In every city runs the vein that throbs with every signal, every market and each cluster where people live, be it in posh bungalows or the ever spreading slums. This throbbing vein extends to the meandering roads filled with rushing crowd in local trains or in every person waiting expectantly on the roadside to be hitched by an auto rickshaw. Some of the most interesting conversations I have had are with the auto rickshaw wala while travelling, whose demand exceeds their supply making them as valuable as finding an unexpected treasure on the road. Each time an empty auto passes by it brings with it a wave of expectation. As it stops, the hope of reaching on time increases with a nod or is shattered by a shake of the head.
The transition from one city to another is filled with new experiences, some new things to learn and others to unlearn. I hail from the capital city of Delhi and now live in the commercial hub of the country, Mumbai. As per popular opinion, born and brought up in Delhi stereo-typically makes me snooty and a snob. Arrogance is supposed to be my middle name and attitude is what I am supposed to carry along. This is the impression my dear friends had about most Delhites- but as they say first impressions can be wrong. Having lived here now for quite some time, I must say, I have started to form new impressions of my own about the city. Mumbai is derived from 'mumba'+'aai', meaning, land of mother Mumba. Mumba devi is the goddess of the people here, hence the name Mumbai. So to begin with, it is Mumbai, not Bombay, that is lesson number one.
Every morning when I start for work, at 8.30 AM auto-waley-bhaiyya comes to pick me up. In Mumbai, you sit in auto, then tell where to go, the meter runs in every auto! And it works too. It is incredible that each auto rickshaw meter is actually working! It is matter of amazement compared to those running in Delhi where the norm is 'madam, meter kharab hai', followed by 'pachas rupay', taking advantage of the heat, lack of an alternative mode of transport and display of sheer audacity. The way of calling autos in Mumbai is not 'auto' but 'rickshaw', so the first time someone asked me to take a 'rickshaw', I actually started looking for a tricycle rickshaw being pulled by a thin, wiry man as we find around the North Campus area in Delhi.
The next most incredible sight for me is the beach, which the Mumbaikars take so much for granted. It is amazing to travel on the Worli Sea Link over and above water. There are beaches everywhere, probably not what I have in mind, but it is a part of everyday life, where people chill and hang out even in the scorching sun at Nareman Point. In the first few weeks in Mumbai, every time I would spot water, I would feel the excitement of a 5 year old with an ice cream cone.
Every time I go out to buy vegetables, I would remind myself, 'aloo' is 'bataata' and 'pyaz' is 'kandaa'. The first time I went out to get 'aloo' and 'pyaz', I went on repeatedly pointing at the potatoes and insisting that I want one kilo of those, while the shopkeeper went on insisting that I wanted one kilo of 'bataata', and I fervently denied that I do not want 'bataata', I just want 'aloo'. Then it happened again where I wanted 'aloo ke pakore' and what he was selling was 'bataata vada'. At Sab Kuch I wanted extra 'pyaz' and he replied 'haan madam, kandaa daal diya hai'. Where I asked 'bhayiya, pack kar do', to which I was informed, 'madam, parcel kar diya'.
To call a home delivery boy or rickshaw driver 'bhayiya' in Mumbai gets you some glaring looks, at times it is pardoned if you are girl, in that case it is taken as being called an older brother. But in most cases the safer option is always 'dada', or if someone older 'kaka'. Another time while giving directions to an auto-wale-bhayiya in Mumbai, in all innocence I directed him to take a left from the 'red light', later on a kind gentleman advised me to stick to 'signal' for traffic light, as the word 'red light' means a prostitute area and hence to be avoided.
A wonderful mode of travel in the city is the lifeline called the Mumbai Local. By 'local' I mean the local train that runs from one end to another end of the city. It is the most organized sea of people I have ever seen. To think of travelling in such a jam packed crowded train without your purse, pocket and jewelry being snatched and most importantly, without being felt up and sexually harassed is a matter of amazement for someone born and brought up in Delhi. The ladies compartment is the most democratic space in the world, where you have college girls gossiping about their love life along with aunties cutting veggies to save time, to working women returning home after office, to domestic help 'bai's' sharing updates of the day. Even in the over packed general compartment you will find a support system to prevent the person on the edge falling off due to crowd burst.
