Mumbai is……

 

Mumbai is…… a graveyard. A city that feeds, creates and destroys, cancerous in its intent, hollowing out its victim till what remains is nothing more than an empty shell. Feeding on the hopes of millions, creating hope with the lure of fortune and fame, and destroying hope with the ease of a breath. All because she can. The only city that makes Gods of some and walking corpses of others.

Mumbai is……a favourite prostitute. Seducing you with the faintest drop of her pallu. Showing you enough to rekindle the nostalgia of an ex-lover or your first time even. Gushing your brain with the pheromones of status and wealth so you lose focus and invest everything you have in her. She obliges and makes you feel like you are the only man in her life. Later you wake up and from the corner of your eye, you see the afternoon sun catch her nose ring as she playfully chides her next victim, a practised routine you know all too well. You reach for your wallet and realise the damage done….you don’t have enough money to get back home and your suitcase has been stolen. The train whistle blows and the realisation sets in….. you are stuck here with her for a while yet.

Mumbai is……the Goddess. Violent, swift and terrible, unforgiving of the insolent, compassionate to those she deems worthy. She wears the remnants of her victims around her neck and her fangs gnash away at the desires of all who hope. Yet still in droves they come to pay their respects, hoping the mother, THEIR mother will turn. That the compassion that is akin to a mother will be showered on them as it has occasionally on others. But the Goddess is  merely a harbinger for the ocean of Samsara that all are obliged to float on. The tides of the ocean however turn in one direction only and Sukh doesn’t ordinarily follow Dukh in these parts. Yet she will still welcome you with open arms and her tongue will stick out as a cautionary reminder of her nature, so heed her warning …… “Welcome to Mumbai, leave your egos, morals, hopes at the door, and take whatever prasad is given”.

-n-

3000 incoherent words on Slumdog Millionaire

Good Morning Mumbai

And then Anil Kapoor danced… and i don’t mean a mere jig or a shake of a leg. He did THAT dance, a dance that epitomised the swagger of the late 80’s early nineties superstar, a dance that even today i equate with total coolness. A dance i know only too well, only because for as long as i can remember my first bollywood experience contained within it this very ballet of style, hand before hand, knees bent, subdued running on the spot. Tezaab, Ram Lakhan, hell Parinda even all contained that signature swagger, and i admit to having once practised it for hours ……Anil Kapoor to me is still so very very cool (and this has nothing to do with the fact that i have a vested interest in marrying his daughter one day…no sir!). But all this is a single hundred and thousand on the ice cream sundae of cinematic brilliance that was and is Slumdog Millionaire (idiotic metaphor i know but i had what was called a “Bombay Sundae” the other day and it’s left an impression).

Let me begin by saying that this is by no means a review of the film, that’s been done to death and i don’t wear the credentials to academically dissect cinema, plus only real geeks review films online. Rather I’ll talk about what Slumdog shows and how i can relate to it in some way, why it exemplifies the Mumbai experience so very well, and why the hysteria it is creating (both good and bad) back home is so very important both within India and to India’s non resident communities worldwide.

I’ve been staying in Mumbai the last two months and have earnt the right to call myself a Mumbaikar, my cousin bestowed upon me the status, and i must admit it’s a bit of an honour, those hours having my personal space ripped to shreds on the local train are now battle scars i wear with pride, and i know i have experienced Mumbai in her full….. “her beauty and her terror” (to borrow a line from Dorothea Mackellar ‘s ode to my homeland) if you will. One of the greatest observations i can make about Mumbai is in regards to its uniqueness, a beast of its own, a mutation that continues to spread despite its decay and even now regardless of the fact that she is over populated ,ancient, and crumbling upon herself continues to seduce thousands each day, and give birth to even more, all this despite her being well past menopause. She is India at her most charming, and she is India at her cruellest, Slumdog shows all this with a balance that respects the city for what it represents to many and what it often delivers to its hopeful. The paradox is somewhat explained through the lives of the characters and one finds themselves not judging anyone in the film for their actions. It becomes evidently clear that life in Mumbai is by no means easy, and the 13 year old boy who seeks refuge in gang comradery, the street child that steals from foreigners, the prostitute who dances for her money have all made decisions to secure their own survival, and one can’t help but think how similar environs would’ve influenced oneself. No judgement is cast, nor should it, this is human existence at its most harsh, and few films show it without oversaturating the viewer with the demonization of someone or the other, particularly if the subject is a third world nation and the filmmakers foreign (shoutout to the Oscar winning Born into Brothels). Slumdog is not depicted through the sepia hued lense of the imperialist western world as many are claiming, it shows Mumbai as she is yet doesn’t look down on it, it is grassroots in its approach and therein lies its charm.

