The city of Mumbai, widely anointed with temporal sobriquets such as the city which never sleeps, the city of dreams, and the city with an indomitable spirit, has held an allure, a mystique and a sense of inadequacy for the millions living away from this remarkable convergence of humanity. The denizens of small towns, villages and even other metros are invariably in awe of this monolith, and millions of its residents. I persistently held the city in an inexplicable reverence for years, visiting it as a kid, and even as an adult. My first few trips to the behemoth after I’d attained the age and the ability to discern and judge from my own perceptions only served to entrench this awe, largely because I was only a temporary visitor who did not have to go through the grind of the average mumbaikar. I was not made to go through the travesties which make this city what it is. I was like someone who enjoys the rare kicks afforded by a dabbler as against the dope fiend who just cannot survive without his daily fix, even though he’s long ceased to experience the high associated with it. My perceptions changed dramatically when I actually had to experience the city at its rawest. And gradually the aura began to fade, the inanity of the sobriquets started hitting me and the collective human monolith broke down to show its simplicity and pettiness.
Having gone through a particularly harrowing journey in the peak of summer through the burning hostile territory of our country, the vidarbha region, I was sapped of all energy and my only desire was to rest in a cool, hospitable bed. Waiting for a friend who was expected to pick me up from Kurla, I went into a slumber enervated and apprehensive about taking the city on all by myself. I was bluntly brought to life when I realized that someone was trying to pull my bag from under my arms. I turned around to find a frowning cop wielding his lathi, and thus began my initiation into the ways of the city. Phenomenally pleased with himself, the policeman started giving me a liturgy on how someone could rob your pants off without your knowledge in Mumbai. Drop-dead drowsy as I was, I still managed to notice a twinkle in his eyes, as though he was extolling some saintly virtues of his fellow city-mates. This was my first lesson, the average mumbaiah is proud of everything about the city, more so, about the sleaze prevalent therein. Anyway, I was summarily kicked out of the station, having been informed that this was not a place to sleep. I could not have agreed with him more, had I not seen at least a hundred more, with my limited range of vision, committing the same crime that very time in front of my eyes.
Having given up on my friends’ arrival, I took the cop’s advice and ventured into the frying pan, the first time on my own, feeling circumspect and drained like never before. I was not unprepared, though, I was aware of the approximate distance to my destination, as well as the fact that travelling in a local train was the best option. On enquiring about the local trains, I got a look which was a combination of condescension, exasperation, and ‘what a moron’, with the concise explanation that I had to go to kurla to catch a local. I was quite bewildered, being under the impression that I was already at Kurla. After guiltily pestering a few others, who were in a tremendous hurry and considered any obstruction in their furious tempo a sacrilege, I discovered that I had to go to another station, roughly 1 km away. While a few auto-drivers bluntly ignored my pleas to take me to the kurla station, a bystander, or rather, a by-racer; as noone actually stands in the always-in-a-hurry city, started giving me a lecture on how easy it was to walk one km. Ignoring his advise, I decided to take the road route.
Thus began another going-nowhere discussion with the autowallas about getting to lokhandvala. Meanwhile, a sikh driver, ostensibly moved by my plight, came up with a ‘helping hand’, snatching my luggage and dumping it in his cab without a moment’s notice. Though somewhat aware of the dent travelling in a cab would make in my wallet, I was too pooped to ignore my mind’s frantic pleas for a respite. The cabbie feigned complete ignorance about lokhandwala in andheri, which I’m sure every single resident of Mumbai would agree, was quite preposterous. After seemingly scouring the whole city for the elusive lokhandwala, the cabbie probably developed some sympathy for me. Following a two hour quest which I slept through, we finally arrived at the apparently obscure lokhandwala complex at andheri. Pretty much expecting a hefty amount, I paid up the taxi and finally reached my destination. Almost at the point of losing my bearings, I experienced unprecedented delight when I found a bed laid out for me in an air-conditioned room and what followed was a marathon 17 hour sleep to prepare myself for bigger challenges in the days to come.
