Flirting with my Dreams

Two weeks of romance and I am already fed up. Fuck romance. I will get straight to this one. NO dangling the carrot around this time. Mumbai is the most disgusting city I have ever set a foot in. Not because of the population density, not because of the trains. No. It is the larger than life image of this place that does not seem to fit into what this place actually is. Moreover, my hatred has quite a lot to do with the inopportune things that have happened to me, dare I say, by God's grace. I have not been to Delhi or Bangalore or any other metro, barring Kolkata and come what may, and I do not care if you turn into a fuck-face, but I would prefer the City of Joy to the city that apparently never sleeps.


I hope I was able to create that intensity and it should last through the rest of the reading. I arrived in Mumbai on 16th of this month, with a sweetheart. And yes, it was the City of Joy that was our place of departure. Everything is fine, until the moment I step into the IIT. Guwahati used to be a different place. The first thing that hits you here is the urgency of carrying the college i-card. I did not have one. Mudit Jain, the reason why I am able to write this peacefully (if i am at peace), forgot to give me one. The next questions were "Who is the mess manager and the hall manager?" "I do not know." Mudit interferes, "A student from an IIT should not bother with these details." "Dude, i have been here for the past 35 years, and I know who is a genuine student", says the security personnel. I was about to admit the reason why this conversation was taking place, when he himself suggested to enter from the other side. A relieved yours truly walks out, takes the spare i-card and, like a proud peacock, struts into the IIT flashing the proxy i-card like a US Marshall. Mumbai had presented both its faces.


Then begins the massive hunt. For an accommodation, since the proxy i-card is not possibly going to hold me for long. Fortunately for me, and my readers, they are a bit foolish and I have been a tad lucky. Once my urge for checking my email got the better of me, and I asked the security for the keys to the common room. He asked for the i-card and began asking questions. I kept answering with a poker face. He asked me to fill in the details, which I did not remember, and as a proof of my originality, I scribbled things into the register without caring. I went into the computer room, only to realize that I needed to have a proxy user name and password to access. Fucked. I went back to and before collecting my i-card, I happened to see the register and observed that the stuff I wrote was neatly struck off and the correct details were overwritten. I was numb. He handed me the card and as I was leaving, called me and looked at me, as if memorizing my face. For the next 48 hrs, the only thought that was trying to find a way out of my clogged brain was the possible consequence of the authorities finding out that I was an impersonator. Jail. The second instance was when I was tired, absolutely, and decided to take a rickshaw to the campus, partly because I did not want to go through the regular i-card-flashing routine. The guard stops, demands the card, I give it to him, he replies with the fact that the card has expired, and I say that I am staying for another couple of days. Bingo. And here I am, spewing harted for this city.


Coming back to the massive roof-hunt. I must admit that this place is the most over-priced  in the country, if not the planet. 1 bhk will set you back by twenty five grand per month. This is not reasonable, and I know that my readers (i assume are reasonable) will not differ. Example: I went to see a place in Worli. On the sixth floor, overlooking the sea, but approximately 120 sq ft. Three seats were available for rent, the fourth being the elderly lady. Each tenant had to pay 10k. And the one thing that they kept repeating was, "Humare pass paise ki kami nahi hai, humara beta to US mein petrol pump chalata hai." Fuck US, and fuck the petrol pump. I think I have lost the capacity of narrating these and similar anecdotes, or parables rather.


Shifting gears, it is the loss of a precious watch, given to me by a special one that has goaded me into writing this pointless philippic. The very first day when I boarded a bus, I decided to lodge a complaint with the conductor. What happened was that before I could, and many like me could, set both their feet on the bus, the driver pressed the accelerator. Not that someone was injured, but I would not call it responsible driving. The other person complained and was bullied by the conductor. The pot calling the kettle black. That was ghastly. What happened today was even more sudden. I had just caught hold of the two handle bars, when the bus started to move. There were people still on the stairs and there was no way I could have got onto the bus. I kept running with the bus and only after 7 steps could i set one foot onto the stairs. Fine. People say this is the "fast" and typically Mumbaikar life. The exact same sequence followed when I was leaving for my room. But this time, there was a mob that was behind me, and somwhere in the race to set my foot on the bus first, I lost my watch. I saw it falling onto the ground, and kept watching it, helplessly. I could not have gotten out of the bus, neither could I have got my watch back. Shit happens. This is the Mumbai style. I had heard a lot about the honesty and simplicity of the Marathis and the Mumbaikars. Probably this vanished when someone decided to steal the umbrella from my bag while travelling in the local. I never had such an experience in Bihar, and then there are stories about Biharis.


Agreed, Mumbai is a busy place for small town people like me. Agreed that Mumbai is not the only place with an infrastucture crunch and above all, Mumbai is a place that probably never sleeps. But this does not give the bus drivers the license to get the bus speeding at their whim. The trainman cannot see the 12 coaches, but the bus driver can. And as a public servant, it is required of him to drive responsibly. Secondly, I have travelled in a local train and have the opinion that if the passengers try and alight or board the train, or the bus alike, in a orderly way, it will take approximately the same time compared to when there is such a hullaballoo. At least, you will not risk others' lives by goading them to jump from the moving train and push them out if they do not. There are examples of much bigger cities with similar city scapes and pace, but a more civilized society. But again, Mumbai is not one of them.


Mumbai is the city of dreams, and with this initial impression, I do not think I prefer dreams to JOY.