Finally, a sense of community!

It's been close to a year that I set foot in Mumbai...At first the city looked so huge and I was so scared that it nearly knocked me out!

With no idea of Marathi, no inkling of the crowds that walk superfast on pavements (I forgot...they barely exist in parts...), on rail overbridges, on roads, everywhere...and a coldness that pervaded the monotony of such speed, it looked like I wouldn't survive it!

And yeah, it sure hurt and badly when I had to get used to such chill closer home...when the next door neighbour looked non-existent, the one opposite my door too looked like he/she never existed there...and their/our neighbour gave these intimidating vibes that kept me off, despite initial attempts to get friendly.

Friendly neighbourhoods were commonplace once...my initial months in Mumbai proved they are extinct. In the wake of the Raj Thackeray onslaught against any human he perceived an `outsider', my husband and I sure got the feeling that we were foreigners in an alien land, migrants who were deemed to be thrown out of the place.

You saw it on the faces of people...you saw it in the explosive noise of a door being slammed on your face only because you passed by and were an outsider somehow hurting them by merely existing. My husband and I faced it when our housing society folks picked up a fight with us for no reason, when we were just returning from our night walk.

The hostility continued for a while too...In the meanwhile though, language and region that was used to alienate people like my husband and me, pushed us to make friends among others from the South, or even elsewhere. We were initially afraid, then angry, sometimes reacted, and sometimes just ignored what was happening around...but bonded nevertheless, offering support to each other during the initial months, and getting closer as time passed by.

Somehow...things have changed now. I got the shock of my life a few days back when the neighbour who does not as much as smile at me...rang my doorbell to invite me home for Satyanarayana Pooja!

They say never refuse an invitation to a prayer - specially Satyanarayana Pooja. I have grown to believe that when it comes to prayer, one may go to the enemy's place too if invited. I agreed readily of course, and went over with my other neighbour friends. No hostility. Only friendliness, warmth...even if for courtesy's sake! I would love to believe it was not just courtesy...nevertheless, it felt good to pray in someone's home! Especially if that someone showed change of heart.

Even so, when I walk out of my home to go to the doctor, or a shop, I do walk out with a sense of community...something I missed a great deal in my initial months.  I no longer feel an `outsider as Raj Thackeray would want it'...I hope it is not temporary, but things have changed...does 26/11 have anything to do with it?

Is this India?

Want to come across lambani women speak chaste English and sell off embroidered blankets at mindboggling prices? Or walk into lanes of magic lights that have so many foreigners shopping for trinklets that you wonder if you're in another country yourself? Ingo's Saturday Night Bazaar in Goa means just that...Am wondering if there are crowds around there...post 26/11...but this was how magical it was when I went there on honeymoon...It's probably where the cliched Western term of `drawing inspiration from Goa's fleamarkets' comes from.

Gifts that floor!

For those wondering what makes my blog look out of date of late, have not been posting so often. After effects of 26/11. And poor health too. No excuses. In the melee of managing my body and mind, have had a share of some joys too!

On Dec 16, my marriage turned a year old. It was as if just the other day, my fiance and I had entered wedlock, gotten over all that madness and tension, and gone on our Goa trip. It was as if just the other day, we stepped into this rented home that made me fall in love with it instantly.

A neighbour shares her birthday with my wedding day, and for us bunch who've gotten along like a house on fire, it meant double celebration! Despite a work day with loads of work my husband arrived early (extremely early by Mumbai standards - 6 pm), we had our share of celebration...my neighbour who got to cut her cake! Gifts being showered by other neighbours...something I did not expect for a wedding day!

There is something about gifts that makes one squirm or jump in joy! I have written in an earlier post (see the Weddings label) about them too.

A couple of gifts that we received just floored us! The first one, a lovely drawing of a couple on paper by my neighbour's daughter Pooja. She would have spent a neat hour at the piece. It's not like the couple had perfect faces or that it would have fetched a medal. But the sheer effort on her part to sit down and draw it out to show she cared...!! My husband fell for it so much that he declared he wanted to frame it and hang the picture on the wall! Pooja is surely elated and has gone ahead with such drawings for other occasions of family friends!!!

