A Tribute to Bombay

It was astonishing. I was from a small and peaceful city like Dehra Dun and hardly crossed eighteen years. It was just a chance that my family decided to send me to Bombay in the mid of 1979. And I stayed there for ten months. With all the imagination and dreams about Bombay I reached at Victoria Terminus just at midnight. It was an entirely different experience. I was totally amazed by big historical buildings and even at that time there was no sign of deep night. The huge and bright road lights were there to scare away the darkness. Local buses were still running and people were moving around. The roads were stretched from one end to another. The beaming red colour of BEST buses running in hurry fascinated me.

Next day, I accompanied my uncle to a five-star hotel at Nariman point. Its lobby was so huge and beautifully decorated that it appeared to me that my vision of haven has been fulfilled. There I had a glimpse of barefooted M.F. Hussain with his arm around the shoulder of a charming young woman. There I saw a strange thing, stairs moving itself. It took me some time to learn the proper stepping and timings on it but latter on I would visit Air India building and hotel Obroi Towers just to enjoy escalaters.

I still miss the tomato omelette wala who used to stand with his rehari behind “Express” building at Nariman point. Some time, I would run from Ghatkoper to Nariman Point just to have his tasty tomato omelettes.

I have not forgotten the terrible experience of gambling. Once while moving along marine drive I noticed a group of four five people playing a game of cards in which your money will be doubled, if you could make out the proper card. I was not interested but they conspired successfully to involve me in the game. While I stood ther, one of them asked me to play or leave the place. At the same time, the other one told that I had no money to play. He had deliberately touched my ego. I retorted back that I had money, ‘Then play’, one of them said. And I staked Rs 9, the only amount that I had, to make it double. The result was not surprising. I lost and then they asked me to leave the place as they knew that I had no more money. Later on I realised that all of them were partners. I had to borrow money from and acquaintance to reach the residence.

I was impressed by the long but disciplined queues at bus stops, theatres and other places and the way people reacted and shouted collectively, if someone tried to gatecrash it. I used to wonder that why other cities of India do not have this system of queues and why it exists here. I recently read the autobiography of Morarji Desai, ‘The Story of my Life’, volume I. He describes in it that when he became the Home Minister in the interim Congress Government in 1946, he noticed that there was crowding and pushing at every tram and bus stop. He thought of to solve the problem. He posted two policemen at every tram or bus stop and directed them to see that people formed queues and boarded the tram or bus in an orderly manner. The people were informed about these arrangements and were told that necessary orders had been given to the police. The people began to understand the necessity of observing this direction within five or six days and began to form queues at all stations. This system spread also to other fields of public life. A simple solution provided by Desai made the life of many easier and ingrained a civic sense in the people. And people are still following that system even after many decades. It shows that if the leadership provides a just solution to people, it will be followed.

But, in contrast to it there was matched indiscipline and a need to safeguard your ribs from fractures against the push and pull one gets while boarding or alighting local trains. There is also need to protect yourself from lunch box walas who seemed to be always in extreme hurry. One should consider oneself fortunate, if he does not encounter the bad smell of fish being transported by local trains. But, efficiency with which these trains run and the way local trains transport thousands of people a day is commendable. And one can not forget to mention those strange creatures totally isolated from their surroundings, and playing cards comfortably on briefcase used as makeshift table.

I wondered at shouts of ‘meat lay loo’ for a number of days. I would think hawker is selling mutton, stored in the basket on her head. It was only after many days I learnt that ‘meat’ means salt.

One can enjoy the movements of waves and cool breeze sitting at the gate way of India. But time the action of young lovers, unable to find seculated place, comples you to leave the place. Also, the way people crowd and dance at the gate way of India on the eve of New year overwhelms.

The slum life is an integral part of Bombay. Some of the slum colonies provide basic facilities. But there are many slums which totally lack basic facilities. The horrible, chaotic and inhuan conditions under which the residents of these slums live, makes humanity bend its head with shame.

And one evening when I developed love and affection with city, the decision to send me back was taken. I was almost in tears when the train carrying me left Bombay Central.