The Paradox City

Mumbai, a historically insignificant and neglected area of seven vaguely distributed islands, had its first share of global importance when the British decided to build their first port of the sub-continent in Mumbai, one of the finest natural harbours in Asia. Later, with the completion of the ‘Hornby Vellard’ project in 1845, the seven islands were amalgamated into a single city that was to host millions of people in the next few centuries.

In the 19th century, Mumbai started hosting many modern improvements such as India’s first railway and soon became the economical backbone of the British Empire, spread over the huge Indian sub-continent. Mumbai’s economical and populational growth was a natural outcome of its stature of the world’s leading cotton trading market in the mid-nineteenth century. Mumbai was once known as the ‘Manchester’ of India.

In the next 150 years, Mumbai has transformed into the 5th most populous metropolitan area in the world, hosting around 19 million people in its vast variety of sub-regions.
In fact, there is a lot more to the city than just outrageous statistics and a dramatic historical growth. ‘The Paradox City’, as I often call Mumbai, has, consistently, hosted all possible kinds of emotions, people and events. The ‘standard deviation’ of income in Mumbai is one of the highest in the world. There are people in the city who earn billions of rupees by signing a single contract; and on the contrary, there are people who, regularly, beg around traffic signals, craving for a single meal. There are those who stay in skyscrapers or in their own lavish bungalows, having huge golf courses, sports clubs alongside for their evening entertainment; and there are also those who, along with a ‘joint’ family, stay in 10’ X 10’ rooms that don’t even allow fresh air to come in.

Mumbai, also, hosts plenty of immigrant dreamers who come to the city to actualize their dreams; a few of them taste the success they dream of; whereas the others get lost in the darkness of the city, never to be seen again in the fresh light. Amongst the failed, some join the underworld, some start intoxicating themselves with drugs, whereas some join the lucrative yet harassing business of prostitution to become a vital part of the city. The optimists keep waiting for their chance to come for eternity and end up living a life full of unsuccessful struggle and die a disgraceful death. The hardcore pessimists, on the other hand, surrender after repeated failures and end the life that they had never imagined themselves to be living. The best practical implementation of the proverb, ‘Truth is stranger than fiction’ can be experienced in Mumbai, where the possibilities are endless and the city’s mystic can beat even the best imaginative brains in the world.

Although, it has got much more opportunities than the lower class, the ‘middle class’, a supremely significant factor in the city, too, has to fight its way out to both commercial and mental success, competing against a huge amount of deprived people, desperately trying to achieve the same. The ‘rat race’, as they call it, does not permit a sabbatical to its participants. As a result, depression can often be spotted in the city’s youth as many fail to cope up with the excessive mental stress that they have to bear continuously. The middle class tries to find a specious solace in various means of entertainment such as sports (mostly Cricket), movies (Bollywood and Hollywood), various art forms (theatre, music, literarture, etc.), clubs, restaurants, beaches (Marine Drive, Worli Sea Face, Bandstand, Juhu Beach to name a few), lounges and several other things that, again, exist in this city, in sheer abundance and in a plethora of variety.

Amongst the dreamers, to the successful few, living in Mumbai is living the sweetest dream; to the others, ‘Mumbai’ can very well be a nightmare coming true. The ‘Upper Class’ is, supposedly, the only set of people who prefer Mumbai as their home, according to recent statistics. So, do all the people who are not fortunate/ able enough to be rich not have a reason to love Mumbai?

The question sounds interesting to my brains but my heart answers it rather rapidly. I, for one, regardless of the comparatively poor infrastructure than the other Metros of the world (for instance, New York, London, Tokyo) can never fancy staying away from the city, purely because I, modestly, don’t think that Marine Drive is any lesser than the Mahattan Island when it comes to beauty neither do I think that the train journey from Goregaon to Churchgate is lesser eccentric than the journey from King’s Cross to Barking. Well, Mumbai has given our country so much in every which way possible that it’s natural for a quintessential ‘Mumbaikar’ like me to be biased towards the city. Nonetheless, I’m a realist and am well-aware that common man’s life style would be far better in the cities that I mentioned earlier. They are commercially and technologically way more advanced and they have an infrastructure that is far more reliable, to say the least.

So, do you leave Mumbai if you get a chance to move to any of these cities? Well, I won’t and I have a humble question as the reason for my decision.
‘Do you shift to someone else’s house if you find it attractive; or work towards the betterment of your own?’




- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Mumbai on the Run

Mumbai is often described as a city, which is always on its heels. People here seem to be always on their toes. Some of them are running to attend an important meeting, some to meet their lovers, and more often than not, a majority of them are running to catch their daily dose of a ride in the local trains! A fast life is thus what inherently describes Mumbai’s lifestyle the best. Running has become such an important aspect of our daily lives that most of us can’t even remember what a casual slow paced life could be like.

Come 20^th of January this year, and you will see a whole lot of Mumbaikars running on the streets of Mumbai in the wee hours of the morning. For those of you who are still wondering why so many people would be running on the streets on a Sunday morning in winter, 20th of January 2008 marks the 5^th Anniversary of the Mumbai Marathon.

The Mumbai Marathon in many ways represents all good things about Mumbai.

There are a lot of people who would disagree with me when I say that Mumbai is an impartial city. But the fact remains that it is. Which other city would house more than a million people coming from various parts of the country with most of them even living on the streets. Mumbai doesn’t discriminate. Mumbai accepts you as you are. Thus a poor farmer becomes an immortal industrialist and a graduate from Delhi with unconventional looks becomes the biggest entertainer that Bollywood has ever produced. Mumbai thus lives by the line ‘If you can dream it, you can make it.’ Same is the case with the Marathon. The Mumbai Marathon is a great leveler. It doesn’t discriminate. Rahul Bose had once said in an interview that while he was running the marathon and suddenly felt thirsty he took a sip of water from a common man running next to him. In normal circumstances, according to the actor, he would have thought about doing such a thing a 100 times over.

Living in Mumbai takes a lot out of you. It exemplifies Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest. This city though accepts everyone, only the one with vision, focus and dedication live through. At the same time, it allows you to be mad! It sets an automatic trigger to make you do things you never did before. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who has settled in Mumbai in the later years of his life after living most of his life in some other city, village or town. The Marathon too requires a lot of dedication and will power. The fit survive though I have never heard of anyone quitting the marathon halfway. People take themselves right through to the end. Infact an old lady that I knew of ran the marathon on her last day in this world. She supposedly didn’t tell her family before going for the run and they incidentally saw her on TV enthusiastically waving to all the cameras. Her body though couldn’t take the rigor and she passed away the same day. If she hadn’t run that day, maybe she would have never got the chance to do something so wild.

You must have heard about Mumbai’s ‘dabbawallas’ giving lectures on time management in IIMs. Mumbai’s ‘rickshaw wallas’, ‘taxiwalas’, ‘bhelpuri’ uncles and ‘kulfiwalas’ are a characteristic of Mumbai as we know now. Mumbai cannot be imagined without all of them. You will be surprised to know that these same people participate in the Marathon in large numbers. They might not have a lot to give but they do whatever they can. They run for Mumbai. They run for a cause. The Marathon thus best brings out Mumbai’s giving spirit. Mumbai has always been among the first cities to come forward for help when some other city/state needed help. Be it Gujarat which suffered from earthquake tremors or TamilNadu which suffered from Tsunami. It was no surprise thus that when Mumbai was in need be it the time when she suffered from floods or the time when she was hurt by terrorism, Mumbaikars didn’t fear. As soon as the bomb blast happened on the ill-fated day of 7/11, people living in the nearby shanties brought their cots on to the tracks and used them as stretchers. There were queues outside hospitals not only of patients but also of people who wanted to donate their blood to their fellow brothers in need. Mumbaikars don’t look back. Trains were filled with people in the same ‘Mumbaiyya’ style of people hanging out of doors, and sitting on the roofs of the trains the very next day of the blast. This is Mumbai; Mumbai at its energetic best. Mumbai is not scared. She dares to challenge terror in its face. She feels proud of going through such adversities and still standing tough.

Living in Mumbai is thus no less than participating in a race. A race of time where no one comes first, nor does anyone come last. People here are running all the time in one direction-the direction of success. If you stumble, there will be people who will pick you up. If you lose direction, there are guideposts all the way. People who survive the city are winners in themselves. Such is the spirit of Mumbai. So on a Sunday morning in winter, come live the spirit of Mumbai!

- Divya Shetty
divya.infinity@yahoo.com

Main Hoon 'Bombay', meri jaan!

(For the first time, we are including a Hindi poem written in English script. It's just one of those experiments that we decided to do. Do feed us back on this idea at - edit.frwmag@gmail.com)

Ae biddu, boleto mera naam hi badal diya, ‘Bombay’ se ‘Mumbai’ bana diya,
meri galiyon mein raakh bhar diya.
Dhoondta hoon apne aapko,
is dhuuye mein tumne mujhe andekha kar diya.

Is aanchal mein sambhala hai hazaaron ko,
mudkar kabhi mujhe bhi sahara de do.
Mujhse kuch lekar mujhe adhura chhod diya,
is dhuuye mein tumne mujhe andekha kar diya.