Another was a greeting card! Just a card? You would say! In this era of email invites, ecards, sms greetings and online gifting, we got this cute card from my parents and sister...a surprise considering they wished us on the phone anyways. But that they made that effort to post it on time, hoping it would reach us on time! Old fashioned....right? But old is gold...it's nostalgic! This card reminded me of how I received love wrapped in an envelope every birthday!

On the bookstore wall

Seen on the wall at Crossword: `There is no spectacle that is as terrifying as the sight of a guest in your house whom you catch staring at your books'

A man accompanying his wife on her book store visit altered this to: `There is no spectacle that is as terrifying as the sight of my wife in the bookstore, staring at these books!'

No prizes for guessing who the man and wife were. They were - my husband and I at the bookstore the other day. Again, I did not buy a book!

Gloom

The Taj, as pictured on Dec 6, 2008, a week after terror strikes.

Can you beat this?

Scene: A five-year old is chasing a family friend in their `catch-me-if you can' game. He tries hard to catch the 30-something `uncle', and becomes frustrated he cannot. The man incidentally, is holding a glass of beer as he moves between chairs and some empty space on floor. He keeps it aside so he can run better. So what does Mr Toddler do? He quickly makes his moves while chasing, towards the glass and declares to the `uncle' still far away for a catch, ``Paas aao, varna pee jaaonga' (Come close, or I will drink this up), holding the glass. Poor Uncle, taken aback by this shot of masterly manipulation by the toddler, gives in. 

PS: The toddler wanted the drink as it looked colourful, but knew it was not for him when that `uncle' gave him a glass of Sprite instead. Kids these days, did you say?

Some things do not change

Something about the party crazy Mumbaikar irks me. The bellowing fires of Taj, Oberoi and the bullet-ridden people of CST and Nariman House have not kept them off parties for long.

True they had to show sympathy to those who perished at Taj. True they felt just as sick too, when they watched in horror as bullets whizzed past streets in Colaba. True all the more, that it hurt every true Mumbaikar. 

That actresses and dance item girls were willing to keep a mellowed mood for the New Year was a whiff of fresh air in a city where everyone with money thinks throwing it away on December 31 every year is a necessity. But then, how long can one stay off work? Read party? It is hardly two weeks since the terrorists played havoc in our lives. And the ones who always partied by habit are at it again. Enough of the gloom, let us party, says their mood.

Can the urbane lot not replace their pleasure-seeking pursuits with realism for once? Probably reality is more complex than my anger.

Last night we went to a post-marriage reception of a friend. The mood was sombre as some of the TV stars came by to wish this friend of ours who happens to direct Hindi TV serials. It went on that way for over two hours, as some guys quietly walked to the soft drinks area and downed a few pegs. I doubt if Taj and Oberoi were any longer part of their banter though. They were far away from Colaba, and very close to Madh Island.

For me who was used to watching celebrities not in parties but at functions and conferences back at Bangalore, it was a first hand experience of how desperately TV actors try at their good looks and celeb conversations. Fake smiles, fake warmth, fake handshakes....no their intentions are not fake. They are working, struggling to get an assignment here, a role there. Actresses who've just been out of a serial or two as leads trying to look as sexy as they looked before!  

What do you do when someone you are used to watching on TV always, springs up before you in a chance banter? Chances are that while the face looks familiar, you are trying to relate the person to the character, clothes, looks etc, before you watch that fleeting face vanish. You realise also, that a saree-clad actress you were used to watching is a lot younger than she looked in a TV soap. 

The chatter of this crowd was by far too alien for a bunch of us. I took succour in the company of someone I knew from TV journalism and her friend who is close. At least we had the luxury of not having to fake our gestures!

It was after the dinner that the otherwise sober looking crowd got into action. As if the pent up desire to tap their feet was suppressed too long. The bride and groom were happy to oblige their colleagues as Hindi numbers played on, and the guys danced away. Two constables who were on rounds dropped by past midnight, were cajoled and pacified by some people, and finally left. Am unsure if they got their moolah. Far from the emotion of feeling charged to change the country for better.

As some of us walked out of the open air hall, it occured to me, some things just go on. Mumbai's obsession with its entertainment, some extravagance and camera is one of the aspects. So what if a couple of weeks before, people at five star hotels did what they loved best, and experienced the most nightmarish of episodes of modern Indian history!

