BOMBay!

First there was the deluge which caused not just the city to flood, but also the BMCs glib assurances of an efficient monsoon disaster management system; then came the Shiv Sena riots that held the city to a ransom – all over a defaced statue. And just as the Mumbaiite heaved a sigh in relief, believing that the worst was over, he was rudely jolted to witness that it had only all just begun!

The terror train attacks on 7/11 are a shocking reminder of just how easy a target we are, as a city, to the self-professed prophets of doom, as these zealots unleash a systemic destruction into the lives of hapless innocents; and all of this in their madness to seek vindication for a cause, the achieving of which they deem any approach fiendishly and mercilessly just!

The attacks have definitely taken a toll on the lives of the people of this beautiful city, but not so much as a even a dent has been caused on the mettle of its inherent spirit!

Much as I am aware that enough ink and soundbytes have been spent in saluting the nature of this famed resilience of the Megapolis, and equal amounts of the same in askance of cutting down the hype around this halo, I am tempted to offer my own take on the subject:

I believe that clichéd and beaten to the bone as all these acclamations sound, somewhere in them these clichés bind and extorts only the best in this city. Because in these, people find for themselves an identity; an identity they want to identify with and are therefore willing to go lengths to live it. It gives them hope and brings them an unparalleled sense of pride and belonging to this city which continues to give them emotional, economic and social support. A sort of self-fulfilling prophesy, if you please.

…agreed that more often than not, the ‘down-but-not-out’ and the resilient streak of the people of Mumbai stem more from a lack of available economic options to the common man than out of sheer love for the ideology it, but paradoxically then again, isn’t this trait in itself quintessentially representative of the spirit of Mumbai? That of the arrogant ability to take-on life as it comes by making the most of what is presently available, or for that matter, the ability of propelling oneself into magnetic lure of undertaking high risks today for big ticket returns of tomorrow. Quite surprisingly, and the history of this city has stood testimony to this fact, the risks more often than not handsomely pay off!!!

Eulogies like ‘The city of dreams’ and ‘Bindaaz Bambaiyya’, after all, weren’t coined in for nothing.

All these, however, hold no excuse, for the powers that run this city and the country at large, to hold back from their responsibilities in providing this city the infrastructure and security it truly deserves. After all aren’t we the highest tax-paying city in this country?

Saluting the spirit of Mumbai and singing paeans of the steely courage displayed by Mumbaiites is all fine, but it’s time the officials got their act in order and gave this city its (over)due. We’re fortunate than most other cities, in this country, to have a socially conscientious and alert citizenry that more than willingly does all to keep this city going, but let’s not push it. There is only so much one can do as a city in the absence of support patronage and funding from the state.

In the absence of a central leadership and an effective local disaster management plan, this city uncomfortably sits atop a fuming terror volcano that waits to erupt and consume everyone. Now if only the State and the Centre took time out from planning myriad ways of widening the tax base, shutting down dance bars and building a consensus over reservations, to listen and act proactively…

Meanwhile, here is a very thought provoking email from one of the Editors in TOI...well worth a pondersome read...


Dear all,

Today's Mid-Day edit (July 8th 2006) begins by saying that you don't need to be a rocket scientist to understand that the chain of events starting from the Bhiwandi riots to the desecration of Meenatai's statue and what happened as an aftermath, to the serial blasts on the trains yesterday, means somebody somewhere wants Mumbaikar's to spill out on the streets and grab each other by the throats.

Incidentally, these same somebody-- the faceless outcasts that they still are-- have at least succeeded in one part of their plan. Mumbaikars have actually spilled out on to the streets.

The catch here is that they have failed to succeed in the second and most important part of their plan: that of getting Mumbaikars to grab each other by the throats. Mumbaikars spilled onto the streets-- in a collective show of the middle finger to those who proposed otherwise.

I know very well that you are already aware of how Mumbai stormed onto the streets to help the injured, the stranded and soothe the injuries that were still gaping along its life line.
There were capsules and capsules of streaming video that showed them offering water and refreshments to people stranded on SV Road and the Eastern and Western Express Highways.

There were captures of students of Sydenham and SNDT college, who camped at Churchgate station with the sole purpose of offering a bed to those stranded at the starting node of the life line.

And there was also that memorable grab of people standing patiently in front of KEM Hospital-- all in a serpentine queue, to donate blood. A result of which has been a no-shortage syndrome, when it comes to blood at all the hospitals where the injured are being treated or are recuperating.

But this is not about all that. And yet, it is about all that and more. It is about the sights I saw and the people I met with, while travelling along the Western Express Highway to Kandivali yesterday, between 7 in the evening and one in the morning.

It is about that little kid and his grandfather near Dadar, who, perhaps in the absence of anybody else in the household, took to the streets with bottles of water and packets of biscuits to contribute in whatever way possible in managing the crisis. "Uncle, you must be thirsty," the kid told me while offering the bottle. A parched me drank gratefully. And I saw in those eyes no fear. So what did those terrorists think while planting the bomb? That was at least the silent way of making one statement-- "Terror, my foot.!"

It is also about those housewives in front of a housing society near Santa Cruz, who were standing with pots of piping tea, water and God only knows what else to help those passing by. And they had this board beside them which read "Beyond Borivli, Can Stay'. I was lucky to get a cab, but there were people who were trying to make it on foot. And they needed succor. Rest. Shelter. It was raining.