Kabhi milta hoon yaaron se, to haste hai mujhpe.
Bomb, shor, garibi, pradushan, sunkar darte hai mujhse.

Meri waadiyaan lauta do,
in raahon mein gum un logon ko phir bulalo.
Tumhare dil ladkhada chuke hai,
paison ki chaaha mein mujhe bhula chuke hai.

Pyaar se kabhi tum ek dusre ka haath batate the,
Tumhari bahaduri ke kisse, log sunate the.
Abhi, zindagi “fast train” ho chuki hai, platform par gaadi rukti nahi,
Naam aur shohrat ki ucchaiyon ko choona chahte ho.

Tumhare aage badhne ki chaaha ko main bhi chaahta hoon,
Bas raste mein mujhe bhool mat jana,
Is daud mein kahin kho mat jana!


- Pallavi Arur
pallaviarur@gmail.com

The Blackened Chicken Franky

With tattered pants, he roamed bare-chested,
On a railway station that was a conglomeration of people.
A bottle of shoe polish and a tarnished cloth,
For his burning stomach, the manikin would work without a sabbath.

The days began at an early hour,
Due to the perturbing sounds alongside where he slept-
A railway platform or a footpath.

He had never seen his parents nor had he heard of ‘school’.
The little champ wasn’t aware what’s acting ‘smart’ and what’s playing a fool.
He didn’t know if it’s better to be right or wrong,
Never in his life had he enjoyed; worn fancy clothes or swayed to the nursery rhymes and children songs.

All he knew of, was a feeling that he felt from within,
We, the learned, call it ‘hunger’.
Catching the trains that arrive at Borivali station,
And actualizing a ‘full meal’ was his, impracticable, fascination.

From Borivali to Churchgate; he would travel to and fro,
Two rupees each, was the rate for the shoe polish to flow.
A vast choice of restaurants, he had for a meal;
Dadar for ‘Vada Pav’ and Borivali for ‘Neera’ was his routine food deal.

Aromatic food around, would make the temptation reach its peak;
A ‘Franky’ at Churchgate, in his dreams he would seek.

Once he earned twenty five rupees by sheer serendipity;
Straightaway went to Churchgate, after an unusual morning tea.
Seemingly, coloured with black blood; his hands were, as always, sticky;
Though he had the time of his life, eating that blackened ‘Chicken Franky’.

- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

Hook'ed' to Zero

Though after a long time after its release, let’s rethink over what probably is the most influential album on the Indian Rock scene, released by the Mumbai band, ‘Zero’ – ‘Hook’.

First and foremost, I am still unable to decide the genre of this album. Some songs resemble to alternative rock, some can be considered to be ‘funk’ and some, to my surprise, take us straight into the world of Hard Rock. Nonetheless, the album is melodiously memorable and is according to me, one of the finest creations ever in the history of Indian Rock.

‘Hook’ starts off with ‘Not My Kind of Girl’; a song that will take you to the days when you fought with your ex and realized that she`s just not made for you. It is one of those few songs in the album that has meaningful lyrics. Then you encounter ‘Lost’ that again has some captivating leads played by arguably the best guitarist in India, Warren Mendonsa. ‘Lost’ offers melody, though the lyrics are unclear and mostly senseless. Then come the two instrumentals ‘Spitleaf’ & ‘Christmas in July’, that linger for a long time in your senses. ‘Spitleaf’ is beautiful with almost all the credit going to Warren, whereas the drummer makes his presence felt with some euphonious drumming along with the fast guitar leads by Warren in ‘Christmas in July’.

‘PSP 12’ remains as the best song in the album having to face some tough competition from ‘Not My Kind of Girl’. ‘Psp 12’ is a truly amazing track that rocks every part of your body. Rajeev shows his flamboyance in vocals and Warren shows his sheer class.

‘Lucy’ comes your way with some fluent changes in the song that can be remembered for its vocal and guitar change - overs.

‘Lijo’ remains the worst song of the album, though not being too bad. It has some Jazz influence on it but the song doesn’t create a great impact on the listener. ‘Not My Kind of Girl - Reprise’ shows some impeccable vocal talents of the drummer Siddharth and I have to mention that Warren rocks once again in catching up with the mood of the song.

In short, ‘Hook’ comes out as a fantastic album that can be heard repeatedly in peace and solace, memorizing the unforgettable teens that you have lived. Warren Mendonsa`s guitar leads are strikingly brilliant, Rajeev`s vocals are skillful & Siddharth`s drumming skills are appreciable. The only flaw in the album is its largely senseless lyrics but many other things make up for them, introducing an excellent album from a talented, Mumbai based Indian band – ‘Zero’.

- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com

From Time to Time

A city of the stature of Bombay is forever in the process of reinventing itself. Thus even if in colonial times it may have stood for the urbanization and the resultant prosperity that the British brought to India, in another historical moment an aerial shot of the blanket of asbestos roofs over the slums of Dharavi will have been put alongside glorious images of the Marine Drive to imply the funny realities of a country living in ironies. The truth is that the dynamics of this great city are such that in no point of time in history can Bombay totally stand for one thing alone nor can a few emblems crystallize all that life on this union of seven islands is about. Even in this present day, for the foreigner, Bombay is a reluctant global city with high hopes and poor infrastructure, while for its own citizen it evokes pride and the best of what this country has to offer. However, what has remained constant through this long and continuous process of change and reinvention is the way the third group views Bombay – not the foreigner, or the Bombayite, but the average Indian born and bred outside this city. For years, for this group, Bombay has been and continues to be a land of promise – of the basic necessities of man, of two meals a day, of – essentially – food.

Though I do not belong to the third group of persons, I am fascinated by a particular anthropological way that attempts to define a piece of land and a collection of people in relation to its favourite food items. And though I do not seek to do that either (for we have already agreed upon the impossibility and hence the un-necessity of attempting to define a city of the stature of Bombay), what I really would love to do is plainly talk about the unique food of this city that has so made me fall in love with it over the years. But again I find myself limited. I cannot give you an encyclopedic account of the origins, or even the recipes, of the various dishes that Bombay is famous for. Even if I decide to narrow down the scope to just one favourite dish of mine, there is still such a lot I cannot do justice to. So what I can – and will – do is simply tell you the story of my personal relationship with this “one favourite dish of mine” – Pav Bhaji (that, as you may have noticed, with its name in two parts has already started to sound like an actual person).

A day many, many years ago when I was still a kid, and my parents used to take me to a nearby Udipi restaurant on the main road just off my house on weekends or other special days, must have been when I first tasted this dish. And though I don’t remember it, I can vividly see myself forming an immediate bond with it. What I do remember, however, is asking my father on our way into that restaurant one evening why there always was a separate corner outside every fast-food joint where Pav Bhaji was prepared while the rest of the items were made in the proper kitchen sheltered from public view inside the hotel. And again, what I don’t remember is his answer… which, as a matter of fact, may have partly been because I was too preoccupied with gobbling down pavs after pavs once we were settled in the restaurant to have my mind open for any of his words of wisdom.

In fact, if you go to see, there’s not much to this story of my personal relationship with Pav Bhaji other than memories of myself gobbling down pavs after pavs and keeping up a regular demand for more till I had licked the very last speck of the bhaji off the plate. And still, to me, this dish today is not just about satisfying either my hunger or my taste buds. I can give you detailed accounts of evenings when the sight of that steamy plate of bhaji put under my downcast eyes in the Udipi restaurant, accompanied by two pavs dipped in a pool of melted butter, lit my face up and ended days of melancholy. Lately I’ve been to grand five-star hotels but always longingly thought back on modest Pav Bhaji while I was at tasteless, continental dinner. Over the years I’ve also grown to look beyond that one Udipi restaurant on the main road just off my house and appreciate the Pav Bhaji of Bombay as a whole. I’ve come to believe that there is something inherent about this dish that no chef will ever be able to take away from it no matter how hard he tries – that is, however, so long as we’re talking of Bombay (and here I once again see the latent and interesting connection between the food and the people of a place).

Vikram Seth, while paying homage to Music in his book An Equal Music, wrote, “Why ask for happiness; why hope not to grieve? It is enough, it is to be blessed enough, to live from day to day and to hear such music – from time to time.” I would say the same about good food, for, as a post-teen and a young adult, many more days of melancholy are yet to come. And isn’t good food as sublime as music in any case? A foodie like me would agree. The more I think of what Seth said the more I get the answer to my own question to my father years ago. Pav Bhaji, to me today, is the queen of all of Bombay cuisines. And hence you’ll find a special corner given to her outside all fast-food joints so her aroma doesn’t have to waft all the way out of the kitchen in order to make hurrying passersby halt, turn towards the beauty and then walk in perhaps. These passersby of Bombay do not have pretences of hurrying. The rush is genuine. But once in a while we all need to stop, don’t we? And relax. What better than a plate of Pav Bhaji that is really enough to have from time to time, as one lives from day to day – in this city of Bombay?

- Siddhesh Inamdar
siddhesh.inamdar@gmail.com