Bits of Bombay

Boredom... Intense Boredom!

2010-01-25T19:24:00.003+05:30

shite ... wrong blog

Best of Bombay

2009-04-30T16:35:00.113+05:30

(The rest of the city has the day off today for elections so I, in the spirit of holidays, am doing no work either.)

I noticed that the past few times I've posted on this blog was to only report negative things about the city. So I figured I should break the mold and write something positive.

In the latest series of nights out, a bunch of us decided to try the IPL Bar Crawl since free entry, a drink on the house and a joyride around South Bombay in an open top double decker bus sounded like something we should try. The cricket match was also going to play on big screens to keep the sports fans happy. We paid 750 a head which covered 1 drink at each place and we were to make 3 stops in all. The Best of Bombay lot that were putting the crawl together were well organized, down to liquor licenses for all of us for the night and red bands to keep us identified. I can imagine keeping the randoms out of the crowd would have been a logistical nightmare for them with the 70 odd people who had signed up for the night.

Our first stop was Henry Thams. Some of us hadn't been there before (not for lack of trying since the last time we went on our own pub hop we walked away having found out that Happy Hours had ended for the night). We were pleasantly surprised to find out that the free drink wasn't the usual pre-mixed sweeter than sugar daiquiri variety they usually serve on ladies' nights. We had a choice of 2 whiskeys (I forget the brands since I tend to tune out at the mention of Whiskey) and Absolut. And to add to the joy, we could avail of the Happy Hours discount that was on. BoB had already earned our praise. Once equipped with our poisons of choice, we looked around taking in the trickling crowd. We duly introduced ourselves to the organizers and discovered how small a world it actually is, since one of them was related to a college junior of ours. The job weary lot of us also promptly asked them to employ us since what they did for a living was a damn sight more fun than drafting agreements (I hear they're hiring right now. Must check the Careers section of their website). While the boys watched the cricket match, Ruma, Alice and I amused ourselves with the free shots they were handing out to women in multi-coloured-blinky-light glasses. Finally they announced the move to the next stop.

We rushed to stand first in line so that we could get seats right up front upstairs on the bus. No real point to being on an open air bus otherwise. In true Indian Railway style, we also reserved seats for the men, since they were taking their own sweet time proceeding to the bus. Once everyone was loaded, we were off to Bootleggers. I have no idea how the driver managed to navigate that behemoth of a vehicle around the narrow lanes of Colaba but he managed, including going the wrong way on the road making 8 cars coming in the opposite direction back up. I'm sure they were muttering all kinds of curses at the big bully of a bus. We also didn't really notice how tall these double deckers were till people at the back started yelling "tree!" and people standing ducked to avoid the branches from merrily lopping off their heads. After a while it just became funny until someone yelled, "seriously guys, trees!" The whole experience was so much fun that Q declared that he wanted to drive a double decker bus when he grew up.

Bootleggers is by far my favourite pub in Bombay. It is non pretentious and plays 80s music that we drunkenly dance to every time. What more can you ask for? Our free drink was a dangerously electric blue concoction but it encouraged our loudly singing along to Go West's King of Wishful Thinking. It also helped that the BoB people were pouring neat Absolut down people's throats. As we left for the next destination, we asked ourselves why we were leaving, just the way we did the last time we were there. Here's a thought. Next time, let's stay.

The second time on the bus was on the lower level because one, we didn't find place upstairs, and two, we were well on our way to being very high. Not the best idea to be swaying around on top of a bus. The ride to Czar at the Intercontinental was amusing to say the least since the bus made frequent halts on Marine Drive and the inhabitants of the bus did a brilliant job of entertaining the curious onlookers. The remixed tracks at Czar weren't really my taste but served well enough for those of us too drunk to care what we were dancing to. By the end of the night, we were happily high and danced out. We collectively collapsed at the Intercontinental coffee shop, as has become somewhat of a tradition now for us and then crawled home by about 4 am.

All in all, it was a really fun night. We may not latch onto every bar crawl that comes our way since we also have our own plans for Lower Parel, where the bus can't enter because of all the flyovers, but it was a good place to begin.

Stop in the name of the Police

2009-02-20T12:39:00.015+05:30

Police nakas. I have so far encountered them in this city at nearly every corner and turn I've taken. I know security measures since the attacks have been increased and I'm OK with that. What must be done must be done. But I would really like it if the police actually applied their brains when placing these naka bandis.

First of all, a little more distance between the barricades would be great since maneuvering around them usually requires nothing short of F1 skills for most cars. Thankfully, the modern ones come with power steering but the old taxis find these fairly painful and take an age to negotiate past them, holding up all the traffic on the road.

Secondly, place them strategically! What is the point of having a flyover, which is supposed to help you go past traffic snarls below, if there is a barricade on the flyover itself? At peak office hours that too? Makes the flyover completely redundant is what it does. And who on earth places them at an intersection? There's already a traffic light, which a majority of people follow and therefore, come to a halt at periodic intervals. Sufficient time I think for the cops to check license plates and generally determine whether anyone has that 'suspicious' look happening. But no. They will be innovative and place these things on any stretch of road that strikes their fancy. Nothing like making office commuters really earn their morning coffee at work or dinner at night.

Finally, it would be really fantastic if these barricades actually served a purpose and the police checked the vehicles. I've seen most of them standing around, chatting, drinking chai and generally having a good time. And it's usually not one or two cops. It's an entire mini-van full of them, some even decked out in helmets, bullet proof vests and guns. So not only do they slow down traffic with their slalom race type placement of the barricades, they park the van in the middle of road making the ride even more exciting.

Why, God, why?

Nation State and other hyperbole

2008-12-01T12:25:00.049+05:30

In the aftermath of the Bombay terrorist attacks (I refuse to call it 26/11. All terrorist attacks don't get lumped into the same category of events with dates. And this one wasn't a one day only affair), heads are predicted to roll and the politicians are out playing their everlasting games. The Home Minister has put in his papers for his abysmally low performance in keeping terrorists and other nut cases at bay. What he was doing while 5 cities got blown up one by one beats me. Perhaps packing for his move to another country.

The CM was accompanied by his son and a Bollywood persona while inspecting the damage at the Taj, no doubt to enable a full script and dialogue of the events that passed. After all, the Indian masses are just dying (no pun intended) to have the whole horrific incident replayed on a giant screen and watch the Khans take on the lead roles in cine military. What's a little profiteering from tragedy?

NDTV saw Barkha Dutt take on the role of person most likely to be publicly slapped. In 3 days she went from being just annoying to having a FB group being opened asking for her to be gagged. She also encouraged me to write an extremely rude email to NDTV, asking for them, for the sake of all our sanity, take her off air. That's the first time anything has ever gotten me this angry.

What should have been a reality check also resukted in the corporate heads in the city getting together and conjecturing on what can be done to make "our city" a better place. As much as I'm sure Bain and ELP are headed by brilliant businessmen, to have them zoom in for the public relations kill on this issue was nothing short of sickening. People have died. Have some respect!

And finally, the neighbor who is apparently at the root of the entire incident. I know we aren't supposed to generalize and that this is the time to unite and all that jazz. I also know that the faith probably has little to with the nut cases that seem to emerge from that frontier, but at this point I'm finding it pretty hard to believe that they are all innocent. We need to either take action or just let them take over the country. Perhaps then the carnage will stem.

Surreal

2008-11-28T10:20:00.065+05:30

Most of you know what's been happening in this city for over 30 hours now. When news first broke on Wednesday night, Alice and I were thankfully already home. And now I am just thanking my stars we didn't head to town or make any plans, as we tend to do on a Wednesday night. It's the whole blowing off steam mid-week thing.

News was coming in bit and pieces and no one was very clear on what exactly had happened. Then we heard about the bomb blasts at Vile Parle, very close to Ruma's place, and the various incidents at VT, Metro cinema (where we go very often), Leopold, and the hotels. I can only tell you how surreal the whole thing felt. Messages were flying back and forth confirming that everyone we knew was OK and calls came in from family and friends abroad. As we watched, places that we frequent were being blown up, friends we knew felt the reverberations of gunfire and blasts in their homes and general mayhem in the city ensued. After a few hours, we went to sleep thinking the situation would be resolved that night only to wake up the next morning to more people being killed, hotels having been destroyed and nothing being resolved.

What was the most pitying fact was that the government machinery had deployed the police, the army, the navy, rapid action forces, anti-terrorist squads, and militia of every shape and size and now, nearly 36 hours later, about 10 people are still holding hostages. A lot probably has to do with the media giving out meticulous reports of how the military operations were being planned and carried out. They reported on which pillar and tree the personnel were hiding behind with startling accuracy, which I'm sure the friends of these suicidal maniacs were faithfully conveying to them. Evidently sense has nothing to do with journalism.

What also struck us as strange were the repeated reports on how 6 Israelis had been taken as hostage. Towards what end? Praying that the Mossad was watching and another Entebe operation could be carried out? Watching the Indian military wringing their hands and carrying out their "final" operation over 12 hours has been nothing short of frustrating. And by the end of yesterday, we were just numbed. With the world watching us fumble with this situation, it's nothing short of a kind invitation to China to declare war already. We clearly don't know what we're doing.

Today dawned to this city bouncing right back into action. Barring South Bombay, where 3 buildings are still under siege, most of the city is back at work and people have resumed normal life. A lot has been said about the resilience of this city and the "Bombay Spirit" and I don't know whether it's a good thing. On the one hand if people resume work, it lets these maniacs know that they haven't got the whole city under their grip and lessens the attention on them. On the other hand, we hear that there are 6 of these mental cases loose in the city with arms. And I get that if you aren't affected directly then you may not feel the actual impact of the situation. But at some point this resilience needs to stop turning into blind recklessness and people need to realize that stuff like this is not OK, and that it's not an everyday occurrence. More importantly, the government really needs to sit up and rethink our security measures.