The film highlights several features of Mumbai through the questions that are asked of our young protagonist (played by Dev bhai Patel, the show however is stolen by the two younger avatars of Jamal’s character namely Tanay Chedda, and the brilliant Ayush Khedekar) whilst he plays contestant on India’s version of “Who wants to be a Millionaire?”. As each vignette unfolded i found myself ticking each experience Jamal went through with things i had seen and heard within my own experiences in Mumbai. I can see how the previous sentence can be misinterpreted, so i will explain, what i mean to say is what Jamal goes through you see on the streets of Mumbai every day, whether it be street children, racial disharmony, slum living etc. Slumdog portrays all these aspects and more compressing the entire Mumbai experience into celluloid, it almost makes the film “home brew” and it is essentially that which i was saluting. Probably one of the most poignant and graphic parables within the film is of the depiction of the 1992 Ayodhya riots and how it effects the protagonists, the very graphic death of Jamal’s mother probably one of the most haunting scenes in the entire film. Boyle really portrays this well, highlighting the hideousness of the situation in the way it needs to be shown, as an ugly reality of Indian society. One of the most frightening factors about India these days are the more common occurrences of communal violence, an illness cemented by the legacy of the right wing Hindu nationalist party the BJP, made even stronger by the dangerous sentiment of Mumbais own Shiv Sena (throw in the mob running the show in Gujarat and you have a hotbed of racism and religious fundamentalism that makes the bible belt of the USA seem tame). Many may say that was 1992 and things have improved since then but religious prejudice is alive and well within Mumbai. I’ve seen it i’ve heard it and really at times it scares me that the ignorance pouring forth infront of me is the byproduct of people who claim to be educated. A cousin of mine was telling me stories of how it is nigh impossible for a Muslim to rent an apartment in Mumbai these days, i heard firsthand of how someone was offended to see young Muslims celebrating “Makar Sankranthi” (a hindu festival) by joining in the communal flying of kites. But these days prejudice too has evolved as things always do in Mumbai to include the Christians, tales of offense due to the fact local Christians were festooning their houses during Christmas but were not doing the same during something as quintessential as Diwali (another hindu festival), the logic within such arguments is lost on me as well and its dangerous to laugh at them with amusement, this is not the attitude of a minority, this is a prevalent form of thought now amplified by the 26/11 attacks, somebody almost always needs to be painted the villain, and when its not the neighbours across the border its the nearest “representative” that is picked on with immediate effect