Verdict: the people know better

Am glad the Indian capital's voter saw through political designs and voted for a chief minister's performance instead of falling for BJP's anti-terror plank.

My respect for her came down several steps after her statement about Soumya Vishwanathan, the slain TV journalist. She clarified herself on Karan Thapar's Devil's Advocate later on. But considering I have faced some tough times myself while on night duty at a newspaper, it stung.

Nevertheless, that the average urban voter is rising to the occasion, and making his stand clear, is a relief. For her to hit a hattrick, in an overly urbane capital state speaks volumes, in a political system otherwise heavily dependent on caste votes.

Crass, is an understatement for how the political class behaved soon after the terror attacks. Clear, is the statement by the voter. Relief, is when you see younger politicians making some sense in all the insensitivity around.

You've had enough Mr/Ms Politician! Deliver. Or be gone. 

This matters now

I have often been prompted to observe, that religion is corruption of the mind. I will explain why this thought, in a later post and more elaborately. But Pooja Bedi's interview in Hindustan Times, is food for thought. And it matters, in these troubled times, when everyone who can make merry on the current emotion is doing exactly that. Religion after all, is nobody's property. Do read the interview.

The veil between anger and hate

War on Mumbai. War on terror. Fight for India. Insensitive politicians. Hate Pakistan. Hate terror. Look at our heroes. Look at the police and army who laid down their lives. Let the human rights groups dare to talk against them now! Let's do something. Our channel is starting a movement. Join Us. Do your bit for the nation!

Spontaneous outbursts by the media perching itself on a moral high ground, or simply the design of elite-obsessed media honchos usurping the opportunity to brand their version of India's reforms. Of blazer-wearing handsome anchors daring the human rights brigade to talk. Agreed they dared the Sena with equal elan. It does not absolve them of influencing prejudiced rhetoric though. 

Ever since we Indians spent those three days and nights watching TV non-stop, these words have hounded the average Indian TV viewer with a never-seen-before urgency. 

We forget something when we fall prey to such powerful words in our moments of emotion - that the genesis of a terror attack is hate. That hate is taught, in varying degrees - in the form of prejudice when we are kids, through carefully chosen literature in textbooks, through the all powerful weapon called religion, in our homes.

Mumbai was attacked. By terrorists. By messengers of hate. They were schooled at it. They were taught to prejudice. But tell me, are we Indians not guilty of it too? Have we not been taught our own share of chauvinism in the name of religion, caste or class!

It is true we need to get Pakistan as a State to act against terrorists. But let's not forget those who spread terror on our very soil. Let us not forget that terrorism needs to viewed with a larger perspective. That hate breeds hate and the wheel of hate turns with no end.

The veil between anger which is a natural emotion at the moment, and hate, a destructive part of us, is very thin. Translucent. It is urgent that we do not direct our anger at the average Pakistani who is caught in the quagmire of an uncertain State on one side, the killer in the name of Islam on the other, and poverty on the other.

We need to weed out terror. From the neighbour's soil. From our soil. From our minds, to begin with. We need to use religion for our own righteousness, not the evil designs of anyone wanting to capitalise on it - be it the politician, the terrorist, or self-styled religious head.

A bruised spirit

On Saturday, exactly a week after it was reclaimed by commandos, I visited the Taj-Gateway area and Nariman Point. Bruised in spirit. Guilt-ridden. Eager to be there. 

Eager from the first sleepless night when I watched in horror, the dome of the Taj go up in flames, the windows catch fire, and gunshots piercing the night, on TV. Feeling guilty that while fellow journalists were risking their lives to do their stories, I had the luxury to watch the show live on TV.

It was December 6, when we could expect more attacks, in memory of the Black Day an era ago. Warnings of possible attacks elsewhere in the country, maybe even Mumbai although the city fresh from savagery of fundamentalist bloodshed, is unlikely to face one in the near future.

The city has been recovering from its battered self, with the `life goes on' ethic no doubt. But to remind yourself that anything can happen to you anywhere in this country of power-hungry politicians who know nothing of security beyond their armed commandos vigil, it is necessary you visit the terror-hit spots.  Yeah, am guilty I did not yet visit CST, rather VT. I will go back to CST too, soon.

