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Bombay, bas

Why I don’t mind when the lights turn red

Nobody likes being stuck in Mumbai traffic, but it actually gives time for introspection or a few minutes of relaxation.
by Dr Pooja Birwatkar

As a new driver, whenever cars which had been level with me suddenly zoomed past, I would wonder what the matter was. Now, after considerable driving experience, I realise that they’ve spotted a traffic signal that is green and are trying to rush past it before it turns to red

Despite the amount of driving I’ve put in already, I still slow down seeing the green light from afar. Most vehicles rush ahead while I wait for the signal to turn red. You must think I am mad. After all, who would actually seek out a red light at the signal? But I do it for various reasons. I have developed a sort of life of my own at the traffic signal. It is now an important part of my daily commuting life and I have learnt to make the most of it.

Firstly, stopping at the signal provides a breather. Your feet, hands and brain all get temporary relaxation as you sit back and actually listen to what the RJ on the music channel is saying. There are some people who still honk from behind you and as you glance at the rear mirror to see what all the commotion is about, you catch a quick glimpse of yourself. This prompts me to readjust the mirror to look at myself more closely. But don’t do this if you are even a little bit insecure about your looks – car mirrors are notorious at telling the truth about your face, warts and all. My rearview mirror reminds me if I need to make a salon appointment or touch up my face.

While I am waiting, I also check for fuel reserves, readjust the seats and mirrors, and make a mental note of cleaning the car.

A great thing about waiting at the signal is that you get to know which fruit is in season, and what its current rate is. I am sometimes sorely tempted by the sight of luscious mangoes and red strawberries, but thanks to a movie which showed these sellers actually polishing the fruit with spit, I have learnt to resist. I do, however, resolve to visit the market and buy some fresh fruit.

I also check my cell phone for calls and messages. But a piece of advice here – do this quickly, because the moment your call is connected or you’ve almost finished texting, the light changes to green and everybody starts honking at you. And don’t try making calls while driving. Your loved ones are waiting for you at home, and the people on the road also have families and homes to go to.

The wait at signals also gives me time to mentally tick off the tasks I’ve finished or add more tasks I need to get through. What I should make for dinner is usually decided at the signal nearest to my home.

If you’re waiting, you should also look around. You’ll learn which new movies, TV serials, products are in your city, as also which celebrity is arriving soon. I’ve always been updated about the next phase of polio drives through hoardings. I also try to see how many of the cars around me I actually know – this knowledge helps me keep up with my five-year-old who knows more car names than me and frequently tests my knowledge.

Waiting at the signal also reminds me of my civic duties. Of course, there have been times when I have tried to cross the signal and the lights have turned red. It has been too late to reverse, so I’ve just waited and kept an eye out for a traffic cop, who, sure enough, jumps out at me from behind a tree.

The wait also makes me introspect – I compare my life with those of the people living on the city’s streets. Little boys and girls who should be in school are either out begging or kids at street signalsselling stuff. I always use this time to teach my son about gratitude and empathy, even as I learn a lesson or two. I don’t mean to sermonise, but if you can, do buy something from those street urchins.

I also get idea for most of my articles like this one while waiting at the signal. And I am not the only one who appreciates traffic signals. Several movie plots have liberally used traffic signals for important turning points in their stories. In the movies, many romances have played out at traffic signals, and bichhde hue bhais and behens have also come together.

I really like waiting at traffic signals. Do you?

 

(Pictures courtesy election.rediff.com, in.reuters.com)

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Bombay, bas

So, you’re new to Mumbai…

Your only chance at survival in this magnificent metropolis is to learn about life here and why it ticks so.
by Dr Pooja Birwatkar

As a child, I heard a lot of stories about the big bad world that existed somewhere. A place where people were like machines devoid of emotions, leading a mechanical and calculated life, where crimes that one read about in stories actually occurred and people were heartless, self-absorbed and practical. Coming from a small hilly town with a close-knit community, I always wondered where this world was. Slowly I discovered it was called Bombay (in those days), and which we now know as Mumbai.