At this point, I really hope that the god that these people believe in is taking down their names and plans to roast them alive over a spit. Fair trial my foot.

Just a thought

2008-11-10T10:05:00.000+05:30

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/09/weekinreview/09giridharadas.html?pagewanted=1&ei=5124&en=ee93ddd123fc1c8f&ex=1383886800&partner=facebook&exprod=facebook

Classic Case

2008-09-02T09:08:00.047+05:30

Bombay is the only city I've known where the national anthem plays in the movie halls. And people are forced to stand up for it. It's even more painful when you have to stand through the entire two and half minute rendition of the song that Adlabs has chosen to adopt for its choice of forced patriotism, which is possibly the slowest version in the history of mankind. I've never understood the concept behind it. Do people know that the song was originally written for the erstwhile rulers of the land, who landed on Indian soil to kind of take a tour of the place that they had been ruling? And the country in its infinite wisdom decided to adopt the song as its own. Fine. No issues there. Can't help the idiocy of the ruling governments. But what on earth has possessed the evolution of this anthem rule in the city theatres? Answers anyone? Patriotism is fine for people who have a strain of it. For those of us who don't, it's just painful.

Another brand of it has recently emerged with the city signboards being compulsorily changed to Marathi. Most states have a dual language rule, English and the local language. That way most people understand. But no. We must be completely lunatic and insist that all signboards be changed over. So this has resulted in strange results where ATMS and coffee shops have pasted a plastic Marathi version over the existing English boards to comply with the dictat.

And as if the bursting traffic wasn't enough, the impending Ganapati festival has just thrown all roads into a tizzy. So what would have taken me 30 minutes, maximum, to reach home, took me nearly an hour and a half. Yes, I understand it's a big deal. He is most people's favourite God and all that. But seriously, I wish people would get some perspective. And it's not just this one occassion that begets chaos. It's EVERY festival.

Sometime this city is a small town with large city aspirations. Isn't it time to grow up already?

Mumbai Cricket

2008-08-06T16:45:00.001+05:30

Was cleaning up my folder- saw something I had written eons ago and not posted. For no good reason, here is that post.

As always, if I am writing, I am linking my writing to cricket, so my apologies to one and all especially to the contributors on the blog.

For someone who stayed in Bombay for only a year (and hated a majority of that time), it is remarkable that all emphasis in relation to Mumbai cricket is solely on its gully cricket and the honoured (and somewhat famous?) ground that was graced by the presence of Mr. Tendulkar in his formative years. Somehow, no one ever seems to speak about, to glorify and appreciate the other cricket grounds in Bombay.

For a city that has some of the world’s most expensive real estate, it is a testimony to the city’s love of cricket that a substantial stretch of Marine Drive, an area that was recently rated as one of the top 5, most expensive real estate properties in the world, is home to several (with emphasis on several) cricket fields. Forget the Wankhede and the CCI and think of the Railway cricket ground and the Muslim Gymakhana ground (though I am not sure that is exactly what is called).

Be it chilling at Dome or heading to Inox for a movie or to Leo’s for a drink and some beef, every weekend (and maybe even every weekday, though that is something I cant vouch for), it is impossible to travel on Marine Drive without looking to your left (and ignoring the sea on the right!), and feeling jealous of that enthusiastic bunch whose lives are dedicated to playing cricket. Even as Madhu continues to jabber in your ear about her bai or her bhai (I am still not sure if she has the pronunciation right), the sound of wood connecting with leather or the yell of a frustrated bowler or the excitement over a potential chance to run someone out or hold a catch is inescapable!! A remarkable setting for a cricket ground – sky scrapers to the left of it and to the right, the local railway lines behind it and the sea to the South, no further away than a decent hit. With the steady hum of traffic on one of Bombay’s busiest roads, it does make for quite a setting, specially the railway cricket ground floodlit for its evening matches.

What makes it even more remarkable in a city like Bombay (not Mumbai) is that for a city that has no time for anything or anyone, a multitude of people will invariably be seen mulling around, sitting with a cup of tea and a packet of chana and watching the cricket. Like always, everyone has a word of advise, a different fielding position and an enthusiastic mime of how he would have played that shot.

We tried, me and Arka and Khare to play some cricket in Bombay – never did manage to play outside the house. But we did mull about on Marine Drive, with a coke, a cigarette and a packet of chips, with the sea at our backs and cricket in front of us. For all the women that are contributing to this blog, I think the feeling of contentment would be something equivalent to a good days shopping on fashion street!

Rain?

2008-07-15T17:12:00.006+05:30

It Bombay and it's the monsoons. Where is the bloody rain? I had heard so many stories of floods and how its only sheets of water during the rainy season here. This year we've had a sum total of 10 days of real, actual, pouring, and 1 day of being flooded in! The rest of the time has gone in some poor excuse for precipitation and cloudy days. The weather has been very pleasant so I'm not complaining about that but where's the water? It all started with much promise and then fizzled out. I'm feeling cheated. The government is actually contemplating cloud seeding to induce rains this year. At this rate Cheerapunji will go right back on top of the list for rainy destinations. Shameful!

finally...hello!

2008-06-17T10:23:00.002+05:30

After one month on Bombay (or has it been more)...i finally decide to write in my first bit on bombay :D

For me, the Bombay experience is hardly about the city at all. It represents so much that I've been craving for for the longest time - some independence, some personal space, doing things as I please and how I please - just that sense of absolute control over my own life. The fact that this city actually has a lot of avenues to 'live it up' is a great plus!

So even though, like most of the bit-writers I spend most of my waking hours in office, just the fact that the rest of my time is purely mine practically intoxicating. Add to this the fact that, like Mem says, Bombay has more room or spontaneity than any other city in this country. Feel like a dance? a movie? a drink? its just a cab ride away..morning noon or night.

So much more to say but terms of emplyment require that I actually work. More bits to come...ciao!

Checking off the list

2008-04-06T12:08:00.010+05:30

Ink is leaving Bombay in almost a month's time and she's drawing up lists of things to do before she leaves. So as part of the endeavour, we visited Linking Road and Hill Road the other day and contributed to the economy, buying you will only find there. We shall hopefully achieve everything on her list before she leaves, including Essel World on a weekday (snigger if you like but I think it's part of the Bombay experience).

Another thing we ticked off was China House on a Friday night. Celebrating Ink's birthday and Alice's new job, we decided to visit what is supposedly Bombay's most happening club. We strode in (Ink's name having been on the guest list we could walk in with appropriate authority) at 1 am on Saturday morning, dressed in our Bombay chic along with an office bedraggled UK, having tanked up on food and alcohol at dinner earlier that night. By way of amusement, it rated a 2.5 on my scale. With very average music, throngs of Bombay college kids, startlingly little eye candy, I can safely say we gave it a try and decided the experience was over and left about an hour later. By way of introductions though, we welcome Alice to our world now and hope that she will call this city home for a while :)

What's next on the list ladies?

mumbai mayhem

2008-03-30T00:28:00.002+05:30

So its time for Bombay reminiscing again.

Despite the fact that I stayed in Bombay only a short short time, I loved every minute of it.
(Ok most of it. Ok some of it.)

I also missed Bangalore like crazy and home and family and all of that. However now back in Bangalore safely in the lap of family and comfort like clean rooms, hot meals and early bedtimes I can safely wallow in Bombay nostalgia and the irregular hours, uneaten meals, unwashed clothes and crazy spontaneous plans.

One of things i like best about Bombay is the ability to do crazy interesting things (ok maybe just things minus the crazy and interesting adjectives) at any time without having to worry too much about logistics and curfews and such like. Of course the fat paychecks helped greatly in ensuring this spontaneity. The city had so much potential though most of our times was spent in office or despondently downing drinks at home.

While I believe we dint tap the full potential, here goes a a list of sudden burst of enthu activities for a bunch of fundamentally laidback and non adventurous souls that I suppose could happen only in Bombay. Please add to list:

1. Visting the beach at 2 a.m : and discovering that its CROWDED and that you are better off laying spread eagled at you terrace at home.
So one night TM and TK are lying around in my Andheri flat doing nothing (once again despite the many spontaneous interesting avenues that bombay provides). There are only so many whiskies you can drink and cigarettes you can smoke without wanting to head out and go to the beach. At this point we are still not very familiar with Bombay and we step outside with a vague idea of heading to Juhu beach and are wondering if we will find an auto to the beach. We walk into SV road and there is not one but hundreds of autos and two hundred taxis. So we squeeze into a auto (and a squeeze it was TM and TK really!) and ask to be taken to the beach. As we gape in wonder at the fact that there can be a traffic jam on SV road at 2 in the morning, I recollect that the chat stores in the beach had been cleared away. Oh well it would mean no food but well at least the beach will be relatively deserted I though looking at the bright side. Wrong. The beach was crowded. More crowded that it would be in the evening. What are all these people oing here if there are no chaat stalls around I wondered - they play cricket and gilli danda and generally scream and run about and remind you that you are in Bombay and there is no space to be had - at any time of the day anywhere. A short walk in the beach later we headed back home and headed to the terrace of my 12 storey flat and looked at the buzzing street below- alone , content, having found space at last. We lay there for a good bit enjoying the quiet and wondering how long we could last up there if we killed TM and used his carcass for food. Quite a while we concluded except for lack of water and a disinclination to call my roomate on her cell phone and wake her up to bring us some water (despite it being strongly urged by TM and TB) we headed back down to that pulsing noisy crowded city

2. two girls going to a disco at 1 a.m: after making a plan to go there at a reasonable hour like 11:00 p.m and abandoning it cos they are too cool for shot like discos now and chose to stew at home instead drinking gin with olives on it and flicking through MTV listlessly till you hear 50 cent going 'go shorty go short. we gonna party like its your budday'.