The Saffron Police

Seldom does a film so accurately portray a city and its people that one can see even the smallest nuances in behaviour mimicked on screen so precisely that it can’t help but bring a smile to the face of those with a strong enough eye. There’s a scene in the film where Jamal and his brother walk the alleyways of Mumbai’s red light district, what stuck out to me was the swagger with which the boys walked……. unabashed fearlessness. This is a characteristic you see so often over here, streetkids as young as five and six ruling the traffic signals and alleyways with a cocksure attitude that translates easily into a body language that is so commanding and cunning at the same time. When you step out onto the streets you are stepping into their world, and they will surely ask for rent. The problem is so far reaching and so enveloping that in order to survive in Mumbai you must grow a resistance to the children, and the methods employed are cruel. It was particularly difficult for me to start developing my repertoire i have a genuine soft spot for children and in every child i genuinely do the mental math and compare the state of this child with the luxury my five year old nephew basks in on a daily basis. It will probably turn many of you off to know the things i have said and done, i genuinely don’t write this for comedic effect or anything of the sort, im just attempting to show the grip Mumbai has on its people that one must more often than not compromise ones own sentiments in order to simply live, i am ashamed of myself but at the same time will confess to this being a necessity. But i will be honest, when a child taps me on the shoulder and makes the universal signal for hunger i at first ignore him/her, not making eye contact is quintessential in this game, but more often than not a threat is required, the second tap will come soon after and is usually more vigorous, the hand sign is shown again and i will say in my sternest voice a line borrowed from my cousin “Thappar khaoge? free mein millega” (roughly translated….. will you eat a slap? it comes for free), cruel i know, but necessary. More often than not there wont be any further insistence but if there is (and it happens every now and then) i rollup my sleeves and start to mumble to myself creating the impression of a violent onslaught, by then the child is long gone, moving on to another to receive roughly the same treatment again. The swagger is obvious, it takes strength i think to absorb that kind of abuse day in and day out, to be looked down upon as they are, and i think for me to survive like i have done i’ve had to blockout the backstories that are brewing in every tap i receive on my passenger side window as we drive through the streets. Boyle sums the predicament up brilliantly towards the start of the film, the montage of beggar children tapping on windows something all of us in the cinema hall could relate to. But i admit i will think twice before i lash out at another street child, i will see and know that this child has seen in his few years more than i ever will and that those eyes hold a wisdom that can only come from thriving in the harshest of realities, i have a respect for them and the swagger with which they conduct their lives is one i genuinely envy, but it is a respect that can never be shown.

For all the international applause Slumdog is receiving it is absorbing just as much criticism. From accusations of “tourism porn” and “exploitation” to the muddled condemnation extolled by the venerable King of Indian cinema His Holiness the baritone Mr Amitabh Bachan. This was bound to happen, parallel cinema and mainstream cinema have always fought a covert war in India, and within India it is the mega bucks of the masala film that rules the roost. Thankfully parallel cinema does have a niche as well and thrives in certain sectors of the country particularly Mumbai. Really the pioneers of alternative Indian cinema such as Rahul Bose and Nandita Das deserve applause for their efforts, the gusto and flavour they bring to Indian cinema in general is one that has dominated my education in the art. But back to Slumdog, and how it falls in loggerheads with the world of mainstream Indian cinema (Bollywood). The paradox of Indian cinema is one that befuddles the world, it is mutually mocked and lauded despite what people may believe and yes it is an organism of its own made to cater to the escapist need that many Indians feel they must dive into, it’s a need i can understand but at the same time i feel Bollywood is more often than not an arm of Indian hypocrisy. Anybody can tell you that and it is that hypocrisy that is alluded to in Slumdog (much to the chagrin of the holy white goatee). Bollywood is India at its most exotic, colour, dance, song, costumes and what not, it is the perfect export if you will, organically created it is something unique. A refined, finessed creation that shows India in the light that it sees itself in, it’s an art that has gained more momentum by the crucial NRI (non-resident Indian) dollar, that seems to be funding alot of what we see on screen these days. NRI’s are a funny bunch, living in the west they reminisce on the motherland and are more often than not caught in a time warp of what they believe their nation to be, choking on a romanticism painted pink by nostalgia more than true reality. It is very much these people that embrace the fantastical aspects of Bollywood and wear it with a badge of honour to show off to their western counterparts ….“look at what we are” they say as holi colours fly in the air and pretty young Indian girls twirl. It’s for this reason that Slumdog poses a threat to the fantasy, a film depicting the reality of India lauded by the Western press and film critics alike. The NRI is now in a dilemma, they are convulsing, the more exotic elements of their culture have fallen through, reality rears its ugly head and sucker punches them, they cannot masturbate their egos to the bollywood imagery this time round. How do they accept Slumdog? What is there to brag about? How do they remain proud? These are people who often scream about how the media only depicts the harsh realities of Indian culture not the positive….but what is there to celebrate? a new ultra rich middle class? why forget the reality, it is part and parcel of the “progress” that is being so readily marketed, so all hail “India Rising” it is the only India that indeed exists, there is nothing more to the country, let’s be happy in celebrating that and only that.

