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OPINION
Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost
June 30, 2007
Aditi Nadkarni
Aditi Nadkarni
My recent visit to India was wonderfully gratifying and deeply disturbing all at the same time. I was shooting a documentary film and got to witness a part and people of Bombay that I hadn't scrutinized before.
These faces and places had been lost to the busy commute and bustling crowds when I lived in the city some years ago but as we focused our lenses on them, they became more and more interesting and the crowd fell away. What stood out then, is the medley of contradictions that Bombay has now become.
Odd juxtapositions are now more noticeable than ever. Tall skyscrapers fringed by an abysmal slum area, large malls coming up beside rows of chawls and glitzy showrooms right next to the humble furniture workshops that work in the light of a single yellow bulb. Bombay's own sophisticated versions of Costco towers above harassed heads of the city's loyal bhaaji-wallahs and vendors. Simple, cotton kurtas hang forlorn from the street shanties at Linking Road and Dadar, the mirrors and sequins on their soft fabric winking at the spotless windows of a shopping center where similar ones are sold at thrice the price.
I heave a sigh of relief on noticing that the pav-bhaaji shack is still intact beside a brand new Pizza Hut. In the United States, McDonald's is a fast-food chain and in Bombay it is a family restaurant where people eat a less delectable version of the city's staple "vada-paav" for at least ten times its price.
While the middle class struggles for basic amenities, the malls have twenty-four hours of electricity and running water. On the day of a power outage, these malls stand magnificently lit up, their rich and arrogant frames looking down on the darkness of the city.
The chasm between the rich and the poor has widened dangerously and the pit of crime that bridges the two, threatens to swallow the frustrated. There are street kids doing drugs on railway bridges and rich brats doing drugs in dim lit discotheques. Kamathipura continues to exist like a parallel city mocking those of us who still believe in the power of the legal system.
How inured have we become, I wonder, as I watch children frolicking on a swing tied to the pillars of the busy Andheri flyover. By the time one flyover is done being constructed, work will begun on yet another and Bombay will always move in slow motion while contractors and political moghuls pull in the riches. There is an upside to all of this. The poor then find a new concrete roof above their heads. One day, the monsoons arrive like they did last year on 26th July and flood these lives, trying in their own cruel way to purge the city.
When I want to click pictures of a wide-eyed street child I am glared at.
"Why don't you click pictures of the Taj, Madam?" a man asks me, "Why you want Amrikka to see beggars?" he chides, as he fills paper cones with spiced gram and chopped onions.
"Channa chor garam," he calls out to passers-by and if it weren't for my intolerance of denial, I realize, I probably would've been thoroughly impressed by his sense of pride.
Our driver who witnesses this exchange has an entirely different take. He shakes his head vehemently as he pulls the car deftly in and out of potholes, barely missing the rickshaw ahead.
"Who cares if Amrikka sees the rip in our vest?" he snaps matter of factly, wiping his brow, "We know it is torn, no? We hide the hole and ignore it, it keeps getting wider. Nahin madam?" he asks me and I am stirred by his profound analogy.
I hear people brag about the technological advances even as the city's youth sleeps through the day and wakes up at night to disappear into call centers. I see them in Tata Sumos and Qualises, huddled, waiting to get to their night shift. I hear people proudly declare that India is turning into a hub for clinical research even as my heart sinks with the realization that a "hub for clinical research" for pharmaceutical companies translates to "a country with a large population and plenty disease for drug trials". Not something to be proud of, is it?
The one bearing in which the curve of economic status collapses is in a traffic jam, the city's greatest equalizer. The rich in their chaffeur driven cars, the middle class and the poor in the buses, taxis and rickshaws are all trapped in the serpentine queue of bright red, brake lights while traffic policemen wave their hands around inconsequentially for a little while. They then give up and sit back to watch this dazzling evening show ruminating on mouthfuls of tobacco. Nobody gets to work or reaches home on time irrespective of their socio-economic status. The faces at the traffic signal are scattered snippets from Madhur Bhandarkar's last film and there is nothing one can do about them, I am repeatedly told, except look away or roll up my window.
When I voice some of my concerns, wondering if there was something people could do, I am swiftly shushed, reprimanded, my N.R.I arrogance mocked. On the day of my return, I sit in the car on my way to the airport, finally silenced, behind a large, overloaded truck that looks like it could topple over any minute. "Mera Bharat Mahan" ("My India Is Great") it tells me.
When I want to click pictures of a wide-eyed street child I am glared at.
"Why don't you click pictures of the Taj, Madam?" a man asks me, "Why you want Amrikka to see beggars?" he chides, as he fills paper cones with spiced gram and chopped onions.
"Channa chor garam," he calls out to passers-by and if it weren't for my intolerance of denial, I realize, I probably would've been thoroughly impressed by his sense of pride.
Our driver who witnesses this exchange has an entirely different take. He shakes his head vehemently as he pulls the car deftly in and out of potholes, barely missing the rickshaw ahead.