Ruma and I suddenly galvanzied by 50 Cent booming through her 25 inch Tv at 1.00 a.m change into our 'partay' clothes and head out into Hunman galli in Ville parle where voila there they are the wonderful autos to ferry us to a disco at Juhu. Where they offered free shots for ladies! where a pretty chick took a shine to me and runa, where stranger are given name like 'Todd', where you cannot recollect much else. Wonderfful autos were also willing to fferry us back - at no extra charge - except for err 'cleaning'. I managed to leave a trail from the disco to runas house it seems. I will not elaborate.

3. Trip to Goa: Yaaay after it being planned and unplanned a thousand times.

Ok the happening of this trip less to do with Bombay and more to do with Ruma and Ruma’s connection with Goa and Ink’s long suffering deal.

So ink and I made a plan that we’d go to Goa and canceled it and tried to go ahead anyway and canceled it yet again and decided to uncancel and so on and so forth as Ink drafted and negotiated and redrafted and renegotiated, deleted clauses and added them endlessly till she called suddenlly at 8 and announced that we were off to Goa. Straight from office picking up her bag of gym clothes we headed to catch an overnight bus which would take in Dadar which would take us to Goa. The driver threatening to leave and promising disappointments in store for those who dint plan and book well in advance nevertheless managed to accommodate us in his overnight bus. Ink and I settled snugly into our polyester sarees that we bought on our way to the bustop (having failed to find a store that sold bedsheets in out short office to Dadar trip) and some hours later we were in goa!! yaay for the funnest holiday ever.

Many many such random spontaneous activities, incluiding getting off a plane at twelve to be escorted to party at inks and rumas, including long long island iced teas in dome, including scavending for food at bades or other taxi driver haunts are much missed now in the wake up uber early for a marginally more comfortable commute to office, call and inform home/parents/other loved ones if to be heading out, call and book a taxi if returning late, 11:30 last drink world.

Sigh.

Bombay blues

2008-03-26T17:07:00.004+05:30

Today I have the Bombay Blues

Strangely enough most of my bombay blues is coming from Bangalore.

Its beautiful in Bangalore. Its raining. Insanely. Its cool and windy. And perfect for chai and cigarettes and reminiscing

Reminiscing about being stranded in my Andheri flat in Bombay because of the the 5 feet deep rivulets below. Brandy chai and ciggarettes had by the balcony watching the childrens playing area below turn into a pool. Perpetually wet clothes on chair backs and dining tables. Hurried 5 minute trips to the neighborhood stores to stock up on cup o noodles and daaru. Filthy filthy trains rides to office. Salwars and Chudiraars ends always muddy. Taking a taxi ride through marine drive in the rains with the waves lashing on to the road.
Miss my flat, my do as you like schedules, my dirty cupboards and unswept floors, my lack of a car.

I know if i hop on a plane and get to Bombay it wont come back. It will be hot and sweaty and my flat will be gone and the people changed and marine drive less majestic and the rains more annoying rather than amorous.

But still. Sigh. In an act of extreme senti-ness:

Blue sea,

dark blue, a murky blue

Fish smells in the air,

cigarettes too

Wet and salty on your skin

Skies are clear,

day is bright

Not pretty,

horribly dirty

Sounds hit you from everywhere

Street cries,

vehicles honk,

People walk

people talk

To phones, to each other

to cab drivers and vendors

Step step quickety quick

walk faster doge move skip

miss that rubbish,

sidestep, swerve, maneuver

that outstretched hand

tugging at you

Inhale that smell, that sound

that colour, the blue

the dark blue, the murky blue

Today I have the Bombay blues

Climbing back on the tree

2008-03-17T20:12:00.008+05:30

Ask any woman who's picked Bombay over Delhi and they'll tell you one of the reasons is because of the safety of Bombay roads, how we can ride home late at night and not worry about being mauled. Apparently that doesn't hold true anymore.

Last night, after a pleasant evening in town, Ink, Ruma and I were heading home at the reasonable hour of 10.30 in a taxi and minding our own business, discussing work politics and such like. As we were nearing Mahalakshmi, we saw some yahoos on bikes pass us, whistling and making the usual "comments" that apparently make them 'cool' humans, and as conditioned to do, we ignored them and continued chatting. The morons on wheels decided that their Sunday night entertainment would consist of surrounding our taxi and proceeding to harass us. At first, I preferred not to react because we all know how the slightest response only fuels their attempts to get your attention. But at the same time, we were taken by complete surprise because behaviour like this is not something you associate with Bombay. It simply had not entered our field of thinking. And I guess more than anything else, our real cause for concern was that there were so many of them and we were on a fairly deserted road so it may have been possible to have stopped our cab.

So after about a kilometer of this nonsense and our taxi driver trying his best to get rid of the ninjas, we decided enough was enough and started to take down the bike numbers and made an obvious show of it. Some sense dawned on the cro-magnon men and they yelled asking what we were doing. Having them surround us for a good 500 meters more gave us ample opportunity to take down their registration numbers and verify them which was most considerate of them, I must say. We then decided to be the lawyers we are and called the cops. It was the first time for Ink and me to have ever dialled 100 (I don't know why that's so momentous, but I think it merits a mention). Not being one to speak the language, Ink proceeded to describe to the bored policeman on the other side of the wire what was going on and gave him our taxi number. One would think that he would ask for the bike numbers as well but that didn't happen. Instead he asked us what route we were taking and said he'd keep a lookout for us. Of course, the minute we whipped out our phones, the brave men sped up and disappeared out of sight.

We eventually got home alright but I was absolutely livid at having been subjected to this nonsense and more importantly having had a nice evening ruined. Having taken down the bike numbers we're now going to have them traced and find out if we can break a few legs (Ruma is our girl for that). If nothing else, we're going to call up the mothers of these men and let them know what their dear sons have been up to.

But I suppose it was inevitable. In a vast cosmopolitan civilization, there will be those hanging one branch above the ground.

Morning Rush

2008-02-24T19:19:00.002+05:30

The other day I stayed over at my grandparents place in Andheri. I had a 10 a.m. meeting the next day and had to be in office at 9.45 a.m. at the latest. I leave the house at 9, which means im late already and theres no way that I can take a cab (it would take me over an hour, easy). So i rush over to the Andheri west station and I'm forced to get down about 300 metres from the entrance of the station because the auto has slowed to a crawl because of the traffic and as Im trotting along my high heelsI remember that my pass expired the day before.
9.15 and counting. At 9.22 a.m. armed with a ticket I dash (Im now running as opposed to trotting) to the overbridge only to find that of the two staircases down to the platform one has been blocked - as a result of which there is a sea of people struggling to make their way up and down the only remaining staircase. Ever seen a hot rock concert that is crowded so full of people you wonder how anyone can breathe (maybe they inhale and exhale in sychrony)? Ever tried to push your way right to the front? or tried to push your way out of a packed (and boy do I mean packed elevator). Well thats what this was like. Only worse.

9.35: Im on the platform waiting where the ladies compartment usually lands up. and then i realise its a 12 coach which means i have to run (yes again) across to the other end of the platform. The train is crowded and by this time its only by sheer triumph of mind over matter that squeeze myself in. The train starts moving and picks up speed. and then it flys right past the ville parle and santa cruz stations. dude why isnt this train stopping anywhere? I have inadvertantly undertaken the ultimate mumbai challenge- the fast train. (For background my office is at lower parel where the fast trains do not deign to halt and therefore I trudge to work in a slow).

9:45: Im evaluating options. I could get off at dadar and cab it to lower parel or i could go up to mumbai central and come back towards lower parel. I decide to get off at Dadar.

9.50: Dadar. Another sea of people. another fight up and down stairs. I come out on the west underneath the flyover. which means i have to walk through filth to the end of the flyover and try and hail a cab. No cab stops.

9.52: fed up and start walking in general direction of office. cab stops.

9.57: stuck in traffic under Lower parel flyover. I decide to make the call Ive been dreading. "Im running late," I say, feeling like an utter incompetent. "The call was rescheduled for 11 a.m., didnt you look at your blackberry?". To tell the client that I own no blackberry because I work for a cheap gujju employer was beyond me. I sighed. "Must have missed it", I say. and then want to burst into tears. My day has not even begun.

Not So Mad About Mumbai

2008-02-17T23:37:00.002+05:30

Sometimes things happen in this city that are just incredible. Like Raj thakeray's rant against non-Mumbaikars. I wonder how, when the constitution guarantees each citizen a right to travel through the country to whereever they please, and live whereever they choose, a little Mumbai rat can still stand up there and insult the constitution of India and say that Mumbai is for Mumbaikars and be applauded. Define Mumbaikars! I was born in Mumbai, my granparents have lived here for 35 years. Am I a Mumbaikar? Despite being born here, I have lived here all of 18 months in my near 25 years of existence. Am I a Mumbaikar?

The larger question also is, do I want to be one? Do I want to live for 5, 10, 15 years in this communally wrought and regionalistically divided, filthy city? Do I want to live in this terrifyingly volatile, overcrowded, frustrated mess they call a city? Mem said that each one of us has our own bombay. Well the more I see of the Bombay outside of mine- the bombay outside of olive and hrc and enigma and pvr-the less I like it. The poverty, the filth, the lack of space and privacy, the utter absence of any meaning to your existence, the sheer frustration of the stark contrast between the haves and the have-nots - no wonder the city is like a pressure cooker just waiting to explode.

