Bombay Meri Jaan…

It’s been a while since I have written. Almost as if the 7-year anniversary blog left me totally drained. That is not the case. The horrifying Bombay rains and all that bedlam that followed left me somewhat shaken. I found myself in near-tears while reading the e-paper version of TOI. It seems so darned unfair, so so unfair.

Kids left orphaned, families left destitute, it is quite unreasonable. I have full faith in Bombay”s ability to rise above all this. She is such a fighter. Even after that horrible Friday in 1993, even after those scary riots when Babri Masjid was demolished, she came back. Back to her former self, with full verve, vigour and josh. So much of spunk does Bombay have. Such an equalizer this city is, where blue and white collars get drenched alike in the sweat of the suburban trains. Where boss and employee slurp alike over Guptaji’s bhel puri and hoot alike in the dark cinema halls. Corn on the cob in monsoons, couples huddled under black umbrellas at Marine Drive, all is fair in love and war. People looked away when a lady’s face was splashed with acid yet everyone beat up a pickpocket in the local train. The fisherwomen swear in Marathi, the girl from Bandra uses ‘B*@&%’; the sentiment is the same: Let me out of the train, you fool! Couples canoodle at Versova beach and Marine Drive, be they from Xaviers or Sathaye.

KS billboards, Shoppers Stop, Malhar, TOI building, babes from Sophia’s, Irish coffee at Prithvi, Sanjana Kapoor, fish at Mahesh Lunch Home, Rustom’s ice creams, the zunka-bhakar stalls, Sulabh Shauchalaya, Film City, Amitabh’s bungalow, the friendly eunuchs at the traffic signal, the women chopping vegetables in the local train, the ubiquitous dabbawala, RK Laxman’s common man… such a survivor my city is.