Enter to find six racks of ties. Each one I choose gets a withering look (in the best of Sir Humphrey traditions) from the wife. Not even the one with the dog with lightning bolts on his tail and clover leafs at the border makes the cut.

We finally agree on one, branded “Leonardi”, costs Rs1,095 with a 10% discount. I urge him for more, imploring that we’re from Bombay. He refuses to relent. And so it is that I walk out with my brand new Leonardi tie. Leonardi even has a website. Which I just visited, making me believe that I was had. One born every minute or so they say.

***

Like in Bombay, there are lads selling pirated books at traffic signals. I notice “Master Plan Delhi 2021” in his hand. “Master Plan Delhi 2021” ? which I'm assuming is this. The sight of this book mingling with “How to increase your motivation, confidence and sexual prowess in three simple steps” and “The Kite-runner” refuses to leave my mind. I can’t imagine the BMC’s Master Plan for Mumbai being sold at traffic signals back here. I’m sorry I can’t.

***

Does anyone use “Boss” out here like in Bombay ? Or is it just always Sir-ji ?

***

Phone rings, I pick up: Hello?

Family-member on way to marriage: Haan beta, ye jagah (venue for the marriage) kahan pe hai? Raasta bataana

Me: Haanji, namaste, ek minute rukiye.

(off-phone to other elders gathered nearby): acha, yahaan aas-paas ke landmark kya hai ?

Elder 1: Juhu

Me: Juhu ?

Elder 2: Arre haan, Jhoo, Jhoo.

Me: Juhu ?

Elder 3: Kaisa nalaayak ladka hai, samajh mein nahin aata kya ? Chidiya ghar.

***

So there’s this area with a raised floor next to a table with high-tech audio gear and mounted lightings.

Me (to a worker): Ye kaahe ke liye hai bhai?

Worker: DJ

Me: DJ ?

Worker: Haan, DJ

Delhi guy casually strolling nearby: Haan, haan, yaha pe normal hain

Me (in thought): DJ ? in a reception ?

(Later in the night, when the music is blasting and the DJ is rolling his tracks and I’m standing at the entrance, welcoming guests)

Cute kid clutching my coat from behind: Uncle, uncle, DJ kahan hain ?

(Before I knew it, she’s found the floor, which is already occupied with some 135 kids all dancing to Bidi.)

***

Wife: What does this “Bidi” song mean?

Me : Ah, you know, because it’s cold, you have to light a bidi and then your heart goes on fire.

Wife: then why is Saif telling Bipasha "padosi ke chulhe se aag lele" ?

Me: Er..


***

Meanwhile, SAJNA KE VAARI VAARI JAU MAIN blasting on the stereo

Me: What does “vaari vaari” mean ?

Delhi guy nearby: Oye yaar, like a girl telling her lover "main tujh pe maari maari"

Wife (also nearby): Oh, like you didn't know that, did you ? Hmpf.

***

Aye duniya ootpatanga, kitthe hath te kithe taanga, atte kukdi dendi baanga, ede chak de phattey. I think I’m getting it.

***

This smart and fair Delhi guy catches me and goes: "Acha haan, aap to Bambai se hain. Oye yaar, why don’t you shift to Delhi ? Tum log ki kuch life hi nahin hai. Subhe subhe uthke kaam pe bhaag jaate ho. Your houses are so dingy. Bahut chote hain yaar. Utne paise mein you can get a bangla in Delhi. Family ke liye time nahin, saath mein chai peene ki fursat nahin. Ha ha ha. You must shift to Delhi. Acha to chaliye, nice meeting you”.

Silence

***

Just another day in Sailu's life

Three friends walking down Marine Drive. 8pm. Bright lights, big city.

Me, Jigs and Jayant. Jigs was leaving for America in a few days. He’d just come back from the US Embassy. All his vital papers – bank statements, house records, education degrees, et al carefully stacked in a file. Finally headed for greener pastures. Leaving the city and the country behind.

Jayant was getting to grips with the bull-run on the stock market. A sub-broker, also working for a bigger Parsi broker. His life was all about hot-tips, what to buy, what to sell, how to make money, how to lose our shirts and then some.

So, there we were, sitting at Marine Drive. Staring at the vast expanse of the sea. Fobbing of channa-walaas, beggars, cold-drink sellers, masseuses and the like. And ignoring the lovers, snuggling away in a corner, enjoying their privacy in open space. That’s the beauty of the city. Your own private space among a million others.