It is about the autorickshaw driver, who finally reached me home in the interiors of Kandivali at 1 in the morning. And refused to take the night fare, despite being legally empowered to charge extra. "Nehi saab, aaj ki baat alag hai. Aap thik thak ghar pohuj gaye, yeh hi kafi hai," he bade me goodbye at my doorstep.

It is also about the dabbawala who provides me with my dinner everyday. His shop is near the Borivli station, where there was one of the biggest blasts at 6:34 in the evening. Yet, at one o clock in the morning, the dabba was there waiting at my doorstp to be picked up. It didn't need a note. The piping hot food at such an unearthly hour said it all.

The terrorists succeeded in synchronising a series of blasts that stopped the Mumbai lifeline for somewhere around seven hours. That was all that they achieved on 7/11. The trains were back on track by 1:30 in the morning and they plied all through the night. I wonder if the masterminds will consider this before planning their next attack. I would urge them to-- if this reaches any one of them-- to rethink. After all, what did a year of planning, six months of smuggling dangerous explosives, extensive netwroking and crores achieve at the end-- arond 200 lives and just seven hours of disruption? Bas! I won't budge for that. In the deal they united more than they dreamt to rip apart.

And by the way, I did not spot any member of the celebrated Readers' Digest survey team yesterday on the roads. Or perhaps they were there-- reconsidering their statement.

Deputy Editor-Medianet,

Times of India, Mumbai.


Celebrating the Spirit of Mumbai...Proud to be a Mumbaiite!
-- Sudip Ghosh

Code of Conundrums...

If there ever was a letter I've recieved that made me uncannily feel as if I had ghost-written it, then this'd have to be it!

The questions posed herein, and the ensuing residue of harboured emotion, as a fall-out of a cold, 'coming-to-grips-with-the-situation' kind of rationale, almost instantly strike a chord with the reader, bringing to fore memories of a time(s) we've all periodically battled, lonely for the most part, in the course of our respective journeys through life this far...

It takes one, reading a letter like this, to realise that, much as they make for strange bed fellows, the pleasure of growth has to be accompanied by the discomfiture pain, and so the twain shalst remain till death do them apart!

My very own journey this far, has made me the wiser in having taught me this, that there is no one solution to unravel the dichotomy of this dual code. Each must, in his own way and on his own terms decipher and unravel it to make sense and give meaning to their own perception of the world they inhabit.

...And whilst at it, I am reminded of something I read a long time ago in an editorial and wish to share with you:

The very observation of a phenomena, changes the nature of it.
By our constant quest into the nature of ourselves and of the workings of this universe,we may be changing not only that which we seek to investigate, but also our very perceptions, which are the instruments of that investigation.

Perhaps, this is the final insoluble mystery of the Cosmos; that when we have come to the end of all our explorations of it, we will find that we have only begun with the odyssey of our own self-discovery.

Read on then...


Dear Trev,

Loss hits you suddenly without warning or indication that today you are going to wake up to it. You suddenly realize that your warm security blanket,taken for granted for ever so long,has been ripped away leaving your battered soul naked and shivering cold.

There is first a terrifying numbness and then it hits you...HARD. With the final acceptance comes despair beyond words. You wonder how the sun can shine, how the world can actually go on, how people can smile and laugh and talk while you wade through torrents of endless grief.

Sometimes, if only for a minute,you may forget it all and the clouds lift a little. You look up to feel the warmth and instead are hit by a cold realization that things will never been the same again. Things that once seemed so complex, so important, so necessary fade away into nothingness. All you want perhaps, is for time to turn-to take back hurtful words, to prolong savoured memories or merely to remember better.

I don’t think it ever stops hurting. Every person who enters your life creates a world in you...a world that you never knew existed till they came into your life. And then they leave!!!

But, somehow perhaps it’s better that it happens that way. It aches, horribly at first, but then if you could not know it, feel it...you would also not have the bitter-sweetness of tenacious memory.

…Going through those not infrequent bouts of melanchony at the moment…

You know, I’m tired of being me. Honestly, I am becoming a person I don’t like too much. Morose, withdrawn and weepy…happiness and laughter used to come so easily to me...and I am angry with myself for letting go of it. I stand in the crowd and watch joy dance across peoples faces...and I’m silently screaming with the sheer agony of emotional loneliness…

Why do people change...why did I have to change? How do you mourn the dying of a dream? A dream that dies just a little more every day? You look around trying to grasp battered hope, letting go of everything else and you are left with nothing but emptiness...

Your emotions evolve and change shape, undergoing as if a sort of retrogressive maturity. I wrap myself up in this little cocoon of self pity choosing to ignore the world outside and I realize what an absolute fool I am making of myself.

Unfortunately knowledge is not always a predecessor of wisdom. What makes is worse is the realization that I made my own bed...made wrong choices...now it’s a little too late. Yes I know that you’re thinking – I’m over reacting and being paranoid. Maybe I am! But I can't help it; feel like I have been thrust into this frighteningly large,complex adult world without having gained the maturity I need to deal with it.

Fear…real and imaginary…seeps into my soul as my life changes form before my very eyes.. Thank you for putting up with me and my eccentricity...I know it must be an awfully trying task.

Love,

...


I'll just say this, my dear friend, that the things you love, will eventually gather around you like a shawl against the winterliness of this world, protect you and warm you, ushering you into the spring time of your days. And this will be your key to unlock that puzzling code of life.

That's the story of life!