The power issue in Mumai's collective psyche is something that needs to be written about extensively. On Saturday, Dec 6, the day when Babri Masjid was demolished, by fundamentalist forces many years ago, I found it necessary to get out of my comfort zone called home. I found it all the more urgent to travel by the train to South Mumbai, blast or no blast, terror or no terror, and feel normal. It is true I could not be part of that crowd of millions that marched to Gateway just three days before. I was then in Dadar's Tata Memorial Hospital, running around between the various counters, for a wannabe engineer who was diagnosed with cancer hardly a few days into college and whose relatives from Andhra Pradesh found hard to understand what the doctors told them.

The fact that Mumbai's elite finally woke up after having lost its own was a welcome relief. The fact that they did not wake up till the city's five-star hotels got hit, after watching their landmarks go up in flames, waiting till the most upmarket suburb got hit, is shameful. Even if the elite has come out in the open, how long and how sustained will its effort be in voicing out against terrorism? And is there any balm at all for the deeply wounded soul? 

How about the amnesia of convenience when it comes to people losing their lives almost anonymously in the other parts of the country to terror, be it religious terrorism or insurgent terrorism, or even State-sponsored terrorism? People die in Kashmir. They die in Assam. They die in Gujarat, Orissa and even in Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. They die because of terrrorists. They die of torture by government reps in different avatars - police, army, politicians...India's mainland mindscape rarely makes space for them!

I went to Gateway in spite of these thoughts hounding me. My husband, my cousin, and I had to get off at the junction before Gateway as vehicles would not be allowed into the barricaded area. Till about two weeks back, people walked around freely at the Gateway, alongside the Taj hotel and took the ferries for Alibaug and Elephanta caves. Not long ago, I sat under the tree near the statue of Maratha warrior Shivaji, chatting up with my husband. So that was the last time?! 

The area has been a sitting duck for terrorists all along. And it will be for a long time to come. It's not like the Indian government machinery did not know it. The Intelligence lot did their job. It is that the government chose to criminally ignore it. Like it does always.

It was heart-breaking to watch the two symbols barricaded away from the public. Battered. A ravaged Taj and a mute Gateway. The Taj, I thought looked more beautiful than the Gateway when I first saw it hardly nine months back. Now standing erect just like before, but burnt within.

For the hundreds who were making a beeline to be there and see the terror-spot, it was no joy. They were there out of curiosity. Out of concern. Mostly out of feeling. A largely unspoken unease pervaded the air. Their wanting to offer condolence and not knowing how.

A lone youngster went around distributing pamphlets about a bunch of like-minded wanting to do something. About waking up. Doing something for the country...

By now, three days after the big protest, even candle-light symbolism of paying homage dwindled, with just one organisation from Kerala lighting candles, doing a prayer and taking pictures. Time: 6.40 pm. The cops who were perched or moving around at different points of the barricaded area started blowing whistles. So unlike the days just weeks ago when you could walk around there as late as 9 pm without fear, and watch the Gateway gleam in moonlight.

In a matter of minutes, the crowd was sent away...

It left me with the eerie thought -- will this be the future of this place? Of the collective psyche of Mumbai, India and the world? The city has seen spurts of violence induced by hate-makers who have ruled the roost for decades. It has seen blasts in trains, in subways, witnessed the goriest of riots. 

But this hit the hardest.

At the Oberoi Trident hotel spot in Nariman Point, there were no tourists. It was only in the first week of October when I went there with my parents-in-law and again with my baby-nephew. And wondered while we sat along the granite between sea and road, watching the Oberoi lit up beautifully in lemon-yellow -- what if some terrorist strikes these buildings? WTC-like? Huh...they're not as tall for planes to crash in! Surely, the crowds that throng this place would not do it if it was not secure enough! How I wish I could turn the clock backwards! Oberoi hotel has begun rebuilding. How one wishes those terrorists died in Arabian Sea before hitting the shore!

What about the lives of people who lost their families, everything? Can the place ever see more such tourists again?

``It was waiting to happen!'' said my husband, to my cousin, watching the open sea. A Victoria rider stopped his carriage outside the unlit hotel, hoping that some tourist would hop on for a ride after looking at the buildings.  No luck.

Cars would stop for a minute or two. People would come out, look at the hotel...speak in low voices...and move on.

 

We moved on too. With worry. With anger. With faint hope of positive change...very late. But change for sure.