One hour of thinking, contemplating, talking and cursing later, we turned around on the parapet to head back home. Jigs knocked off his file and it fell. Fell below into the tetrapods and rocks that form the barrier between the sea and the wall. Tetrapods filled with darkness in the night and infested by crabs, cockroaches and even humans. We had no way of seeing where it fell, leave alone chances of recovery.

Three friends now in a considerable state of disarray, panic and chaos. Jigs was cursing himself furiously - Damn ! how could I be so dumb? Flight tickets booked, visa in place, everything ticked off in that list. And then I lose all my papers. Kick them all myself into the tetrapods at Marine Drive. Oh ya, you’ve not heard that before. All of a sudden, the romance of Marine Drive and the beauty of the Queen’s Necklace were lost.

So Jigs runs across the street to buy a torch and batteries. You can find a Baskin Robbins, a Gaylord, a Pizzeria, a Berrys, a Shiv Sagar and an Indian Summer. But I’ll be damned if you can find a “general store”. Yet, somehow he got them. Ran back to us and three furious heads thinking of a way out. No, it’s not the usual Seinfeld situation. Desperation, yes, humour no. We couldn’t jump down, could we? Nah, we’d simply break our bones and still not find that file.

Then we spot a naariyal-paani waala. Would he ? Could he ? We’d pay him of course. Sure – three dudes at the start of their careers. How much could we have? Hey, we’d chip in Rs100/each. Rs300 is a lot of money, right? For a naariyal-paani wala ? Oh yes, it’s a lot. So, we approached him with our situation.

He asked us where it fell. There was no “X” that marked the spot, so we pointed vaguely below where we sitting. Our potential rescuer. Dressed in a shirt and lungi. Could he save the day and send off Jigs to the US?

Without further ado, he took the torch walked off to a corner we hadn’t seen. There was a hole there through the parapet that everyone sits on at Marine Drive. It led below to the tetrapods and the rocks. Before we knew it, he’d already climbed down, through the wall and into the tetrapods and rocks, infested with c, c and even h. We ran back up on the parapet, guiding him towards where the file had fallen.

He vanished between the rocks for what was definitely eternity for us, but not more than 5 minutes.

And then he surfaced. With the file in his hand. Yes ! V for Victory ! We have lift-off! Jigs was headed to the land of the brave and the home of the free (yikes, I think I mixed that up).

So, up comes our hero, our saviour. We ask him his name – he says, Sailu. He hands us the file and starts walking towards his stall. [No, hang on. No naariyal-paani wala has a stall at Marine Drive. He just lays out the coconuts, breaks the top, puts in a straw and there you have it. Only those who brave the Bombay summer every year now the absolute, sheer joy of naariyal-paani. Pepsi and Coke are for the wusses]

After thanking him profusely, we fish out Rs300 and offer it to him. He refuses to accept it. There’s a small language problem, but then anyone who sells anything on Bombay’s roadsides rarely cites bhaasha as a barrier of entry. He says he won’t take a single rupee. So we have three naariyal paanis. Rs30. That’s it. He doesn’t even talk much. He’s not giving us any speech of honesty, hard-work, tough life, screwed city, etc. He just went on to do what he did for a living. Sell naariyal paani.

Thirst satiated, hunt over and totally relieved, the three of us then figure that hey, we could give him our visiting cards – in case he needs our help. So Jigs is leaving India and he doesn't even have a card. And there’s also no point him giving his phone number and address. Me? I’d run out of my cards. Jayant gave him his card. Telling him to contact us in case he needed any help at any time. And that was that. Completely humbled, and perhaps even guilty, three lukhas walk away to their lives. And Sailu goes back to selling naariyal paani.

That was in 1999. Till date, Sailu hasn’t contacted Jayant.

Sometimes when I go back home, I think I spot Sailu at Marine Drive. Was that him ? No.., it was too dark that night to see him clearly. Where could he be? What would he be doing? We’ll never know.

Even as I blog this, I doubt Sailu would even remember the incident. Why should he? This is Bombay. Everyone’s gotta work for a living, rush to reach work on time for a living, slog for a living, brave traffic jams for a living and endure crowded trains for a living.

Yes, this is Bombay. Where Sailu also sold naariyal paani for a living.