When I came to know that I have to visit this city, my first reaction was that of fear and a reluctance to go. As advice such as ‘Be careful there!’ from near and dear ones poured in my ears, my anxiety and restlessness grew. I landed in Bombay after many scary dreams and nightmares that I underwent all through the journey. The city appeared magnificent, voluminous and bustling. I remember clutching at my mother’s bag and holding her hand tight as we walked past Gateway of India.  Every person, to me, seemed dubious, and the crowded city looked so threatening. I went back with the resolution never to come back. But as fate would have it, I was back years later after having married a Mumbaikar. I questioned my fate – Why did I return, of all the places, to Mumbai? But being left with no choice, I settled for a life here.

Mumbai dads are like Santa Claus, because they usually come home late – normally when the kids are fast asleep.

In my initial year, I learnt a few things about the city:

– ‘Ka’ must be suffixed to all action words – jaaneka, khaneka, baithneka, rukneka, etc.

– If someone asks where your room is, the person is asking for your address and not about your personal room in your house.

– ‘Bumper to bumper’ means that there is a traffic jam and ‘mama’ is the name given to the traffic police man.

cutting chai– ‘Ek cutting dena‘ means give half a cup of chai.

– Everyone is genuinely busy in Mumbai. Soon, this will rub off on you, too.

– Everything you heard about the local trains of Mumbai is, unfortunately, true. But if one has to learn punctuality, learn from the local trains.

– If someone standing in the local train asks you which station you will get down at, it does not mean the person is interested in you or trying to be friendly. It simply means that your seat is now booked by him/her.

– Well groomed, hair in place, large bag, sandwiches or roti wraps in foil and cut fruits in zip lock bags, latest novel and big glares on…this is what a woman in the ladies first class coach normally looks like. To identify the second class ladies coach, you need no training – it is bursting with women, but is more homely. It is okay if you did not get time to eat or wear your accessories in a bid to catch the train, as you can buy all of it here.

– In Mumbai, the rains do not stop life, nor do terror blasts. However, local trains and BEST buses do manage to halt life momentarily.

– Winters are hardly present here, but nevertheless, Mumbai celebrates the spirit of winter.  Though the weather is merely pleasant, Mumbaikars still shiver, light fires, wear warm clothes and say ‘Arre, thandi hai kafi.’ This might make people from the North, who are used to harsh winters, roll their eyes and mock these deprived souls, but Mumbaikars don’t care. If they are not sweating, then it is winter in the city.

– It is never too late to go and eat dinner outside. Restaurants would be open. Almost everything gets home delivered.

– Mumbai dads are like Santa Claus, because they usually come home late – normally when the kids are fast asleep. You expect the dhobi, pavwala, bhajiwala to be there in the crowdsevening when your door bell rings. It is unusual to find your husband so early at the door. The first reaction to your husband home early is to wonder if he is unwell or if there has been a bomb blast in the city.

– It is easy to cross the road despite the traffic, as discipline still prevails. I am not joking – once a dog stood next to me at a zebra crossing and waited patiently to cross the road.

– ‘Sobo’ means ‘South Bombay’, and if you are a Sobo resident, you are usually envied and considered to have ‘class’. Going to Kala Ghoda in Sobo is a status symbol.

– If you ask for directions, people will seldom say they don’t know. They make every effort to help you. Rest assured that you are bound to reach with the directions given to you.

– It is hard to imagine this, but amidst the hustle-bustle, Mumbai has a strong religious streak and rejoices during festivals.

– The ‘aam janta‘ here is not fashion-conscious, and frankly, they don’t care about the latest trends. Unlike their counterparts in other areas of the country, people here don’t look down upon you if you are not fashionably dressed.

– Mumbaikars are not star struck, but local train-struck. They would prefer missing seeing a celebrity over missing their long distance train.