Leave Mumbai to the Mumbaikars. Do the Mumbai bhakts have any idea of the economic implications of "Mumbai for the Mumbaikars" mantra? What happens if all the "outsiders" who live in Mumbai stop working- just for day. or dont spend any money for a day.

Is the economic hub of the country, famous for its "work must go on" attitude, really turning into this? Or is just being held hostage by a determined minority? And I guess the real question is, what is the silent majority going to do about it?

Political Games

2008-02-14T09:17:00.003+05:30

The impending unrest in Bombay has been making the news everyday for the past 10 days and those of us in this city watched with bated breath, waiting for the first signs of violence so that we could legitimately leave early from work and tsk tsk about the state of this city. So when it finally happened yesterday, slight levels of panic settled into the office space and people were sent home. But what struck me the most was the extreme reactions that the arrests garnered.

On the one hand shops were shut in Dadar and travelling on the roads in that area was akin to throwing away 3 hours of your life with the taxis being pulled over and situation remaining unpredictable. Several offices in South Bombay were emptied out and some of our clients actually emailed in saying they were heading and that we should do the same.

Then you have our office that barely reacted in the face of the madness. My boss ensured that our team left while it was still sunlight outside while the HR manager tried to strenuously argue that all the commotion was only in the north of the city and that being towards the south, we should all stay in office and take heart that the violence wouldn't hit us. When we informed him that several of us had to head home in the opposite direction and that we would rather do it while the stone throwing was at its tamest, he blinked stupidly and said that we shouldn't worry. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't come from any city that reacts to hairpin triggers like this city does. I've been in plenty of places where we needed black-cat convoys to be able to get across town but that's always with prior warning. So when people say that it's dangerous on the roads I'd really rather not sit around and wait for the situation to escalate.

What bothered me the the most was the complete lack of concern to the whole situation. Has the city undergone so many disasters that its people simply take everything in stride? One of my friends was telling me about the train blasts in the city a couple of years ago and how people in the office merely delayed their going home by 6 hours and still took the train home. Or when the city flooded and people were stranded in office, the HR team treated it like some kind of sleepover and organized movies and entertainment. May a little too much has happened here, but I for one hope that I never reach a stage where I take stuff like this in my stride.

Domestic travails

2008-02-03T00:53:00.000+05:30

It's been near about 6 months since I moved to this city and so far my apartment has been running quite smoothly. We have an ever efficient bai, who is nearly not as concerned about our lives and lifestyles as Mem's erstwhile bai, but does her job and generally stays out of our way. Part of her job description is to of course make dinner, which we usually stumble home after work and heat up. Imagine my surprise when I receive a call one morning from the bai telling me that our gas cylinder had run out. While I know the general mechanics of cooking and what is the procedure for changing the cylinder, it's perplexing to be posed with this problem when you haven't given the subject any thought.

Anyhow, coming back to the subject at hand, I asked my bai what was to be done, whether she had a number I could call for the delivery, etc. Turns out our landlords had misplaced their registration card so we had no number to call and no registration number to quote to the delivery man. After much consultation with our watchman, who I think goes by some variant of Bahadur, I found out there were only two ways around this dilemma - ask the watchman to do some investigating and find out the delivery man's number or buy the cylinder in black. The watchman was understandably reluctant to actually walk the 5 min to the cylinder shop across the road from our place and get the number of the shop. More importantly even if we had placed the order with the man it would have taken at least 2-3 days for the delivery. At this point, we have gone about 3 days without food. So we decided to dispense with the formalities and simply buy the damn thing in black. We left money with the watchman and asked him to conduct the transaction. Turned out the market for cylinders in black has actually undergone inflation and we had to pay about 50 bucks more to procure it. After much hemming & hawing and several phone calls to the bai, on her shiny moto slvr I may add, very generously donated to her by my roommate, the cylinder was delivered home one evening. I don't think I've ever been so glad to see that rusted sight.

A cylinder in black, bought by an apartment full of lawyers. It could happen only in this city.

Bombay meri Jaan

2008-01-22T17:57:00.000+05:30

A year in Bombay is a year in hell. That is ofcourse unless you are a glutton for punishment and love living in a city that is:

(a) Crowded: And it is not just Delhi street crowded – it is Lajpat Nagar on a Sunday evening during festival time several times over crowded. And it is not just the VT’s and the Andheri’s of Bombay that are crowded, every inch of that city is crowded, from the supposedly posh South Bombay to the horrors that await every newcomer in North Bombay. It is something that is always in your face, something that you can always feel around you, something that you always have to walk around avoiding, showing footwork reminiscent of some of the greatest footballers in the world.

(b) Impossible to travel from Point A to Point B in- Any sort of travel in Bombay is an experience – the good news ofcourse is that each mode of transport is so painfully slow that it affords you maximum opportunity to enjoy that experience. It is the sort of that city that brings a smile to its inhabitants when they walk into offices an hour and a half after they have left their homes (after all, that short a journey does make it a good travel day). But travel does throw up a great opportunity for people to make a living – pickpockets, muggers, the hijras who must be paid every time, the taxi drivers, the thieving auto drivers and ofcourse the individual who has to work his butt off in office after dealing with the luminaries mentioned above.

Will continue this rant later and there is so much to rant about. But am out of time now, so more to follow soon...

Food for thought

2008-01-14T22:43:00.000+05:30

Bombay is often an uncomfortable city and it finds you in need of comfort, and what better way to find solace than sinking your teeth in something delicious?

Presenting, a few of my favourite foods in Mumbai:

Vada Pao: VPs might be considered nutritional knockouts by the Maharashtra Government, but Atkins has brainwashed me into carb consciousness and so my erstwhile diet of Vada Pao on the run from Court to Court has now become a strict no no. To be honest, I never found myself to be much of a fan. It was more of convenience over...well...anything else. It was only later that I found that a 5 rupee breakfast/lunch was costing me inches of my waistline. Today, on a nippy evening, instead of waiting for half an hour thanks to my 8:14 Andheri Harbour train being cancelled, I took the subway to the road opposite the CS Terminus for a much undeserved Hotel Aram Vada Pao.

The Aram Vada Pao is so good, that they have the balls to charge 7 rupees for it, 2 rupees over the standard 5 rupee price all over south bombay. I am aware that Jumbo Vada Pao charges 6 rupees, but if I had to blog on the worst food moments of Bombay, Jumbo would figure pretty high. The Aram guys don't care much for carb consciousness so there's no discount for eating the Vada sans the Pao. And what a huge Vada it is.

The Batata in the batatavada at Aram is white, not the usual yellow, with generous amounts of jeera, garlic, ginger, fresh corriander, and just enough green chilli. The Pao is smeared with red dry garlic chutney, green coconut chutney, and, surprise surprise, fresh chopped onion. Deep fried green chillies coated with salt sit in one pan, and the crunchies - the bits of batter which escape the Vada and grow into independent crunchy tidbits - sit in another to munch on while you wait for your Vada Pao to be assembled.

The Vada Pao doesn't take long, and I have eaten enough Vada Paos at Aram to certify that they are never anything less than piping hot. One window behind the small stall will open and a plate full of freshly fried Vadas will be passed to the outside by the very tired man at the Kadai. Aram is always crowded and this plate never lasts for long. Fluffy paos are ripped open, spiced up, stuffed and passed around or wrapped furiously in a newspaper and pushed at eager vendors. But only after you hand over your money.

Parsi food: South Mumbai is full of Parsi joints, which all follow the same routine. They have fixed menus and limited items of food, large crowds, lots of Parsi patrons and are only open for lunch. The staples will most certainly be akoori, kheema and chicken salli pao, cutlet with gravy, and on some days you'll have dhanshak, pulao dal, and if you're lucky, Patra ni Macchi. My favourite Parsi restaurant is Ideal Corner, behind Handloom House on Gunbow street (turn in from DN Road at Residency Hotel). Daily fixed menus with innovations every three months. The Biriyanis and Dhanshaks are outstanding, and so are their experiments - fish fillets, pork chops, Oriental Chicken in poppy seeds. Start with a Rasberry and end with a laga nu custard and you've had your money's worth. The service is charming and if you're a regular they even know what you'll order. They have chinese too but I don't quite see the point.

Ideal Corner rocks, but a special mention to Brittania for the Berry Pulao. There's nothing quite like a spoonfull of spicy pulao, succulent meat and a sudden tangy berry exploding between your teeth.

Veg Thali: Sometimes its a lot to do a working lunch on, but every once in a while you feel the need to indulge. Chetana at Kalaghoda does a Thali that makes even next day breakfast unmanageable. But for Value for Money and excellent food, you need to dig around Fort, behind the Fort Fire brigade on Bomanji Lane. If you're standing at Ideal Corner, its to your left, a quaint little eatery called Sindhu Bhavan. Sindhu Bhavan has the most innovative thali system. You choose the two sabzis on your plate. And the sabzis range from Suran (Elephant Yam) to Karela ( a personal favourite and acquired taste, I admit), Kadhi Pakoda, Sarson ka Saag, and even chole, masoor, chavli and various types of Dal. Along with this, you get a raita, a dal fry, 4 special chapatis and rice and a sweet. All for, last count, 30 bucks. You can also eat your veggies a la carte with their variety of breads - methi roti, bajra, jowar, and stuffed paratas, all with huge dollops of butter. The sabzis all taste unique and different, and my favourite is the Gajar Methi. It's a great place to pig out. Not too much of an ambience though but the waiters are jovial. Once I was egged on to have their "Veg Makruni". I was amused to find a bowl of diced vegetables in a tomato based sauce with bambino elbow macaroni in a lead role. The waiter looked very hurt and asked me why I wasn't eating it. Being the culinary snob that I was, I decided to eat it seperately after I finished my baigan bharata and roti. Not to miss also the thick lassi. But only if your boss is out of town.