His Holiness the Baritone on his blog spoke rather bitterly about the lack of recognition Bollywood receives, lets quote the angry geriatric for fun;

“The commercial escapist world of Indian cinema had vociferously battled for years, on the attention paid and the adulation given to the legendary Satyajit Ray at all the prestigious film festivals of the west, and not a word of appreciation for the entertaining mass oriented box-office blockbusters that were being churned out from Mumbai. The argument: Ray portrayed reality; the other, escapism, fantasy and incredulous posturing. Unimpressive for Cannes and Berlin and Venice.”

I like to imagine the Baritone waving a grand old stick whilst seated in a wheelchair, his drip shaking with the same intensity of his arm as he types away ferociously on his laptop. Isn’t it sweet of him to lead this jihad in the power circles of world cinema? With all due respect Osama Bin Bachan Bollywood doesn’t receive the respect you so readily seek because there is a complete lack of originality stemming from it, and that is what is truly celebrated in any art. Bollywood is to an extent a synthetic fabric lotus floating on a stream of excrement, people look at the Lotus and are seduced by its artificiality all the while ignoring what lies beneath it. Boyle on the other hand takes the excrement and sculpts it into a thing of beauty and ingenuity, organic cinema, the power of a good story, honesty rewarded, taking the filth and essentially saying “this is what we are, but even within that there is magic”, and only a real Mumbaikar, a real Indian will appreciate that, because it is a a respect for the reality of the situation, accepting a situation fully for what it is warts and all, not running behind the artificiality and celebrating something whose existence can be contested. Really how long will we run around trees? How long will we quietly accept the cheap promiscuity of the item number? How long will we allow 40 year old men to play the role of a college student? I guess i speak this way because i think Indian cinema is an amazing thing, i love it and one day hope to be part of it, but as long as Bollywood continues to sidestep originality and forget evolving all together we will miss out on stories even greater than Slumdog. Hopefully Slumdog will begin a trend of change, cinemas is a very Indian art, i think it speaks to us more than any other art form, and hopefully when it accepts itself maybe India (and its smaller NRI minions) will start accepting itself too.

There is so much more that i can say about Mumbai at the moment, but i will refrain, i have regurgitated an awful lot in the above 3000 words or so, verbal diarrhoea, a chaotic mish mash of ideas that i have just typed away. But the above post does sum up alot of my thoughts on this great city, a city that i do definitely call home along with my place of birth and my real home (all of whom i love). It is a strange place that can seldom be described in words, it can only really be experienced, and if you cant catch a flight in, then the best way to experience it is in a cinema hall near you….. Slumdog Millionaire go watch it!

-n-

Beware the Sony Boys!

British Gang Graffiti

American Gang Graffiti

Indian Gang Graffiti

Beware the Sony Boys! (they were born to do sex)

Photo taken at Bandra Reclamation, Mumbai    

The Frankie Man Can(t)

Corruption has been identified as one of the most if not the most crippling social ill within India and indeed the subcontinent. Decades of deal sweetening have oiled the gears of Indian civil society so much so that it is an accepted part of living, it seems to seep into everything, the workplace, the civil service, hell some people can’t marry their daughter off without paying a bribe. Yet it seems as though corruption is only given a negative connotation when the dreams and aspirations of the average joe are stifled, his struggle to make ends meet made even harder by Keyne’s “invisible hand” gone haywire.

Now i completely agree this isn’t something that should be trivialised , its a sad sad thing and many people are silently tolerating it in their daily lives as it tangibly eats away at their quality of life. I just feel that there is a lack of consistency when it comes to the definition of the term. The principle is essentially the same right? Cash/kind in exchange for what you want from a government institution, you scratch my back i scratch yours? So then is it not corruption when the Ambani brothers pay millions of dollars to have their say in Indian Federal economic policy (and having it steered in their favour?) Or how even more millions are given so that the authorities turn a blind eye to the malignant monopolistic behaviour and rabid diversification Reliance has been engaging in since inception? Note how most nations have independent bodies that deal with such anti-competitive behaviour. I can’t say with confidence that i know wether India has such a body, but if so they obviously aren’t switched on. Microsoft was reprimanded recently i believe for the manner in which their constant buyouts of smaller entities was preventing the growth of any competitors. The rationale is that such violent horizontal and vertical diversification corrodes competition and therefore leads to a situation where a single entity has enough power to control an entire industry and potentially an economy. I cant say Reliance are exactly identical but by the manner in which they conduct business its very obvious they run half the country and have a say in where its going. But thats besides the point, this behaviour is in my belief corruption albeit with a facelift, boobjob and a few botox injections, all justified under the guise of one of the highest GDP growth rates in the world and the mantra of “India Rising”. “This corruption is good for us” we are subliminally made to believe, the ugly face of corruption made Jenna Jameson-esque to suit the new India. All im saying is that if all corruption is in its essence following the same process shouldn’t we be just as disgusted by this as we are a police officer asking for a bribe at a traffic signal?… which leads me to a point i had selfishly not made earlier…..ever had a Frankie?

