I had touched down on Bombay twice or thrice. But my association remained the small journey from Santa Cruz to Bandra station, on the way to Ahmedabad. And except for the vast expanse of the blue roofed slums that you see while you touch down, Dharavi they call it, there is only so much I had seen of Bombay. This two month internship, a sojourn with the corporate world  before I move on with Management degree, gave me the perfect  opportunity to explore Bombay.

And let me tell you, more than anything else, I was afraid. All my life I have lived in sleepy towns. A proper small town in Guntakal, school was a two minutes run and the whole of town could be covered in half an hour flat. Suburbs of Hyderabad cut away from the hustle and bustle of the city that Hyderabad is now trying to be. A sleepy small city in Bhubaneswar, cocooned in the comforts of a closed campus in Ahmedabad, I have lived a blissful, laidback life all through. Infact, the only luxury I have always allowed myself is minimal use of the alarm clock. Managing time was never a problem, passing time was. Bombay was a contrast. The picture that I have always carried of Bombay is beautifully captured in a song in Taare Zammeen Par, people running, scrambling, trying to catch up with time, always on the move. It was going to be a drastic change.

I did what any new Mumbaikar would do. Stayed put with a friend till I found an accommodation. Living in Navi Mumbai  gave me the perfect opportunity to experience the great Mumbai local rides. I had heard a lot about it. From BBC documentaries to so awesomely shot scenes in Saathiya, I knew what I was up for. Every one of us novices are warned. Beware of the crowds we are told. Be ready to be shoved, be ready for any eventuality when you are on the local. How can we forget the bomb blasts, yeah that too is an eventuality. Inspite of all the warnings, you are taken by surprise by the vast sea of people you find on the stations. It’s like Bombay runs a 365 day mela and there are crowds everyday. 

But then again, it’s a very very pleasant experience to travel by the locals. They are by far the most automated train service in the world. You just need to be on the way. Before you know, you will be thrown out of the bogie, yeah, you just have to sway with the crowd and you will get inside too. No, you don’t need a gym, you will get all your weight lifts, massages and stress training. If you are lucky enough, you will get enough space to rest both your feet. And if things are normal, you may have to travel on a single foot. Yeah, I have had all the regular experiences. Pushed out at Kurla while I intended to travel further. Hopeless attempts to get in and failing at that. Envious glances at half empty ladies coaches while the men’s coaches are jam packed. The furtive glances of the Mumbai couples and the not so furtive PDA. The quarrels, the bawls, the helping hand which will push you inside and let you come on board, the stunt master who would perch by the window sil, Taking wrong trains, ending up in Bandra when all you wanted to go to was Kurla, the two extremes of the world, Bandra east and Bandra west, you see it all in a weeks time. And by the end of the week, you are a certified Mumbai local traveller ready to train and guide new novices. There would be plenty of them.

People seem to have gotten used to walking fast, almost running. I am reminded of Gandhiji in those silent black and white videos, walking briskly. Everybody is in a mad rush, to catch up with life, to go to office on time, school, catch the next local, catch the next bus, get ahead of the crowd, it’s a mad scramble. There are these competitive lot who keep talking about how you have to compete every minute. These are the types who will tell you that you have to compete with a billion others for everything in this country. I always used to laugh at these doomsday sayings. Having led my complete life at a leisured pace, I just could not take in the mad rush.

Having said that, I have to admit that Bombay is a great leveller. Everyone here is equal. Dignity of labour you could term it. The guy who polishes the shoes and the guy who gets it done, both carry on with their business of life with equal dignity. Its a great paradox then that so many communal riots have broken out in this otherwise awesome city where you are just another brick in the wall, in no way different than the next brick and yet, with equal opportunity to stand out from the crowd.

If the busy pace of life is the first thing that strikes you, the second thing has to be its love for paav. If not for the ubiquitousness of the word ‘paav’, I would have called it simply a bun. But that would be committing sacrilege when you are in Bombay. Paavbaaji, wadapaav, aalupaav,bhajjipaav,yehpaav,wohpaav,  mumbaikars can not even think of eating anything at all unless it is tucked inside two soft b..sorry...two soft paavs. And rightly so, I have eaten the so very famous kirti college Wadapaav and I have become a convert for life. My salary is due in some days and I somehow fear that the company is going to give me my cheque, safely tucked in between two paavs. Salarypaav we may call it!

Tailpiece: One of my colleague innocently asks me, ‘So you intend to settle down in Bombay ?’ I seem to be in a dual thought. The mad rush and crammed up space makes me believe that there is no more space for even a bee to come into Bombay  now. But the allure of the city makes you wish that it is accommodating enough to let just one more fellow to squeeze in.