New entrants like me owe a lot to this city. Mumbai makes you stronger – much more than you ever thought you could be – and teaches you to raise your self-esteem, and instills fearlessness and strength to go on. I now love this pulsating, vibrant city which never sleeps. So, to all you newcomers, it would be just a matter of time before you would also say with pride like me, “Yes, I am a Mumbaikar and it is my own aamchi Mumbai”. I belong here and I am happy to be here.

(Pictures courtesy Nidhi Qazi, www.thehindu.com, mumbaithecityofdreamscometrue.blogspot.com)

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Bombay, bas

Mumbai’s ‘potty’ issue

It’s a basic human requirement, but sadly, an international city like Mumbai still does not have enough clean public toilets.
by Devashri Prabhu

Mumbai’s local trains are the saviours for those who travel to far off places for work. I travel on the Western line, from Borivali to Andheri. The trains, as you know, are crowded even as early as 7.00 am or 7.30 am. So even from Borivali, after the great struggle to get into the train all I can manage is a place to stand near the door.

Okay, so the train starts slowly first and then picks up speed. The wind makes you forget all the worries. You feel happy about the journey even though you are surrounded by a sea of people on all sides, each one breathing onto the other!

And soon enough, a stench makes your nose twitch in disgust.

The stench becomes stronger as the train passes through the Kandivali, Malad and Goregaon. Your olfactory senses are then helped by supporting visuals to help you know the source of the stench – the source is nothing but rows of people defecating on the railway tracks.

gents toiletThis type of behaviour is majorly observed in men and also to some extent in women and children. I have encountered this scenario not only on the railway tracks but also on the roads. Isn’t it disturbing? And not only because it is aesthetically displeasing or that it is embarrassing to watch people openly defecating. The most disturbing bit is how unfortunate it is that the need for sanitation is taken for granted in a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai. It is also not a healthy situation both physically and psychologically to be in, if you have no private place to go to, when nature calls, and all you have as an emergency resort is a public place such as railway tracks or main roads of the city.

The practice endangers the lives of those using these open public spaces for defecation, especially along railway tracks and roads. I feel a chill when I se even young tots, unaccompanied by elders, engaging in the same activity on the tracks, oblivious to the oncoming trains.

The needs of these people are to be seriously looked into. The vision for National Urban Sanitation Policy under Ministry of Urban Development, Government of India, is:

“All Indian cities and towns become totally sanitized, healthy and liveable and ensure

 and sustain good public health and environmental outcomes for all their citizens

 with a special focus on hygienic and affordable sanitation facilities for the urban

 poor and women.”

Yes, the Government has an Urban Sanitation Policy in place, known as the National Urban Sanitation Policy, 2008. But what would happen if there are enough toilets built but there is no water facility provided? It would still be as good as no help given. I would go further and state that it is rather equal to mocking the situation of these people.

I also want to bring your attention to the availability of working/functioning community and public toilets. The paid toilets that have come up are a good step in this direction. But what amazes me is that the paid toilets on the railways stations, some of which are recently built, are locked at most hours of the day, and this is true for almost all the ladies toilets a toilet in dharavion the railway platforms. Even while leaving the house for far-off travel, females have to empty their bladders before leaving home.

And when it comes to gents’ toilets, they are far worse than ladies’ toilets. We complain of the stench and the filth in these toilets, but the people employed to take care of these toilets have a huge task at hand. It cannot be easy cleaning a space that the public uses in large numbers. So, we all have to be responsible when using public toilets. If water is available, we should flush the toilets are use – and this is not too much to ask for, don’t we flush the toilets in our own homes?

So the next time we want to assert our rights, we should also ensure that we don’t fall short of carrying out our duties as well. What I get from reflecting on this issue is that the ‘potty’ issue is surely not a ‘petty’ issue for Mumbai!

Devashri Prabhu has a Masters in Psychology and her interests lie in areas like Mental Health, Social Issues and Spirituality.