I was completely unaware of what a Frankie was until it was sprung on me by the local Frankie-wala (Frankie-dude) street hawker, who by the dimming glow of his gas lantern created for me Mumbai’s vegetarian answer to that post nightclub kebab/felafel that some of us are so very used to. Very quickly, it’s a chappati with fried potatoe and veggies layered in, topped of with chilli sauce and a heart attack inducing amount of cheese. It tends to hit the spot like the late night kebab fix, but you know you’ve reduced your life by a good 10-15 minutes just by biting into the thing. It’s an honest job he does our local Frankie-wala (FW), and the people of the suburb appreciate him for it. So it comes as no suprise that he’s been identified by the police as a potential cash cow. What’s sad about this situation is that FW isn’t exactly rolling in money, he already pays his bribes to the local cop shop. But more recently a rogue police officer has taken a fancy for him, and demands an extra cash payment as commissioned by the local police beat (a subsidiary of the suburban police station-so essentially the same cops two different payments). The facts as given by my cousin (of which my memory is rather fuzzy but i will approximate) are this, something similar to 1200 rupees a month to the local police department, and now on top of that the new player in the game is asking for a similar amount on a monthly basis. The damage is 2400 rps a month from a man who i doubt earns all that much money. What’s wonderfully idiotic about the whole situation is the rationale by which the new “coppa” (said in my very best Trent from Punchy voice) justifies his payment. Again it’s as vague as alot of things over here so i will be brief…. get this for logic “Your menu includes Chinese noodles and is rather extensive, this means you are more than a street hawker, you are practically a restaurant on wheels, you need a permit for this to continue”….stupid is it not?. The guy pushes a little four wheel cart around and has a little nephew from his village manning the frying pan, and “coppa” (again with voice) wants his hard earned, it makes stealing from a collection plate seem pious. The story was retold to my cousin whilst we waited for our Frankies, FW was asking my cousin for some assistance as it turns out that Coppa had turned up the heat after throwing FW in the slammer for a few hours leaving his very young nephew to man the cart on his own. At the revelation of this detail the nephews eyes met mine, i must admit it was a poignant moment for me , and yes i realise i may be sounding rather clichéd here, but there was alot in the boys eyes, a pleading, a desperation, but also a very honest look that knew full well that there was jack all that i as a firangi (foreigner) could do. My cousin lent FW a few reassuring words and said he’d see what he could do, we moved on and my cousin told me that the press occasionally is interested in such stories, but truth is it isn’t “sexy” enough for them to pursue. It’s been a few days since this incident and we’ve driven down FW’s road a few times, i haven’t seen him at all, his familiar gas lantern missing from the litany of lights accompanying the roads of my suburb. Maybe he’s packed up and gone maybe he’s just avoiding the Coppa, either way big bad Mumbai seems to have claimed yet another scalp via its most tried and tested henchman….corruption. Very few cities shape their inhabitants such that at one moment they can nurture and accept them for a job well done and then instantaneously have them begging on their knees for mercy, but Mumbai can do just that. Another man once patted on the back and accepted for a job well done now winded by the almost instant cruelty of his split-personality Master.

