It did not deserve this surely.

Close on the heels of the furore of the mon­soons, it now has another ter­ror­ist attack to deal with. If it gives in, it’s bro­ken. If it goes about its busi­ness, it’s uncaring.

Some­times, I think that it’s so unfair that a city that gives its res­i­dents so unselfishly, has to endure so much from some half crazed bunch of fools, who go about killing inno­cent peo­ple, for god knows what pur­pose. I can’t believe these peo­ple seri­ously think they’re sent to earth with a pur­pose to kill oth­ers. What kind of lunatics are they and what dri­ves them? Not reli­gion surely, because I don’t know any on earth that actu­ally con­dones this kind of non­sen­si­cal, demented behaviour.

They say, it is hard to break the spirit of Mum­bai, but surely it will take a beat­ing after so many repeated attacks on it, some man made and some not.

When I got the news, my first though was of course, about all those who I left back in Mum­bai and check about their safety.

But then I began to think about the city I left in 2004. I left it in a hurry. Like the city was sti­fling me and slowly killing my soul. It was what I believed at that point in time. I was going through my worst per­sonal cri­sis and I extrap­o­lated what I felt to the city. I hated every­thing about the place. I hated trav­el­ing by the crowded local trains, the crowded buses and I hated bump­ing into a mil­lion peo­ple every time I went to catch the train to work.

But in the larger scheme of things, I had for­got­ten what I had learnt from the city. The spirit of inde­pen­dence and the fact that every­one can sur­vive no mat­ter what they do. I had for­got­ten all the good times I’d had. All the mem­o­ries that were bun­dled into my five years that I was a Mumbaikar.

I landed some­time late 1997 and knew just a hand­ful of peo­ple. It took me well over a year to get used to its pace of life and its cul­ture, which was so alien to me after the slow laid back life I had lead so far. I hated tak­ing the trains. Why is every­one always in a hurry I won­dered often? And yet, I found out, if you ask for direc­tions, more often than not, peo­ple will stop in the mid­dle of the road and go out of the way to help you out.

I met a whole bunch of great peo­ple when I worked for rediff.com. It’s the only rea­son I stayed on for as long as I did. We had some great times when we were lodged in a small office in Grant Road, where I remem­ber Suparn Verma (a now Bol­ly­wood writer/director) would bang his head every time he got up from his chair (the ceil­ing on the first floor was so low!). I had a lit­tle cor­ner in the same floor and thank­fully being 5 feet some­thing saved me from the same fate!

We would have a stream of celebri­ties walk­ing in and out of the tiny office for our live chats. I still remem­ber Aish­warya Rai, whom we gawked at from the com­fort of our first floor cubi­cles. And Sachin Ten­dulkar who had cre­ated quite a furore in the neigh­bour­hood when he walked in. Aamir Khan, who got a lot of ‘he’s wear­ing shoes with heels’ com­ments from some of the jeal­ous boys!

I remem­ber mov­ing to a slightly larger but nicer office in Fort, where we would go out to the Iran­ian restau­rants in that area for long lunches. Or if we were feel­ing gen­er­ous, fish at Apoorva. There was even time to grab a bit of shop­ping at Bom­bay Store. There was one time when we were all stranded in office when it rained all night. We played antak­shri the whole night, some falling asleep on tables and some under them, even as we ordered fish from a place nearby (thank­fully still open for busi­ness!). And then mov­ing into a spank­ing new office in Mahim, where won­der of won­ders, we even had a small gymnasium.

But what I am thank­ful for most to the city is for teach­ing me to stand on my own two feet. To take risks, to take deci­sions for myself, to start depend­ing less on other peo­ple (cling less in other words!) and to go about build­ing a life that I wanted (that I didn’t quite suc­ceed is another story!).

On a quick one day trip to the city a month ago, it all came back to me. My first few years, test­ing the waters and try­ing to get a grip on life. The next few years, with some dif­fi­cult times, but fun never the less. And the last 2 years, which had turned into a liv­ing hell, but more so due to my own mak­ing and unwill­ing­ness to take the next step.

The city though had always been a con­stant. Its roads, the fly­overs, the big showy malls, the con­stant rat­tling of local trains pass­ing by, the beau­ti­ful but crowded Ban­dra band­stand, the salty sea air that one gets a whiff off once in a while, the hor­ri­bly smelly Mahim creek every time I went to work, the Cen­tral line, where peo­ple live on the tracks (well, nearly!)… where despite every­thing it remains a warm and wel­com­ing city which takes you into its arms, no mat­ter where you come from, where you’re going or what your inten­tions are.

So when I think about Mum­bai, I know one thing for sure. It has done noth­ing to deserve this kind of treatment.

– Mum­bai Help
– Light a Candle