(Pictures courtesy environmentalwatchman.blogspot.com,  sanitationupdates.wordpress.com, affordablehousinginstitute.org)

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Bombay, bas

Eat, play, love and sex

Fort offers good options for eating, street art and buying sexual implements, which come in both plastic and rubber variants.
by Nidhi Qazi

I was at Fort over the weekend, just taking in the sights. Exploring the city is something I enjoy in my spare time, and my afternoon was a highly educational one. I ate at Irani cafes, strolled the archways at MG Road and had an awkward, dildo-related conversation, and finally landed at Kala Ghoda, where I got arty with some street artists.

EAT

KyaniOld furniture. Old pictures. Simple decor. Cheap food. History couldn’t get better. Yes, history I say. The number of famous and not-so-famous Irani cafes in the city are live archives of the city’s past and present. They stand out among their swanky contemporaries in all aspects, be it the choice of food, the decor or the experience. On a weekend, what better than a cup of Irani chai, bun maska and the home-like custard?

I started my food walk with Kyani & Co., where I enjoyed their bun maskas, a range of omlettes, burgers, cakes and custard. According to the co-owner, Farokh Shokri, “The old-world charm of this place is what people admire and they come here for the experience. It reminds them of the past. And since nostalgia can’t be captured in a photograph, we maintain it the way it has always been, since 1940.” He adds, “Even if we had to refurbish this place, we’ll have to then increase the pricing, which we don’t want. We earn honest profits by catering to the masses and we don’t want to lose them.”

Point noted. I then moved on to Yazdani Bakery, which is famous for its brun maska, khaari, coffee, chai and apple pie. Again, this is the place to be when you want to devour freshly baked breads, puddings and pavs. And don’t forget to wish the Yazdaniowner. He’s an adorable oldie. Just chat him up and get a few insights into the history of India, Parsis, current politics, and other items of interest.

Still looking for more eats in the area? Go to Sassanian Boulangerie. Their famous dishes are chicken dhansak, chicken sali boti and raspberry drink.

PLAY

There are stars and there are stars. Likewise, there are artists and there are artists. On the street outside Jehangir Art Gallery is a world of these artists, uncelebrated but highly talented. They lag behind their most established brothers when it comes to showcasing their work, but thanks to Kala Ghoda Association and the popularity of street art, Mumbai has its own street art outside the Gallery. Chatting up to a few of them reveals some stories.

Dhammpal KiradakArtist Dhammpal Gyanrao Kiradak (in pic on left), a resident of Kalyan, originally from Akola district, rues the lack of visibility artists like him suffer from, thanks to bigger artists. “The selection body of Jehangir Art Gallery selects an artist based on the market value. We may not have the market value, but we are no less when it comes to talent,” he declares. Showing his work of art, he adds, “Art festivals don’t exhibit the real art work. It is plain show, wherein the rich get their way. We are poor. Humein koi kuch samajhta nahi (Nobody gives us our due).”

But he is thankful that artists like him have the entire street to showcase their work, at the very least. The artists mostly present their work on the stands (except for the monsoon season) provided by the Kala Ghoda Association, which charges Rs 100 a day for the using the same. Kiradak’s paintings are priced at a minimum of Rs 500 and go up to Rs 10,000.

Further down, I browsed the work of artist Swaroop Kaintura, and immediately spotted its novelty. He does ‘Ticket art’, which ticket artincorporates used tickets of buses and trains in his work and builds a story around them.  “It is my creation and I feel happy doing it. It makes people happy, too,” he says. Take a close look at his work and you’ll realise the beauty of this amalgamation of drab-looking tickets and the bright colours, which tell their own little stories. Each of his creations is priced at Rs 500.