Malabari Magic: One of the few reasons I hate Bombay is the lack of an Andhra restaurant, where I can have plaintain leaf meals with thick chutneys and dals with a "side" of chilly or guntur chicken. The abundance of Andhra restaurants is one of the few reasons I love Bangalore. There's enough Southie veg food in Matunga, but for the good stuff, follow the little lane next to the Next Showroom on DN Road, behind the khadi bhandar police chowki. You'll find "Fountain Plaza" to your left. Fountain Plaza is Malyali Muslim food at its unapologetic place. It doesn't even try to Mumbai-ize itself. Starting with Appams for breakfast which are sold out by 8am (I've tried) and neer dosas with egg roast and curries. Lunch is mayhem. There are fish curry and fish fry meals with bright red slices of kingfish deep fried and served along with sambar dal, a vegetable and a curd based gravy. Food is literally thrown at you. There are also chicken and mutton roasts which are great, but my favourite is the Malabari Biriyani, served with Raita and Papad. The rice used is the not very great quality but traditional short stout grains but it somehow adds to the flavour, along with the plump whole spices. Warning - it's not everyone's plate of biriyani. My office prefers the North Indianized one with the fake basmati rice. Tea time gets you an array of Pakodas and more chapatis (and the famous kerala paratha) and curries. Dinner is slightly relaxed, there are no "meals" and you don't need to worry about someone with a sambar soaked hand brushing against you on the way to the handwash. Just forget about a quiet meal in sombre surroundings. Also, only dinner during Ramzan.

While on the subject of Biriyani, though I am a Fountain Plaza loyalist, Jafferbhai at Gol Masjid near Metro is superlative. And remember, if its a party you are catering for, a kg of Jafferbhai biriyani feeds about 6 ravenous wolves. 1 kg is not 1 kg of cooked biriyani, rather, it's 1kg uncooked rice and 1 kg uncooked veggies/meat. Basically, a lot of food. My Office mates dig Olympia at Colaba though its a little oily for my liking.

(To be continued... and contributions invited!)

Mumbai New Year

2008-01-03T15:45:00.000+05:30

On the morning of second january I was shocked by the images and the headlines on the first page of the newspaper. Two girls were molested by a mob as they left the JW Mariott after partying with their friends on new years eve. The girls were accompanied by two guys. (see http://www.ndtv.com/convergence/ndtv/story.aspx?id=NEWEN20080037486)

I am shocked and appalled at the so called safest city. this is the city where I wouldnt hesitate to take a cab alone at night. what is with mobs that sane people come together to do insane things? And the police commissioner of Mumbai says, "hota hai". really? Aapki beti ke saath bhi hota hai?

Im buying my can of pepper spray today ladies. please carry yours.

Welcome 2008

2008-01-01T17:33:00.001+05:30

Yet another new year!! Yawnnnnn!!
Welcome 2008.....you have nothing to be proud of really. You are just going to be like 2007 and 2006 and 2005 before that....and all the years before that!
There will be a little bit of laughter, a bit of heart break, some sweet victories and some bitter defeats. Yes, there will be the standard bitchiness - given, taken and imagined!
And what will happen to our beloved Bombay?
Pray tell 2008 - do you think they will start constructing the Metro? Or will our traffic problem get sorted by a intercontinental ballistic missile from Pakistan/China?
And while you are at it, can you also control those taps up there and divert precious fresh water to where it is actually needed? You see 2007 and 2006 failed to understand this but Bombayites dont really like using rafts to get to work. They prefer their local trains. So please, can we try and not drown the city this year? Thank you please kindly!
2008 I also request you to relocate some nice sweet boys to Bombay. Boys who dont screw you over and make it seem like its all your fault.
Not like I expect you to deal with these requests. But still we try and as Ruma said to me today "keep the faith".

Bye Bye 2007

2007-12-30T11:32:00.000+05:30

The goodbye 2007 party is proving expensive in bombay: check out this link http://mumbai.burrp.com/events.html

There are places that expect to charge 25K per couple. who are these people willing to spend so much money for something as pointless as watching bipasha basu dance? Thats bombay for you.

Hanuman Mandir and Khau Galli

2007-12-30T01:58:00.000+05:30

How does a Londoner look for a restuarant?

Step 1: She googles the name for the post code.

Step 2: Logs on to http://www.streetmap.co.uk/ and prints out the map using the post code.

Step3: Follows the map and she is there!!!

Three easy, painless steps....you only need the ability to follow a map!!

How does a Moscovite look for a restuarant?

Step 1: She googles the name for the address.

Step 2: Logs on to eatlas and prints a map.

Step 3: Reconfirms with collegues whether the place is still there...and under the same name!

Step 4: Follows the map.

Step 5: Gets to the general area according to the map and after a bit of poking around dark alleys ....finds the place! Pheww!

Now HOW DOES A BOMBAYITE FIND A RESTUARANT?

Errrr sorry!! No easy steps here! No websites no maps can help!!

If you want to find a restuarant where you have never been to before, you call up the place (or a friend who has been there already). Directions will probably be something like this:

" Take the Western Express Highway. Then you will come to a flyover. Leave it. Then you come to another flyover. Leave that as well. Then when you come to the next flyover take the left at the Amul Utterly Butterly Ad hording. After the left turn, drive for 15 minutes. At the 2nd red light, take a right turn onto De Willis Road. Drive for 5 minutes and you will see a Hanuman Mandir on your right. In front of the Hanuman Mandir there is a vadapav wala. Ask him and he will point you in the right direction. Thank you kindly and see you there!".

So there are you.....after a fifteen minute long phone conversation, you are left with an amateur map and directions on how to get further directions.

I am not saying that these directions are impossible to follow. I usually get to where I need to get with these kind of directions. But there are pit falls. And the very first one is the street name.

In a city where the favorite pass time of its law makers is to change street names, circle names, airport names, station names and anything whose name can be changed to Chatrapati something something, it can be a nightmare to find an address. Local people usually prefer not to use the Chatrapati names. The signboard (if you are lucky to have one) could be pre or post name change so you never know what the hell is going on.

The second pitfall is obvious.....the vadapav wala. Firstly, he might not be there on the particular day you choose to pay the concerned restuarant a visit. Or he might insist you eat a vadapav before he points to the right direction.

Asking people for directions in Bombay can be serious hazard. The people you might encounter fall under different catergories.

First are the over eager enthu cutlets who confuse you with a rapid stream of lefts and rights and signs!
Then there are the really mean ones who will send you on a wild goose chase because you are in a car and they are on a cycle.
And the funniest ones are the eager to help but cant! I was once wandering around Churchgate area looking for the Khau Galli near HR College (this doesnt exist anymore....so dont go looking for it). And I asked some random guy saying "Bhaiyya, HR Khau Galli kidhar jai?". He cocked his head up and scratched his head and said "Maydem, Khau Galli nahi maloom par Phool Galli maloom hai.....bataoon kya?"
I didnt know what to say to this. Thankfully my friend saved the day. She said, "Bhaiyya jab phool khareed na hoga toe aap se pooch lengey"!!

The Insider

2007-12-25T00:51:00.000+05:30

I am a curious case. I don't live in Bombay anymore. For the first seventeen years of my life I lived in a middle class suburb of Bombay. Anyone and everyone living on the other side of Worli naka insisted that I wasnt a true Bombayite.....which is very funny because the wealthy residents of Malabar Hill and there after do not consider Worli as true blue Bombay. I don't even want to start on what these South Bombay people think of lesser mortals who live in Dadar, Matunga, Ghatpokar. Surely these dirty outskirts of Bombay cant be included in the Bombay of Marive Drive and Nariman Point - you can almost hear the collective gasp of Parsi accented English of the Southeners!!
So why am I qualified to be a part of this blog.....this bunch of individuals who are passionate about Bombay? I dont live here and technically never did. I now despise it...its traffic jams, the humidity, the squalor and dirt......I could go on.
I asked to be a part of this blog because a life time worth of my memories are intimately connected with Bombay. Because, once....I was in love with this mad mad city. Or maybe because I fell in love for the first time and the last time in Bombay.
Love, friendship and Bombay....yes thats whats my claim to being a Bombayite. And the local train travel...yes that too!

Monsoon Mania

2007-12-21T10:30:00.000+05:30

TM says "write about monsoon" and thus dutifully I write :-p

In Benguluru, the rain is perpetual, but is a dreamy rain, when all things green look greener and cleaner. (On an aside, in B'lore, everytime VN and I wanted to go somewhere on his bike it would rain-its a record- like in the hitchhikers guide, the truck driver is the rain god, so is VN!) In Delhi the temperamental rain makes the earth smell sweet (my fav. smell in the world) and is good reason to take a break, get a cup coffee (and sit around smoking - ahem!). but Bombay is a city where the rains are simply uncompromising.

I love the rain. Theres something magical about it (I understand the science of evaporation and condensation but in my minds eye its still a minor miracle that all that water can be up there in the sky) :) Usually rain makes me happy, it makes me want to dance. So it did for about the first two months of the monsoon in Bombay too. But just when you are getting tired of nothing ever being dry, the traffic bering thirty times worse than usual and the trains running late, it gets worse! The waterlogged city is a struggle every single day. Going to work, getting back, it getting dark at 4 p.m., the grey days, the black weather, clothes-shoes- nothing survives the onslaught. And still it rains.