"Who cares if Amrikka sees the rip in our vest?" he snaps matter of factly, wiping his brow, "We know it is torn, no? We hide the hole and ignore it, it keeps getting wider. Nahin madam?" he asks me and I am stirred by his profound analogy.
I hear people brag about the technological advances even as the city's youth sleeps through the day and wakes up at night to disappear into call centers. I see them in Tata Sumos and Qualises, huddled, waiting to get to their night shift. I hear people proudly declare that India is turning into a hub for clinical research even as my heart sinks with the realization that a "hub for clinical research" for pharmaceutical companies translates to "a country with a large population and plenty disease for drug trials". Not something to be proud of, is it?
The one bearing in which the curve of economic status collapses is in a traffic jam, the city's greatest equalizer. The rich in their chaffeur driven cars, the middle class and the poor in the buses, taxis and rickshaws are all trapped in the serpentine queue of bright red, brake lights while traffic policemen wave their hands around inconsequentially for a little while. They then give up and sit back to watch this dazzling evening show ruminating on mouthfuls of tobacco. Nobody gets to work or reaches home on time irrespective of their socio-economic status. The faces at the traffic signal are scattered snippets from Madhur Bhandarkar's last film and there is nothing one can do about them, I am repeatedly told, except look away or roll up my window.
When I voice some of my concerns, wondering if there was something people could do, I am swiftly shushed, reprimanded, my N.R.I arrogance mocked. On the day of my return, I sit in the car on my way to the airport, finally silenced, behind a large, overloaded truck that looks like it could topple over any minute. "Mera Bharat Mahan" ("My India Is Great") it tells me.
Note: I will probably have a Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost Series with pictures up on my blog and on Desicritics soon. Stay on the lookout.
Keep reading for comments on this article and add some feedback of your own!
Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost
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Amrita
URL
June 30, 2007
03:01 AM
I wonder why people always expect you to give up your opinions on your home country because you're now living in another country? It's like living for a couple years elsewhere has completely negated your entire life up to that point. Maybe its the abandonment argument but that's not exactly true nowadays is it?
Aditi Nadkarni
URL
June 30, 2007
09:36 AM
Bombay has its charms and I realize that one cannot merely fixate on whats wrong with the city. In fact for people who live there, the daily commute, the harrowing scenes at the traffic lights, on railway stations are all part of daily life. But each time I go from here, these scenes stand out for me like they hadn't before. A malnourished child wandering alone on a railway station begging, stands out more poignantly for me now than a few years ago. I dunno why it bothers me so much now than it did when I lived in Bombay. It frustrates me that although I can try in my own way I cannot do too much. So I write.
You know Amrita, I don't think other Mumbaikers/ Bombayites are gonna appreciate my painting such a depressing face of our city :) Its like the "You don't live here anymore, you shouldn't comment" policy...but then only when you've lived some place else can you make a fair comparison, right? Anyways, I have a Bombay Food post coming up which should hopefully mend matters.
Happy to be back.
Amrita
URL
June 30, 2007
11:19 AM
Aditi: only when you've lived some place else can you make a fair comparison, right?
Absolutely. Life doesn't have to be that way. Life shouldnt have to be that way. I've been to Bbay more than a few times and I like it a lot. And you're right, it has a lot going for it. But any and every city needs to be taken care of.
Look forward to it :)
Aditi Nadkarni
URL
June 30, 2007
12:09 PM
@Amrita:This post is up on my blog with pictures. Check it out when you get a chance. I wanted to put pictures here too but for whatever reason each time I tried the browser would quit on me :(
Deepa Krishnan
URL
July 1, 2007
01:02 PM
The next time you get depressed at the poverty, try a visit to Akanksha. www.akanksha.org
Aditi Nadkarni
URL
July 1, 2007
08:11 PM
Hi Deepa, thank you for the link. I mention at the very start of my post that I was filiming a documentary and although Akanksha was not included in this particular film, the film project was on similar lines. I don't think I indicated that I was depressed about poverty (sorry if it came out that way)....I like to think of myself as more of a "do-er" than a "depressed hand-wringer" :)
Frankly, I was more distraught than ever, over people's attitudes, their denial or lack of acknowledgement about what is wrong and what needs fixing. Problems can be solved only if their existence is first acknowledged.
I appreciate the link you sent me but to tell you the truth after having spoken to the founders of quite a few NGOs working for street children, while making this documentary, I found myself being daily acquainted with some more bureaucratic, infrastructural, financial problems that I hadn't even known about before.
So although looking at the Akanksha website tells me of one more such NGO, it also reminds me that we are still a long way from not being depressed about poverty.
Nonetheless, I am glad you shared the Akanksha website with me. Twas quite informative.
Arundhati
July 2, 2007
08:25 PM
Aditi: Liked your realistic take on the city and as a Mumbaiker it doesnt offend me that someone has the courage to speak the truth. The contradictions and ironies came out beautifully through your words and I especially liked how you described the "Mera Bharat Mahan" on an overloaded truck that is about to collapse. Very deep, poetic and sad in a way.
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