Another interesting artist here is Munna wirewallah, who is a unique talentwallah! His talent lies in his ability to twist a single wire into anything – from a simple key chain, Buddha’s face, to 3D objects like bicycles, bikes, flower vases and puzzles etc. (see pic below). Behind the popular name, Munna is sexagenarian Harish Kumar Bhanusha, hailing from Gujarat, who came to Mumbai to earn.

wire artHaving been on the pavement since 1972, Munna started playing with wires and made random objects till he realised it was actually fetching him money. He then shifted from junk wires to better finished ones and started making new things. His creations were bought by ‘Lataji, Raj Kapoor and others,’ he says. In fact, he adds, Ashaji had also ordered some stuff from him, but as time passed she never visited again, because “Woh toh ameer ban gayi aur hum gareeb reh gaye (She became rich while I remained poor).” His pieces are priced from Rs 20 to Rs 700.

LOVE and SEX 

In one of the lanes around Fort is a busy lane, turning left to the Mahatma Gandhi Road. This lane is an open one (figuratively) for it showcases the hidden and the hush-hush – the vibrator. For those uninitiated, a vibrator is a sex toy and resembles a phallus (see pic below). This entire lane has a lot of shops selling them. As for my conversation with a vibrator-seller, here’s how it went:

Me (after pretending to be interested in umbrellas and hair dryers) : Bhaiyya, yeh kya hai?

vibrators on sale

Vendor: Madam, yeh vibrator hai.

Me (pretending to be really innocent): Iska kya use hai?

Vendor: Yeh sex ke liye use hota hai. Chahiye? 300 rupees ka hai.

Me : Nahin bhaiyya, thanks.

Vendor: Le lijiye, bahut kaam ki cheez hai. Aap ko 250 mein de denge. Yeh achcha nahi laga toh rubber ka bhi hai.

I run.

Bombay, bas is a weekly column on getting around the madness of Mumbai and exploring the city with a fresh perspective. 

(Pictures courtesy Nidhi Qazi)

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Bombay, bas

The Shahrukh Khan of Marine Drive

The city is home to several film ‘strugglers’ – while most simply fail, one became a star on the street.
by Nidhi Qazi

After a weekend well spent at the NCPA, spending time at Marine Drive seemed to be the obvious next choice. I couldn’t have gone there at a better time, for I saw a crowd of about 30 men huddled to watch someone perform. That someone was a man with long hair, lovingly called ‘Shahrukh’ by the crowd. He was enacting a Shahrukh Khan dialogue from the movie Mohabbatein, adding his bit of humour. “Woh mere ghar ke saamne se nikalti thi, thoda sharmati thi, lajaati thi. Kuch kehna tha usko magar keh nahi paati thi. Baad mein pata chala, woh gutka chabaati thi.” The audience applauded and whistled.

He started on another one from an Ajay Devgan movie – “Mujhe apno ne loota, gairon mein kahaan dum tha. Meri haddi vahaan tooti, jahan hospital band tha.” The crowd roared again.

Who is he? I wondered. Catching up with him later, I learnt that ‘Shahrukh’s’ real name was Gabbar Singh. Confused? Wait, let’s start this story from the beginning.

The star of Marine Drive

Gabbar Singh Chauhan (25) has been a star entertainer at Marine Drive for almost a decade now. The crowds simply love his acting of the famous movie scenes and stunts and dialogues with his touch of humour thrown in.

Gabbar Singh has been there, done that in Mumbai. Part of a dozen reality shows like India’s Got Talent and Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega, he is a sought-after entertainer in family functions and a regular face at the endless auditions of the reality shows that have mushroomed in the electronic media. He carries a portfolio full of newspaper cuttings featuring him wherever he goes.

Watch a clip of Gabbar performing in Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega:

 

He has long straight hair, inspired by Hrithik Roshan’s Krrish, a heart tattoo on the right arm and a petite frame, and comes across as another wannabe actor who is in this dream city for his big dream – Bollywood. But that is until you actually hear his story.