And the downpour is unrelenting. There is no escape. No matter how quick and wily you are, how creative or smart you get, how much money you are willing to spend, the rain no care. Its the single most equalising factor in the city. Everyone suffers (though in varying degrees), and the rain touches Gucci shoes and liberty chappals alike.

I have clothes that have been marked by the rain- where the splashes of mud wont go. I have pictures of our backyard looking like a swimming pool. and i have memories of bunking office on grounds that trains are not running, im flooded in. I think about the times where Ruma and I have sat home, without electricity, trying to listen to the radio on our phones and figure out whats going on. the times we have run out to buy food the moment the rain stopped so that we could munch and nibble and drink coffee with brandy. I remember being splashed and splattered by the rain. fat raindrops in my chai, the rain mixing with tears. Sometimes as though its beating you up and at other times comforting soothing pats. (Just like the city of Bombay.)

I remember a cab with no wipers that evening of the first Bombay rain this year when Mem, Mem's boy, Ruma and I were at Hard Rock. And post monsoon pedicures at Lakme.

As a champion loser of umbrellas, I have gotten caught out so many more times thna absolutely necessary. But despite all the practical painful measures that you have to take to survive the bombay rains, the rain can be poetry. and a great excuse to not do all the things you dont wanna do in those four and a half months!

A Bombay of our own

2007-12-20T23:52:00.000+05:30

There's a lot to what Mem says about each of us discovering a Bombay of our own. My tryst with Bombay started with my final year internship and like so many women out there I landed at the tried and tested YWCA at Madam Cama Road, Colaba. As many people soon find out, there is a stark divide, if you will, between 'town,' as it's referred to, and the 'burbs. South Bombay is filled with old architecture and a very British feel about things. The roads are wide, mostly clean and there is a general dreamy air of the 'good old days.' And that's the Bombay that I came to know as an intern. I had the time then to explore and walk around and bargain endlessly with the shopkeepers for trinkets and buy books off the pavement for 50 bucks. And it was January when I visited. Needless to say the weather was most pleasant and given that my occasional forays to the north were limited to Mem's place, I was left with very nice memories of the city. And it was also this internship that decided where I would head post college, even though I had spent the previous two internships in Delhi (and no, I do not hate Delhi. Ignore any comments from TM on this point).

I know the adage goes, it's a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live here but honestly I don't think that applies to me. Having never put down roots at any one place (that's another story for another blog) barring the 5 years spent in Bangalore and maybe an equal amount of time in Madras, I find myself more comfortable in this city than I expected. True, I live in the dreaded suburbs and that too not even in the hep locale of Bandra, and it does take a good 45 min commute to work, the Bombay I'm getting to know now is not the picture postcard but a real city with real people. And I find myself settling in quite nicely. Yes, there are crowds and bad traffic (though when you've driven in Madras and Bangalore, the drivers in this city are almost civilized) but what city doesn't have its growth issues? And the part I like the most is having the option of being able to go out for a drink post work if mood permits or the fact that shops are still open late at night or even if you've spent all Sunday lazing in front of the tv you can catch dinner or a movie or something if the spirit moves you. I find this city more alive than any other place I've been (ok, maybe not compared to NYC but let's stick to this country). And that's the city I'm coming to know.

BB's conversion

2007-12-20T22:44:00.002+05:30

BB hated bombay. BB hated any city that was not Bengalooru. BB hated eating anything but rasam sadam and urlekha for his meals. BB thought the city was dirty, the trains filthy and the people pushy.

It was a very grumpy BB indeed that landed in the middle of the night to live in the bambai, and in my apartment. BB arrived on the day i was of at my one and only office party, which i abandoned early to welcome BB to his new home. Only I was soon joined by the drunken TB and later a drunken TM (naturally some complicated story abt being locked out of their house and the chronic complainer having locked himself into it or some such). A grumpy BB slowly warmed to the idea of living in a place that was not Bengalooru, when bottle after bottle of JD (to be fair bottles that he bought) were opened and consumed most willingly.

But a grumpy BB was still not sold. Then he discovered that one could smokes cigarettes in the morning with their morning coffee, with the newspaper and not have to do it with a constant look out for mommy or other such interfering busy bodies. BB discovered band stand and crepe station and hilarious stories where croaky ruma wanted hot water in her coffee. BB was guided through the gateway and the taj and strand, marine drive and dome, causeway and other such. And the process began.

And the process of conversion continued with the arrival of standard bai who managed to find a substitute for his rasam sadam and urlekha - scrambled eggs! (who's have guessed?) So BB would wake up every morning, sit cross legged on a couchless hall, smoke his cigarette drink his coffee and eat his scrambled eggs and be off to work as Sakinaka(a bambai unknown to me). There he discovered the challenge of finding office space in bombay and rose to it, discovered young boys with 2-3 jobs back to back and still undefeated. He discovered the enthusiasm which made people travel in local trains for over 2 hours for a job, and had him working 12-16 hours days. He also discovered Diya Sagar (see post) which gave his supply of chicken lollipops and breezers.

I dont know what BB did or how BB converted. After the initial tour of bandstand and the causeway he was abandoned. But somewhere in Sakinaka and Andheri (W) he managed to find and fall in love with a Bombay as each of us found an fell in love(hate?) with our own Bombays

Sex in the City

2007-12-19T15:59:00.000+05:30

A lot of big things go largely ignored in the City. Ignored because its such a part of life and surroundings that it is not really worth angsting over. Like the stench of the Mahim Creek, the elbows jabbing into your Solar Plexus on the train, and traffic signals. So too, is Sex.

Not that Sex is loudly proclaimed from the billboards, of course. The Hindustan Times' lame attempt at "Single in the City" largely consists of women pushing 30 dealing with their profiles mysteriously appearing on Shaadi.com and angsting neighbours. Bombay (because in this context, Mumbai doesn't really sound right) is a Sexy City, and so are its people.

I must confess to living in a bit of a delusion where I thought that sex, and I mean the premarital kind, was largely the domain of the English speaking upper middle class, with live-in relationships and breaking the stereotypes of marriage and domesticity being their sole prerogative (yawn). Working as a lawyer, I've noted that sex is everywhere and anywhere in Mumbai, and everyone's invited. Women who have chosen to consummate relationships (also known as 'giving him my virginity' and 'we had the sex course') admit to doing so only hesitatingly, even with a hint at some compulsion, and will never give any impression as to whether the act was pleasurable or not. All the same, it was the done thing, whatever medium of instruction and class you were in. Or even, how old you were. Beginning with a 'proposal' in college, followed by holding hands in cinema halls where the ticket vendors were always willing to give you a back-corner seat (wink, wink). This progresses to heavy petting and breathing at lover's points - bandstand, seafaces, beaches - ignoring crawling cockroaches, garbage and lusty men staring at the couples, having comfortable taken seats just opposite. When the attraction reaches the point of no return, nervous girls, wearing mangalsutras bought off train hawkers for Rs. 30 and with their parting dabbed with vermilion, will try to look nonchalant while their partners fill out fake addresses on the hotel registry. The receptionist, in the meanwhile, will smirk as he sees the umpteenth Mr. and Mrs. Sharma check into his wayside dingy Khandala Motel.

Sex, being essentially a private act, possibly the most private act between individuals (unless you have the luck of Paris Hilton), rarely finds a public forum. But if you look around you, sex is everywhere in Mumbai. Where else can you openly have a pharmaceutical company declaring statistics that in light of the rate of increase in abortions in the weeks following Navratri, the full flow energy orgy known as the Dandiya Raas, that the I-pill was strategically launched a month before the event? Every ladies railway compartment has its walls plastered with the italicized pleas of a woman (presumably married) who admits that "we should have been more careful last night". Yesterday, when I travelled home with a few male colleagues, I was impressed to see the same hoardings displayed in the men's compartment as well.

The side effects of sexual activity bring with them the opportunities to express displeasure. Surprisingly, no one seems to care. Pharmacists rarely even bat an eyelid when you ask for a pack of condoms, and a few even take the risk of politely ask you what brand you would prefer. A request for morning after pills one day got a 60 plus pharmacist explaining to me how I needed to take each installment of the pill. Gynacs will, sans preliminaries, ask you if you've been indulging in 'safe sex' . Any woman above the age of 18 is advised the PAP Smear test, restricted in my hometown only for "married ladies".

Bombaynomics also are not conducive to prudishness. So you have a hardcore Gujju wedding banquet hall (with Gujju catering monopoly - 350 rupees a head - 3 farsan, 3 sabzi including undhiyo, rotis with ghee, khichadi, kadhi and sweet) in Girgaum right in the middle of a red light area. Night taxi drivers have to endure moans and whimpers from the back seats of drunken party revellers on their way home (your place or mine?). Dadar and Bombay Central Hoteliers have to greet 16 year old Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor with a straight face, and let them in (provided of course they are carrying suitcases.) Hotels housing discotheques always allow their patrons to know, just in case, that rooms are allowed on rent by the hour.

And unless Bal or Raj proclaim otherwise, movies with 'objectionable content' are quietly allowed to run to capacity.

In a city so open about the reality of sexuality, still, at an individual level, the " English speaking upper middle class" still finds itself tongue tied while dealing with sex and relationships, often ending up with highly skewed results. Coming to a big city doesn't exactly mean that you've come sans baggage, even if you do end up leaving yours in a rickshaw. :)

Watch this space.