PS
On a side note i am not exempt from this process, only yesterday i attempted to bribe my way onto a train from Bangalore to Trivendram…i failed miserably but that’s a story for another day…

The aftermath…

I write this post long after the Mumbai terrorist attacks are over. I have no official stats on hand to confirm this but the entire process and i am approximating here took upwards of three days, over 150 lives were lost, and over 200 people were injured. I chose not to blog during the actual crisis itself due to the fact that i wouldn’t have been able to do justice to the happenings as they occurred. An event of such epic proportions requires constant surveillance, and i simply could not offer that. I will be brutally honest, at first i was religiously glued to the screen watching as even the smallest development magnified into the talking point of the hour (a habit inculcated in me via the crack cocaine that was CNN during the recent American election), but soon after i found myself tuning out and channel surfing mostly. The reason? A mixture of a few things, number one being the fact that Indian news coverage can be so incredibly haphazard, this coupled with a large dose of sensationalism, a hint of political bias and newsreaders with one hand on the war button and you have a a media outlet that does more to incite fear and form people’s opinions for them rather than act as the substrate upon which opinion can be formed. The other reason was that i genuinely could not digest that much horror without absorbing it myself, so as one does i switched stations rationalising my move under the category of “deserved escapism”…..junk food for my below average intellect.

I have spent the last few days safely nesting in the suburbs of Mumbai, and justifiably so, the siege continued for three days and there was very little to no “all clear” given by any authorities. The suburbs bustle away, yet the emotions of the tragedy remain etched in the minds of the regular Mumbaikar, as i learnt tonight. Alot is said of the “Mumbai Spirit”, its a term thrown around alot here and it’s a concept upon which i may have naively based my last post. Yet whilst my hosts drove me around tonight i managed to catch a snippet on Mumbai talkback radio that questioned this very doctrine and made me think of one of my favourite quotes by Banksy, “People who wave flags don’t deserve to have them”. An angry citizen blazed on the radio about how “The Mumbai Spirit” is infact and i quote here “bullshit”. Nothing more than a smokescreen ideology that is pulled out of the coffers whenever Mumbai is wounded and used to deflect attention from the lack of initiative by local and federal government authorities. I’m presuming here that the dogma was a means by which politicians laid claim to a Mumbai specific social phenomena and were repackaging it in the veil of patriotism, this phenomenon in its essence is more survivalist that anything else. The average Mumbaikar has to go on with life despite the tension in the atmosphere because well, life can be difficult in Mumbai for most, a day without work could mean a day without food and for some every day can be a struggle. So the politicians and media have taken this and run with it, creating in its wake a tricolour juggernaut of patriotism that does more to hide their flaws than it does inspire people. So back to the never to be “Sir” Banksy quote, “People who wave flags don’t deserve to have them”, politicians almost always rely on patriotic sentiment to steer their hidden agendas. This tactic shouldn’t be alien to Australians, the Howard Governments use of rather idiotic catchphrases such as “mateship” and being “un-Australian” justified a vigilance of Muslim minorities and also set in stone even more rigidity in our immigration policy, similarly the use of the “Mumbai Spirit” doctrine is being waved patriotically in order to hide the gaping holes in Indian policy and infrastructure. So beware the flag waver or the brother that doubles up the national flag as a cape, more often than not they are living up to a standard of patriotism that is wanted and needed by the local government, a level of patriotism that creates in one such a strong fervour of pride that they are blind to the true machinations of their Government and therefore the rather large mess that maybe simmering in their own backyard. Jefferson was onto something when he said “Dissent is the greatest form of patriotism”, my friend on the radio I feel was exemplifying that by rejecting his Governments propaganda.

That said it would be wrong to say “spirit” doesn’t exist. This evening i stopped at a makeshift shrine for the fallen (you see pictures within this post), and watched as the locals lit candles in memory of those that had passed. It was a sweet affair, families and plenty of youth lighting candles and standing in solidarity, it was obvious they had all been affected by what had happened. Taking stock I couldn’t help but feel i was in the middle of a very Mumbai moment, i know i’ve spoken of this earlier and am probably sounding rather redundant. But at every corner i turn i can’t help but run into situations where the goodness of this great cities people touches me. The Mumbai Spirit does indeed exist, it just can’t be detected in the misled oratory of corrupt politicians, or the sensationalism of its fear mongering media, it stirs and sleeps in the streets and when it wakes up it does so without an entourage of special effects ,loudspeakers and catchy visuals, it is humble, honest and sincere just like its people.