A tête–à–tête with Gabbar:

Gabbar Singh ChauhanI sat him down for tea at an eatery in Churchgate, and he proceeded to tell me his story. His conversation was liberally peppered with anecdotes illustrating how he is a people’s star. As if on cue, a waiter comes to the table and says, “Aap media se lagte ho. Yeh Gabbar Singh hain. Khayaal rakhiye inka. Yeh bahut achche actor hain. Maine inko Girgaon chowpatty mein dekha tha perform karte hue. Jamm ke likhiye inke baare mein (You must be from the media. This is Gabbar Singh. Take note of him, he’s a very good actor. I’d seen him perform at Girgaon chowpatty. Write a nice big piece on him.)”

The small display of his fan following aside, Gabbar proceeded with his story. An SSC passout, he is a resident of Mathura, UP and acting was not what he wanted to do. His parents named him Gabbar because he was “stubborn like Gabbar Singh”. He said, “I didn’t want to want to become an actor. Desh ki janta ne mujhe actor banaya hai (The people of the country made me an actor).” He added, “I saw a Shahrukh film on TV, then enacted the scene in front of a mirror and thought I was a very good actor.”

Mathura gave him a platform to perform at local events and his fan following increased. People started calling him ‘Mathura ka Shah Rukh’. Eventually, he got coverage in the local media and all this attention led him to come to Mumbai, only to get rejected.

“I came to Mumbai in 2002. People made fun of me when I asked them about Shahrukh’s and Amitabh Bachchan’s address. Nobody guided me. I didn’t know anyone in the film industry.” He then went back to Mathura. At that time, he was spotted by a director, and eventually got a role in Ravi Kissen starrer Dharam Shakti. Though the film did not release, it motivated Gabbar to chase his Bollywood dream and he came back in 2004.

Not a struggler

Speaking about his ‘public demand’, Gabbar says, “Aaj kal ke strugglers ki koi demand nahin hai. Main hoon asli zindagi ka hero. Public kehti ki aisa actor unhone zindagi mein pehli Gabbar Singh Chauhan baar dekha hai (No strugglers are in demand these days. I am a real-life actor. People say they have never seen an actor like me in their lives.”) But the passion with which he says this doesn’t really come across as boastful.

He then shows me a few mobile clippings featuring him. I see the judges laughing at him and point it out to him, but he says, “Judges hans rahein hain kyunki woh mujhe pasand karte hain, mujhe talented maante hain. Farah Khan ne toh mujhe apni film Happy New Year mein ek role bhi offer kiya hai (The judges are laughing because they like me, they think I’m talented. Farah Khan has even offered me a role in her film Happy New Year).”

In one clip, Anu Malik goes a few words further in his appreciation for Gabbar, “Gabbar Singh, tu filmi nahi hai; tu toh apne mein ek poori film hai (You are not just filmi, you are an entire film).” And he believes them all because, “Judges don’t lie.”

Gabbar’s source of income is the performances he gives at birthday parties, orchestras and the stage, and he makes about Rs.10,000 per month. As for Marine Drive, he performs on Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays from 9 pm till about midnight.

Aiming for the stars

Gabbar in the newsAfter almost a decade of entertaining people by enacting famous scenes from films with his touch of humour, mimicking and performing several antics, what does he think he has achieved? “Name, popularity and respect,” he says. “Public ek star ko jitna pyaar deti hai, mujhe bhi utna deti hai. People ask me for autographs, photographs and wherever I go, people recognise me. Even media asks me for bytes on various incidents.”

Having “trained at Prithvi Theatre for three months”, Gabbar feels he doesn’t lack in talent but the only shortcoming is his improper Hindi and English diction. “Meri angrezi mein shehri touch nahi hai (My English is not very posh),” he rues.

With Bollywood as his “asli maksad”, doesn’t he feel his chances are reduced due to his non-filmy background? “Background doesn’t matter. Yes, the struggle is less but ultimately, public is the real judge. Take Sonu Sood, Shahrukh Khan, Mithun. None of them had a filmy background. Background ka achaar dalenge agar janta pasand nahi karegi!””