Tally Ho?

2007-12-16T20:42:00.000+05:30

How can any blog on life and times in bombay be complete without chronicling our drunken binges?

M's housewarming, Trun's farewell, or Mem's birthday-n-bye party.

Offer up stories people, here mine:

So its Trun's farewell hosted at Ruma's and my apartment in nice family locality. We have organised killer drinks including bloody marys, chilli vodkas and wannabe caprioskas, theres also drinks for the less adventurous which bordered on the ordinary but not quite...there was the chocolate couple- chocolate boy shot more vodkas than anyone could count and made two little boys from law school shoot as many (law school rule- you gotta drink what your seniors tell you to) and chocolate boy then drove home, a drive fraught with nightmares for bombay city as a whole...months later chocolate girl still tells me, much to my horror, how chocolate boy was up all night throwing up...information overload...but thats just a side story...

A little background is called for before I introduce the star characters...In law school there were these three women who thought of themselves as charlies angels without the stunts (no one told them that without the stunts the angels were just ...well, just) so there was goldilocks, the giraffe and the Other Girl. The Other Girl was normal except when she was with, well, the other girls. Both the Giraffe and the Other Girl are in bombay but we decided to screw with the politics of polite behaviour and not invite our pet peeve, the Giraffe. The Other Girl showed up with her DJ in tow and asked us rather pointedly why the Giraffe was not invited. At this point Ruma and I look at each other and do a whole "werent you supposed to call her?" "oh I thought you were supposed to ask her". WE arent bad actresses, Ruma and I, but some things are just not worth it. The Other Girl knew. We knew she knew. She knew we knew she knew. And well... you get the idea.

A few hours and much hulla-bulooh later, the neighbours land up...and i will leave Ruma to tell that tale.

I also demand that the Enigma stories be told, and the tales of Dome (especially the one with bobby deol) be rehashed in this forum. and in turn I will tell little known stories of drinking wine with men who are opera music reviewers and critics, and of empty bars called Bohemia. love u ladies.

HOME DELIVERY

2007-12-16T14:11:00.000+05:30

Another wonderful aspect of living in Bombay is the ‘home deliveries’. Everything is delivered, everything. If you have place to rest your weary body and a functional loo and some cash (does not translate into cash flow, you can survive on credit alone as along as you are a regular user of the home delivery services ) you can have a wonderful life without having to move your lazy ass out of the couch where you lie curled up chain smoking. I realize the same is possible in any other city if you have an internet connection and a credit card. However in Bombay this is possible in a internet connection less sphere as I have discovered in many a sulky I-don’t- want-to-have-anything-to-do-with-the-world-again phase.

Lets cover the essentials –

1. Cigarettes- deliverable – if your local grocer/supermarket type fellow stocks the same. I unfortunately only had 'warsiji (something else)ji' which was a jain departmental store . The store did not only not stock cigarettes but dint stock eggs or Hit/Baygon spray either (it could kill insects). Also I was a little scared of the owner/shopkeeper , whose beady gaze suggested I shouldn’t be living in that locality at all let alone have cigarettes delivered. However, happily I had a shady restaurant called moti mahal who were more than willing to pick up cigarettes along with your food order. (no extra charge 80 bucks for classic milds). Though I screwed up the courage to ask then to do so only after much debating and re debating.

2. Booze- deliverable- Ink stained and Ruma had a wonderful deliverer(Satkar) who would recognize their voice as well as the poison of their choice before they went past hello. ‘You had me at hello’ says the man at Satkar. He also had to offer tasty kebabs, biryanis and soups to go with the booze. No no this wasn’t a restaurant that also delivered booze. This was a booze shop that also delivered food. Sadly, I dint have a booze deliverer. I did have a booze shop just 2 mins from home. But the whole point is of course not to step out of home. Anyway BB finally helped locate a booze deliverer- Divya Sagar, (a digga restaurant too) Unfortunately it was located 30 mins away (delivery time) and was not an exclusive booze deliverer. Unlike Satkar this was a restaurant that also delivered booze. So you would have to place an order of chicken lollipops or some such if you wanted your booze to arrive. Anyway after this happy discovery we had a endless supply of Bacardi breezers at home. (Ya BB was a bit of a sissy that ways – breezers the pink ones too. That or Jack Daniels…- go figure)

That covers the essentials. Other things like food (veggies and fruits too if you wanted them), water, toiletries, medicines, spectacles (yup the spec shop down my house was given a sheet with my power and the next time the specs broke id just have to call and give my previous order number and theyd be delivered) were all also phone call away available.

When I first moved to Bombay I was delighted at the thought that everything could be delivered. My idea of a party would be to do nothing call people home and then order thing booze /cigarettes/ food as and when they were needed and expect my guests to be much impressed at everything at my finger tips (on my phone keys) approach. They weren't so much.
TB was treated to every conceivable sort of delivery from chaats, to pizzas, though it took him surprisingly long to crack the concept of flower delivery.

I soon learnt this home delivery thing did not capture and delight everyones imagination as it did mine. I probably continue to remain the only reverent fan of the system. Soon I abandoned the home delivery system to the go out and explore using mundane things like finding the veggies shop to form part of daily adventures I lived in my head. Soon the home delivery system was turned to in times of extreme grumpiness or sulkiness when everything was wrong and bad. Where I could lie on my back all day smoke endlessly and do nothing else. Standard bai would be most disapproving of these times.

I generally dislike doing home deliveries and internet purchases. I like to cover all my shopping when im out I like handing over paisa and returning with a bag full or purchases. It gives me a good productive feel as I come home and plop the bags down even if its filled with ariel and phenoyl. But bombays home delivery was something else. You do have the satisfaction of seeing you local shop wallah doing some gupshup complaining over the prices and exchanging money (I don’t like card transactions so much) and it did have its uses and it never ceased to amaze me- the enterprise, the efficiency. (I never had to wait for more than 5 mins even though some 4 flats deliveries would be combined with mine). I miss the joys of home deliveries now in Bengalooru though im delighted and enthused to explore the brave new world of food world and reliance fresh and subeeksha.

Bombay Bhai

2007-12-15T14:50:00.000+05:30

The bombay bai (or bhai as i referred to her...oh yes its a 'her'. there may be he bais but the bombay bai i reminisce about is necessarily a her) is unique and indispensable in every bombay household. She is so unique she will model her idiosyncrasies for each household.

and i have witnessed the idiosyncrasies of many a bai. This does not mean i dint have bai loyalty. I did have my standard-bai. but before i discovered (actually kidnapped...yes yes read story below) standard-bai, i had my once-a-week-bai. Then there was standard-bai's-sister-bai, TB's-bai, ink-stained-and- ruma's-bhai. I am yet to meet M's bai but from little i have heard she promises to be equal to the best of the bombay bais (or baies?...but u get it plural of bai)

the Bombay bai is special. Like the city she is efficient, hardworking, enterprising and she has attityyuuude. Bombay bai is the only bai who will clean your house wash your clothes and also buy the months soap powder supply, cleaning rags, brooms buckets and give you a neat account with bills attached. She is the only bai who when mistakenly washing a passport along with a bag will light up the tawa and roast the passport to give it back its crisp fresh feel. (Ya standard bai did that. it worked. the passport was saved).

TB's bai determinedly made their house look as if it was inhabited by human beings despite the boys determined efforts to make it look like it was a first enterrent in a pig(or more disgusting animal)-sty competition. She emptied ashtrays, threw away (or collected? standard bai always collected and sold) beer bottles, made the beds, put all books away in one room, (no one knows why she assumed only one of the two boys could read and why all reading material in that house had to end up in one room). She turned up her nose at the bureau they offered when they vacated out of the house saying it looked too 'purrana' for her house and needed patching up.

Ink stained and ruma's bai arrives at the same time like clockwork every morning tut tuts over the state of their cupboard, serves as an alarm clock with very badly timed snooze alarms, makes chatty conversation till you are up. She managed to mistake a boy for me for several months which is the first instance i have ever come across of anyone putting one past a bai. Tho she probably knows all along and ink stained and ruma are clueless.

Standard bai was lovely. She gave a masala dhabba when she heard i was leaving the city so i could cook and fend for myself and my imagined husband. Though her sniffs did suggest how miserably i would fall short without her able assistance. I went to the parsi colony next door when i was sick and tired of once a week bai and saw her emptying a dustbin and i knew that we were meant to be. I insisted she come to my house that very instant and evaluvate if she could do my house too before she continued a dustbin emptying activities. (i was really tired of washing my clothes on Wednesdays).

So standard bai came home and kept coming back for the next 7-8 months bringing me stories of her sisters (5 of them), her TB ridden son (7 years old), her unemployed husband (but he did his namaaz dint drink or smoke and was a very good man which was more than could be said of me she seemed to suggest as her eyes swept over the ashtrays and empty bottles), the difficult private school in her neighborhood (it wouldn't admit her other son,said he was too stupid, though i haven't seen a boy with brighter eyes, though he did eat the chocolate with its wrapper so who knows) and i listened to her stories, mostly grumpily (mornings are not my best time) But Standard bai was efficient, chatty, warm, loving, full of spirit and unfortunately unemployed once i left. (Apparently other people in my building dint like the muslim bai tho it is v strange standard-bai's -sister did get work in the building. Apparently she was ok since she dint wear her bhurkha and so not a 'security threat')

I dont know what standard bai is up to. We did exchange numbers and gifts i gave her a handbag and she gave me a masala dhaba. She was everything a bombay bai is and more. and being a bombay bai she probably found several other houses to work in, put her son through school, paid for the other ones operations and wakes up her new employers every morning with her chatty morning routine.