In Mumbai, you can get everything home delivered from vegetables, to rice to spices to milk, with just one phone call. This is what I would call heights of professionalism. This was informed to me by my landlord who has the phone number of the local vegetable seller and the Variety Store for all household requirements.
Everyday this city is a new experience as I get more and more acquainted with it. It is gradually becoming what it is for many thriving here 'aamchi mumbai'.
The transition from one city to another is filled with new experiences, some new things to learn and others to unlearn. I hail from the capital city of Delhi and now live in the commercial hub of the country, Mumbai. As per popular opinion, born and brought up in Delhi stereo-typically makes me snooty and a snob. Arrogance is supposed to be my middle name and attitude is what I am supposed to carry along. This is the impression my dear friends had about most Delhites- but as they say first impressions can be wrong. Having lived here now for quite some time, I must say, I have started to form new impressions of my own about the city. Mumbai is derived from 'mumba'+'aai', meaning, land of mother Mumba. Mumba devi is the goddess of the people here, hence the name Mumbai. So to begin with, it is Mumbai, not Bombay, that is lesson number one.
Every morning when I start for work, at 8.30 AM auto-waley-bhaiyya comes to pick me up. In Mumbai, you sit in auto, then tell where to go, the meter runs in every auto! And it works too. It is incredible that each auto rickshaw meter is actually working! It is matter of amazement compared to those running in Delhi where the norm is 'madam, meter kharab hai', followed by 'pachas rupay', taking advantage of the heat, lack of an alternative mode of transport and display of sheer audacity. The way of calling autos in Mumbai is not 'auto' but 'rickshaw', so the first time someone asked me to take a 'rickshaw', I actually started looking for a tricycle rickshaw being pulled by a thin, wiry man as we find around the North Campus area in Delhi.
The next most incredible sight for me is the beach, which the Mumbaikars take so much for granted. It is amazing to travel on the Worli Sea Link over and above water. There are beaches everywhere, probably not what I have in mind, but it is a part of everyday life, where people chill and hang out even in the scorching sun at Nareman Point. In the first few weeks in Mumbai, every time I would spot water, I would feel the excitement of a 5 year old with an ice cream cone.
Every time I go out to buy vegetables, I would remind myself, 'aloo' is 'bataata' and 'pyaz' is 'kandaa'. The first time I went out to get 'aloo' and 'pyaz', I went on repeatedly pointing at the potatoes and insisting that I want one kilo of those, while the shopkeeper went on insisting that I wanted one kilo of 'bataata', and I fervently denied that I do not want 'bataata', I just want 'aloo'. Then it happened again where I wanted 'aloo ke pakore' and what he was selling was 'bataata vada'. At Sab Kuch I wanted extra 'pyaz' and he replied 'haan madam, kandaa daal diya hai'. Where I asked 'bhayiya, pack kar do', to which I was informed, 'madam, parcel kar diya'.
To call a home delivery boy or rickshaw driver 'bhayiya' in Mumbai gets you some glaring looks, at times it is pardoned if you are girl, in that case it is taken as being called an older brother. But in most cases the safer option is always 'dada', or if someone older 'kaka'. Another time while giving directions to an auto-wale-bhayiya in Mumbai, in all innocence I directed him to take a left from the 'red light', later on a kind gentleman advised me to stick to 'signal' for traffic light, as the word 'red light' means a prostitute area and hence to be avoided.
A wonderful mode of travel in the city is the lifeline called the Mumbai Local. By 'local' I mean the local train that runs from one end to another end of the city. It is the most organized sea of people I have ever seen. To think of travelling in such a jam packed crowded train without your purse, pocket and jewelry being snatched and most importantly, without being felt up and sexually harassed is a matter of amazement for someone born and brought up in Delhi. The ladies compartment is the most democratic space in the world, where you have college girls gossiping about their love life along with aunties cutting veggies to save time, to working women returning home after office, to domestic help 'bai's' sharing updates of the day. Even in the over packed general compartment you will find a support system to prevent the person on the edge falling off due to crowd burst.
In Mumbai, you can get everything home delivered from vegetables, to rice to spices to milk, with just one phone call. This is what I would call heights of professionalism. This was informed to me by my landlord who has the phone number of the local vegetable seller and the Variety Store for all household requirements.
Everyday this city is a new experience as I get more and more acquainted with it. It is gradually becoming what it is for many thriving here 'aamchi mumbai'.