When fans follow

Gabbar Singh ChauhanAfter an hour of talking, we go back to Marine Drive, only to witness the much talked-about fan following. The first in line is a driver who calls out “Namaste, Shahrukhji.” Next, a couple of drivers say, “Kya haal Gabbar?” Two men on a motorbike at the signal shout across the road, “Hi, Gabbar!” Finally, at the stretch from Pizza by the Bay to the Air India building, chaiwallahas and local vendors greet Gabbar. There is a group of teenage boys who want to get a picture clicked with their Shahrukh.

We also chance upon the waiter who is done for the day and is relaxing by the seaside. He is Aditya, a huge fan of Gabbar. He says, “So many people like him, watch him. His acting style is fun but he should concentrate more on comedy.” He adds, “If big newspapers write about him, he would be instantly noticed by the industry bigwigs.”

Meanwhile, Gabbar Singh dials “Farah Khan’s number” only to find it “switched off”. And we call it a day.

(Pictures courtesy afternoondc.com and Nidhi Qazi) 

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Bombay, bas

The 1992 riots: a memoir

It was the worst of times, but yet, it may have been the best of times for a fourteen-year-old boy.
by Abbas Bagasrawala

I don’t remember the hatred. I do, however, remember the fear in my parents’ eyes as we were laid under siege in my all-Muslim building in Mazagaon, waiting up on our terraces for marauders that may have come, but never really did, probably more because of sheer dumb luck than anything else. I remember watching the city burn. Even at the age of 14, I realized that there was something wrong with the world if your city burned.

Mumbai riotsI remember being a little pissed off that, when the violence got too much for the pussy footing police, an army platoon or whatever was brought in and it encamped in St. Mary’s ICSE, foregoing my school, St. Mary’s SSC, which was just across the road. I reasoned it must be because they had ‘all those rich kids’, and was more bitter about this insult than any Ramjanmabhoomi issue anywhere.

I remember seeing a mob armed with swords chasing down some guy on the bridge near our home and I remember the next scene as if it was in a B-grade movie, where the guy escaped by running and leaping with a grace and an élan that didn’t belong to those gauche times, into a BEST bus that was at that opportune moment passing by. The technique that saved his life could have only been learned after a lifetime spent training in the kung-fu art of running by the side of a bus before leaping into it. It was a technique that could only have been learnt in middle-class Bombay where those buses not just ferried you towards your hopes and dreams but also in most cases got you back home to your loved ones after situations that could only be described as murderous.

I remember my friend Murtuza being slapped across the face by an uncle in our building to save him from being picked up by that same army platoon because he burst some leftover Diwali crackers in mischief (the Army thought it was disturbing the peace) that arose from the boredom of being confined to our building playground that long holiday from school. Riots are not just destructive to life and limb, to person and property, but also to kids at home with nothing to do except wait for the rapture that is the break in the curfew. There was no cycling in the gullies, no cricket in the driveway, and no football in St Mary’s ISC. There was not even the remotest possibility of sailing, of catching a movie or walking to a dingy videogame parlor to blow pocket money on the Mario Brothers and Contra. Even our windows were kept closed because my parents took the shoot-at-sight orders way too seriously.

Time passed excruciatingly, mind-numbingly slowly. The riots had taken all that was good about life, and turned it to squalor.

Also while we were imprisoned in our building I remember hating the fact that I had to part with my cricket bat, my hockey stick, and some stumps to some of the older kids who were Mumbai riots 1apparently collecting sports goods for some grand sporty defense of the building, in case people decided to attack us. I was certain this was just some elaborate scheme to merely get their paws on our stuff. But most of all I remember the people who took the riot and made it something that I learned from, something that made me more secular, something that make me love Bombay more. They were the people who rescued Bombay from the riots, from the self-immolation that it seemed to be hell bent upon.