-n-

My first day in Mumbai

I always assumed my first post on this blog would be a mildly comedic piece focusing on the general sterility of Singapore. I had thought out a whole bunch of tongue in cheek metaphors taking sharp precise jabs at Singapore and its rather “Stepford” existence. I had my closing paragraph rearing to go, and i was definitely proud of the wit and eloquence i believed i was going to display in what i hoped (and am still hoping) will be a rather long account of my Indian odyssey….not for a second did i think my first post would centre on one of the most acute terror attacks ever experienced in Mumbai.

I distinctly remember a few years ago when several bombs exploded on the Mumbai rail network, a co-ordinated terrorist attack launched by a newly formed terrorist organisation that had decided to flex some muscle. Many innocent people died. Hard working Mumbaikars mainly, that were doing nothing more than going about their daily routine. Whilst most people would cower post an attack of such epic proportions, the people of Mumbai did not. I remember watching a small segment put together by Rahul Bose for NDTV (i so heart Rahul Bose it’s not funny),the segment itself involved his Holiness the Bose catching a train and interviewing his fellow commuters on their motivations in taking what can be deemed such a great risk post a terrorist attack. The general consensus was a stern one, stemmed not in arrogance or over zealous patriotism, rather it was rooted in the humble dignity that goes hand in hand with life in Mumbai and other big cities around the world. The very simple, deeply respectful and in my opinion rather patriotic (despite what right wing media propaganda may tell you) edict of “life must go on”. Back then i had observed it in awe, this time around i am fortunate enough to witness it in the flesh.

At 9:40 pm today Mumbai came under terrorist attack. Terrorists began firing on popular tourist spots here in the business capital of the country and it seems as though at this current point there are dozens of them carrying out simultaneous attacks on several other important positions in southern Mumbai.This isn’t the first time i’ve actually been caught amidst a terrorist attack, i am infact well aware of the fear and panic that goes hand in hand with them. As a six year old holidaying in my city of birth. my uncle took my cousin and I to the local theme park. We had lined up to ride some kind of rollercoaster, and after growing impatient in line, i made the suggestion that maybe we should move onto another ride. As we moved on and lined up elsewhere, a huge explosion was heard in the area we were in only moments ago. A suicide bomber only metres in front of us had decided to take his own life along with the lives of others. It was a scary moment for me, i had never witnessed fear and panic in adults let alone my invincibly strong uncle (he was and still is in my eyes). The scene was a macabre concoction of dust, ambulance sirens and hundreds of screaming children, i remember not understanding what had gone on… i just absorbed (and retained forever more) the reality of the situation. So as the images came through on the tv screen, of a building on fire, people running around in different directions and chaos once again replicated in a different part of the world (a location i am only a few suburbs away from). I couldn’t help but recollect my own experiences, but in all honesty the fear that enveloped me back then refused to settle in this time around.

I don’t know what it is about India, or maybe just Mumbai in particular. I feel ridiculously safe here, it may be a mixture of the hospitality of my brilliant hosts coupled with the fact that Mumbai-ites tend to bounce back from adversity as if it were nothing more than a speck of dust along their paths. I think thats a feature of the locals that you don’t really see mimicked anywhere else. I cant pinpoint what it is exactly, but it just seems as though continuing on with your life is just what you do in times like these and the comfort associated with that attitude has a great bearing i think on the way i feel at the moment. What probably exemplifies this the most is that right now at 2am i sit on my laptop typing away attempting to consolidate my thoughts on these events, whilst my hosts have settled in to watch “Golmaal Returns” on cable. Laughter bellows out from their room and i stay glued to the television watching for even the smallest development, the difference in attitude is amazing, yet its obvious which one is healthier in my opinion. At 2am right after such a massive terrorist attack a bit of a laugh with the family, a reminder of what’s most important in times like these, sounds far more enticing than any of the new developments being broadcast. I really must take some lessons from my hosts and develop this ”New Mumbai Zen” they personify so well…….. Golmaal Returns sounds like the perfect place to begin.

-n-