Mumbai

Mumbai, the city of dreams and the Nagar of Maya. The city that has a lot to serve and ample to offer, the city of grandeur and broken dreams, the city of wealth and hustle, the city of convolution and simplicity. It leaves one surprised and aloof to the charm of the metropolitan and leaves a mark of remembrance in one's heart either of unconditional love for the city or of apathy. With such remembrance, I embark on this epithet that explores the metropolitan under my honest light of critique and appreciation, favored by bedazzlement and reverence. The story commences with a tale of ambition as all great stories do.

I received the letter of my appointment in December and Mumbai was to be my destination. I have already dreamt up great palaces of light even before stepping into the city as the city's reputation precedes the visit. In popular culture, it is portrayed as a place of dreams where people's love, ambition, desires, and passion find solace. Such notions plagued my mind and led me to conjure a land of great achievement and opportunity. The city had to offer its finest and I was ambitious to grasp all to my advantage. The dreams of money, prestige, and achievement of living in the New York of the Orient filled my head and I eagerly awaited the first glimpse of Mumbai.

I landed in Mumbai and took a cab to my hotel. It was 11 in the night, and I remember the tall skyscrapers and the narrow lanes. I checked into my hotel and waited for the day to start as the start of a new journey. The new day brought me to the reality and the life and the spirit that is the city of Bombay. The city was bustling to its brim with artisans, officegoers, taxi drivers, grocers, and a plethora of citizens hustling with unprecedented energies before my eyes. The resonance was imminent, the energy contagious and the lifestyle daunting. Late-night walks and morning jogs by the shore, basking in the vicinity of old British architecture and strolling in the old lanes that reminded me of the Victorian Era, brought amazement and grandeur to my mind. Those 2 days in South Bombay felt like hours and I watched them whiz past me in awe.

The next cultural enclave I was administered was Byculla, just a few minutes away from Mumbai Central. It lay bare the underbelly of the city's poor, impoverished populous to me. The section of the city moved like potpourri traversing all the narrow crevices with ease. The city that never sleeps had its citizens laid bare on the streets. The place crawled with poor hygiene, mass populous, hunger, and hurry. I witnessed at a smaller scale the rush and hurry people take scuttling to offices. Long jams and longer queues for buses riddled my sight. Witnessing the mass exodus every sunrise and sunset made me ponder the allure of Mumbai. The allure to undertaking journeys for the sake of reaching your place of work on time was starting to overpaint the old Victorian architecture in a somber shade. After a few months there, the reality of Mumbai settled into me. The city was operating as a dystopian dysfunctional metropolitan city disguised as a brightly colored circus of mirth, pride, joy, and ambition. Stark poverty is evident to the naked eye but only for those who have time to observe, as the city offers little repose to the residents. The citizens walk in spurts, exuberating a sense of remorse and struggle, evident by the unhappy faces, heavy backpacks and sweaty clothes. I am grateful for experiencing Mumbai on gradual levels as my next place of stay happened to be Wadala, where I understood the word Mumbaiker in its truest sense.

Wadala is a swamp, and my residence comprises an overpriced 1BHK in a good society that acts like a self-sustained locality but is a prison. The society has major amenities but there is nothing outside, it's like living on an island in the middle of an ocean. The vast income disparity was evident the moment you walked into the building. The people are amicable and helpful yet reserved and taut. Wadala was the true Mumbaiker experience as now we lived in the suburbs and went to town to work. The commute, the cuisine, and the everyday struggles were all coming together to enlighten me with the spirit of Mumbai and its bane. I fully understood the allure of wealth that compelled people to stay in the city even for its multiple deficiencies.

The society and nearby places like Matunga, Pratiksha Nagar, Dadar and Sion helped me witness the normality of Mumbai and its humility and rich flavors. The late-night ice cream in Matunga, vada-pao in PK and sleepless streets fill my mind with glee; the watch repair shops which I frequent in Dadar and street food in Sion near Khalsa College are memories I cherish. BKC and Linking-Road offer the finest of opulence and lux. Never have I spent a dull moment in the streets of Linking-Road, albeit intoxicated at 2 in the night. Freedom runs amok and restrain is absent, like all fun nights are. The late-night fast car rides, air brushing against my face, parties and dances till the sun comes up and biryani for breakfast are experiences that no other city has served and never will. Truly the spirit of Bombay is awake and alive at night.

The cultural mix, the potpourri of love, achievement, passion, crimson, humility, and strife entangled with rich history, food, and amalgamation of religion, culture and emotions makes Bombay an everlasting impression indescribable in words. The small houses are ample and enough, and the more than adequate hearts of its citizens make up for any misgivings the city offers. Bombay is a land that has a lot to serve and much to offer. It's a city suspended in the limbo of juxtaposition, where all live and thrive, yet struggle and survive.

ये शहर की बातें और शहर की रौनक
रोशन बहुत है मगर
मिटा नहीं सकती अंदर का अँधेरा
हंस-बात करना है मिथ्या
यह आंसू हैं संताप के

On a personal note, I may add a few lines: Suffocating in a tsunami of people, yet alone. I wanted to love it, but I couldn't. I truly wished I could fall in love with this beauty.

I express my thoughts on the public infrastructure of Mumbai, have a read.