I remember the neighborhood pavwalla (I called him the guy who really brought home the bread and butter in a private joke on my dad) who, when the curfew broke, delivered bread from his hole-in-the-wall-shop to the entire Lower Nesbit Road area where I lived. I remember how he used a quintessentially Bombay move on a rich prick who tried to jump the bread queue by stating in almost Delhi terms about how he was too important to wait in a line like everybody else. The move, which should be called The Pavwalla Checkmate, was to give that dude the bread first but he made that bastard wait, and wait, and he made him wait till the very end to accept his money. Rich prick could not walk away without bread because they were curfewed times and therefore bread was not easy to come by. Also rich prick could not simply walk away without paying for the bread because that would be cheap, which would defeat the very credo of being rich and being a prick. In a time of grave injustices, this was justice at its very best, doled out in the language of money, a language that was more Bambaiyya than any of the vernaculars used within.

If times of crisis differentiate men from the boys, then crisis merely forges legends into beings of even more awesomeness. This was the case with Rabi Ahuja, the erstwhile Commodore of the Sea Cadet Corps where I went for my bit of extra-curricular activity. I loved the Sea Cadets, mostly because they introduced me to sailing, which to do this day is an infatuation of mine, but also because they wielded words like ‘honour’ and ‘integrity’ to my upbringing of the time.

sea cadetsI loved the Sea Cadets so much that I managed to convince my parents to go for our usual Sunday Parade at TS Jawahar, Colaba despite the fact that people were killing people and the world had essentially gone mad. My arguments of the time were that rioters won’t be doing said rioting on Sundays cause that was arguably the day even the Gods rested and even rioters need a break. Also whilst at TS Jawahar we were safer than money in the bank. Besides, I argued, Captain (he was Captain Superintendent then) would make even the worst rioter literally shit his pants if they tried any funny business with the Corps. Of all my arguments, I think that the last one was the clincher for my parents, and I think that between the promises (had there been any) of the Indian Legal System and Captain Rabi Ahuja, they would have trusted him with us more without a moment’s hesitation. That was the nature of the man. That was the nature of his legend.

And boy, he did not disappoint, for when we did get to TS Jawahar at 7 am, he made us parade in the hot sun in a manner not too divorced from the times when everything was normal, as if everything had not gone to pieces like that mosque in Ayodhya, as if Bombay and India had not inexorably been changed for the worse. He stood, a fountainhead, for a better, less revolting time. He even staved off phone calls of petrified parents who by now were informing us that the rioters had not taken the day off and who were, in all earnestness, carrying on the glorious tradition of communal riots in this country. He assured those doubting parents that if needed he would personally people drop home if the situation required. To me, this was the epitome of taking ownership for your fellow Indian much more than any politician’s speech ever could. But even more than that, it represented an exciting prospect as being dropped home in Captain Ahuja’s Blue Premier 118 NE was akin to having the President of a country drop me home with full State honours. In my mind’s eye, I could see him driving us past problem areas and rioters, whoever they were, automatically stopped whatever they were doing to this city, and stopped to stare at a sight as rare and magnificent as this. After staring for a bit, I was sure that they would go straight home because no one, and I mean no one, had the cajones to kick up the dirt when the Captain made the rounds. After that my bro and I would have our glorious homecoming with all the neighbours looking on as a brilliant man, in a brilliant white uniform with a peak cap that the sun would be proud to be above, would stop at my gate, and we would salute him, because he stood for all that was the best of India, all that was 1992 riots A memoirthe best of this city and that would be just right, in a time of copious wrongs.

But alas, it was not meant to be. We never got that ride with the Captain, for we lived in a relatively safe neighbourhood, one which wasn’t so high up on the danger scales which meant that we caught the usual No. 3 bus home unescorted, returning to being merely children of the lesser God of the times.

Bombay, bas is a weekly column on getting around the madness of Mumbai and exploring the city with a fresh perspective. This column tells it like it is.

(Pictures courtesy www.outlookindia.com, www.indianexpress.com, asianetindia.com, www.seacadet.in, www.tehelka.com)

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