True Blue

2007-12-15T13:10:00.000+05:30

Bombay- once known as "Bom Baia" meaning "Good Bay" in Portuguese, is mostly land that has been reclaimed from the sea. And yet there are thousands of people who live in this city who forget that the roar of the waves is usually not too far away.

I have walked around on Juhu beach, had my phone drwoned in the arabian sea, sat at Sea View and watched the sea while drinking beer, sat at Dome and watched the sea while sipping on long island iced tea, walked and ran races down marine drive, jogged on worli sea face, attended a free concert at bandstand, but still in the buzz of the routine, daily rollercoaster, I forget that the sea is right here.

Its nothing like the gorgeous pristine beaches in thailand and gokarna, or even Goa. The water is murky at best. I dont even want to think about half the things that wash up ashore. but its there and when you think about how very vast it is, it is overwhelming.

One of the most fun things i have done in Bombay in the recent past is to party on a boat. Of course I have been on a boat to elephanta, and loved it. I have also been on a submarine and to a museum on a ship (awesome! ;) )..... We rented a boat (the ones that during the day ferry to elephanta) for a friends bachelor party and seeing marine drive and the lights of bombay across from a stretch of water was strangely moving.

Theres a lot in what M says about the city. A lot in what Mem drew. For the people who have very little, most entertainment centres around the beaches....chuski at chowpatti for little kids and for lovers, whole families that troop down for the simple joy of hearing the songs of the sea, and tasting the culinary delights offered at the shore....But for most part I forget.

I love the soul of Delhi and the sheer spirit of Bombay. I am a true blue Delhi-ite and the blue is the slightly murky blue of the arabian sea :)

Parallel Universes

2007-12-15T12:38:00.000+05:30

If you ever speak to a person visiting Bombay for the first time, one of the first things they'll tell you that they noticed was the sheer disparity in the wealth that defines this city. And it's true. It really does hit you when you land here. There are the really tall buildings (not really sky scrapers but we're getting there) and right next door will be the slums. And that's just the way it is.

I once heard of it being called parallel universes. There are the people who drive around in mind blowingly expensive cars, dress up for the mere outing of coffee, eat at the trendiest places in town, know the who's who in the entertainment industry and then there are the people who're eking their way through life, who've come to the city to make their fortune, trying to make ends meet. And then I guess there's the bunch of us who fall somewhere in between - we're not exactly counting our paise but neither do we need to worry about meeting monthly expenses. And the wonder lies in the fact that all these segments of people live side by side, quite comfortably, and everyone goes about their own business. And that's just the way it is.

People usually tend to have extreme reactions to Bombay. A lot of people never recover from the sheer display of poverty on the streets and find the place a large, dirty mess. And a lot of people love the city from the get go for its sheer vibrancy. I won't say that I haven't had times where the eternal traffic jam in this city hasn't driven me up the wall, but once you get used to the fact that places are open late at night, that its relatively safe for women to hop into a taxi even at midnight, that there's just so much to do here, I imagine it would be hard to live anywhere else. If even a true blue Delhi-ite can be converted to the Bombay school of thought, I would think the city has had its desired effect.

Marine drive

2007-12-12T17:44:00.001+05:30

Taxi tales

2007-12-09T11:23:00.000+05:30

So it's 3am, and you've finished your Nth Long Island Iced Tea at Dome, and you're hungry as hell, because the food there sucks (and it truly does), but it's time to leave and so you reconcile yourself to having to raid the refrigerator at home for something which isn't THAT way past its expiry date.

Not if you ask your Taxiwaallah.

Taxiwaallahs in South Mumbai have the most extensive grasp of knowledge over everything - everything. You can ask them for advice on the stock market, real estate, life, love, and yes, even quick bites at 3am. So in this case, as a litigator, my Dome expedition left me with little money to throw around, and I meekly asked my Driver what was the best option, in the circumstances.

"Non Veg Chalega kya madam?"

My sister let out a sigh of relief.

Through the lanes of dhobi talao, we were led to an old building, which was pretty much dead for all we could see. There were a few taxis parked around the area, and suddenly I was put on high alert.

Our taxiwallah turned around. "Come with me."

I was even more skeptical, my sister was more adventurous. And hungry. The man walks up to an almost closed shutter and raps on the metal.

A hand slips out from the bottom, grasps the shutter and pushes it up violently. The loud noise of the rising of the shutter was unnerving enough, but what was even more shocking was the bustling restaurant which was opened up before us. Waiters were running about, an old Muslim man was sitting at the cash counter busily counting notes, and the area was crowded with Taxiwallahs, in their trademark white uniforms. busily eating bowls of brownish gravies and rotis, and plates of white rice ladled over by dal, and with a dollop of bright red lemon pickle on the side. A waiter, surprisingly bright for this unearthly hour, came up to us at the instance of our man. He led us to a table, which apparently had been cleared out for us. A few heads turned back to look at us, out of plain curiosity, after which they went back to their dinner (or was it breakfast?). Our Taxiwallah took a seat with his colleagues.

Before we were seated, out Taxiwallah informed us that this was the haunt for night drivers, the Taxi Waallahs who drove the night shift. The shutter was closed as it wasn't exactly legal to run an eating establishment at this hour, but it wasn't unusual to find the occasional Havaldar turning up to sheepishly claim a parcel of biriyani.

The waiter rattled off a list of available dishes, we settled on kheema (he didn't tell us what meat the kheema was made of and we didn't ask) and rotis, followed by a Biriyani. Twice our Taxiwaallah took a break from his grub to turn around and ask us if we were doing okay. The food was decent, and we were dropped home after we finished. I wish I knew where this place was, but every time I try and trace it, I am lost. If you're interested, ask your Taxiwaalah.

***

On a one and a half hour drive from Fort to Vile Parle, I was given information on the 1971 emergency, on red wheat imports by Indira Gandhi, on the introduction and marketing of foreign cars on Indian roads, on the reality of infrastructural changes in Mumbai, and the difficulties of immigrating to Mumbai from small towns. He also told me about how his son was denied admission to several English medium schools because he and his wife were not English language educated. The logic was that whatever would be taught to the boy would be lost on him as soon as he went home. I imagined that for most 'English language educated' people, 'emergency' connoted not finding a bathroom in time.

***

Traffic's a bitch in Mumbai, but I guess sometimes they make the trip worthwhile. Unless, like what happened to my roomie, the Taxiwaalah tells you that the ride may be a little difficult because "Madam, brakes kaam nahin kar rahe hai."

***

Till then, ride on.

Meri Jaan- Week One

2007-12-09T11:12:00.000+05:30

bombay, bambai, mumbai, she can be a friend and a bitch. This is a story of a motley group of law schoolites in the strange but wonderful city of bombay.

Post recruitment the Reefer Rajan, the chronic complainer, the virgin bride and the Reefer's (now) boy and I were at the Orchid. The "Organisation" had flown us all down from the cocoon of student life for our first conference- a due diligence seminar.

Post seminar, all were thirsty except the virgin bride. All were too broke to buy beer at the Orchid, so we decided to "source beer" from nearby. The procurement of beer turned out to be a mission impossible quite worthy of a good looking hero with his buxom lady friend in tow. After wandering around unknown ville parle (where by an ironic twist of fate I now live full time and know like the back of my hand) for almost 40 minutes, we (the Reefer, the Complainer and I) were thirstier than before and no closer to beer.

In Bangalore it is not possible to walk thirty steps in any direction without hitting a liquor store. It is the natural course of things. In Bombay, we stumbled around, increasingly bewildered at the lack of refreshment, asking our way to a "wine shop", receiving directions and failing to find our way.

Finally, we flagged down an auto and asked to be taken to the nearest wine store. The resourcefulness of mumbai auto guys is unparallelled! Lo and behold we were soon staggering back to the Orchid laden with bottles.

The tryst with beer has continued through the year (and more) at Mondys, Leos, Totos, Irish Pub and of late mixed with the sophistication of long island iced teas and other cocktails the names of some I am not confident of pronouncing or spelling - yeah thats how cool we are now. But the quest for beer marked the begining of new realtionships with the city, alcohol and people in search of escapism.

The Morning After.

I had enjoyed the most fulfilling breakfast as only complimentary breakfasts at a five star can be. Having swallowed everything in sight, I made my way across town where the seminar was to conclude. With two colleagues and a sports bag filled with all my earthly possessions I hailed an auto. I stashed my bag in the back and after forty minutes of grueling traffic, we finally arrived with a sigh of relief and no bag. Huh? Yeah it took me a minute too, and in that time the trusty auto guy had disappeared.

Minutes later I was in a conference that lasted ten hours, pondering over the whereabouts of my precious bag. I even made a list of everything it contained, how much it cost, how often I had worn/used it and therefore its depreciated value. (Relax- I am not an accountant). Ten hours later, and not very optimistically inclined, I left contact numbers at the hotel lobby- just in case.

It’s a cliché I know, what a way to begin a story. Bumpkin hits Mumbai and looses all her luggage. But there I was stranded with nothing but the clothes on my back and distressingly uncomfortable sandals that I wore. I called a friend for a little sympathy but all I got was “yeh hai Mumbai meri jaan- watch your back!”

Mumbai is not a hostile city. But it is, as I did soon realize, a city that functioned on the Darwinian principle of survival of the fittest. The smartest, most enterprising prey on the “bakras” and the “mamus”. I had just been officially designated a mamu by the city that never sleeps and somewhere on the streets of Mumbai was an auto driver very fashionably dressed in drag.

Such as it is, it is amchi mumbai