A Chalo reader gave me
pause for thought today when she suggested this column was anti- Mumbai and seemed
out of place among the travelogues and festival articles. Believe it or not,
after nearly four years here, I am actually very pro-Mumbai, I just don’t like
some of the stuff that goes on. I could write about how colourful all the saris
are and how funny it is to see a cow in the traffic but I don’t want to. There
is more afoot.
I love living in
Mumbai and the people are wonderful but the facts are: A) it’s been in decline for years and B) it’s
been over-developed to within an inch of its life - all at the same time! Haphazard planning together with a total lack of
civic vision have led to a chaotic city in need of a great deal of TLC. I know I am a guest here but I can see as well
as anyone else that the powers-that-be are corrupt and apathetic and in need of
a good shake up. Can I say this as a foreigner without coming across as a
closet Imperialist?
I have just read a story buried on page NINE of the Mumbai
Mirror about a baby girl who died after having her face ‘nibbled’ by a rat
while sleeping between her parents in Borivali. The father says: “Rats are a
problem but we have no choice.” Whaaatttt! It’s 2013! (And ‘nibbled’ is such a delicate euphemism –
is it an attempt to make it sound less horrific? How about ‘chewed off?’ ‘cos them’s the facts)
The BMC has asked its pesticide officer for a report on the number of rats
killed in the area. End of (I suspect). We
are always reading stuff like this in the newspapers. Must I avert my eyes?
Another euphemism commonly used is ‘Eve-teasing’ - that’s
sexual harassment to you and me. It’ll
be interesting to see if this quaint term gets kicked to the curb now that the
eyes of the world are fixed on India, watching to see how the authorities -
accused of not taking it seriously enough - deal with the recent gang rape and
subsequent death of a young woman in Delhi. This is a case not just about
women’s rights; it’s also deep-rooted in caste so it will be interesting to see
how it unfurls.
Yes, India, you are indeed a mystery to the rest of the world
and we are intrigued by your contrasts and contradictions. In Mumbai, we watch
open-mouthed as billionaires and beggars move around cheek by jowl. Cows are
sacred yet we see them eating rubbish piled up on the roadside. Stray dogs roam
in packs, all skin-‘n’-bone-‘n’- ripped-off ears, while pet shops/spas on every
corner sell all-organic birthday cakes for pet pooches. What gives? Sometimes it’s really hard for me, as a
foreigner, to process the information in front of me. Toddlers run about in the
traffic looking for coins while chauffeured Bollywood wannabes in eight inch stilettos
“Yaaaa, Nooo” into their Blackberries.
Where I live there is a swanky jewellers called ‘Daily
Diamonds’ right next-door to a grim-looking roach-coach called ‘Fisheteria’
(formerly ‘I Heart Prawns’) I don’t know why but this is too much of juxtaposition
for my little brain to cope with.
There seems to be a
great pride in the nation - when you go to the cinema everyone stands to sing
the national anthem – but where’s the civic pride? Mumbai has few green open spaces, death-trap
footpaths, polluted rivers and open sewers. I’m confuuuused!
On the one hand we have booming India striding into the future;
its young and dynamic population taking over the world yet on the other, there
are enclaves where time seems to stand still.
Most Saturday mornings at 7am I go for a run in Aarey Milk
Colony, a dairy farming area in Goregaon with jungle-crested hills and clear(ish)-running
rivers. At that time in the morning, a low mist and thick smoke from hundreds
of small fires add to the other-worldliness and people and animals go about
their business uninterrupted by the modern world. Suddenly I come bursting into
this rural idyll with my new Asics trainers, heart-rate monitor and ipod
blasting out a bit of Alt-J, I feel incongruous, like a ghost from the future
who shouldn’t be there. Last week I ran past a figure standing alone in the
mist, thin as a pin and wrapped in a dark wool blanket. I glanced fleetingly at
the wrinkled face but couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. The figure
would not have been out of place standing there 500 years ago. I don’t know
what was going on in his/her mind but I’m pretty sure he/she wasn’t worrying
about getting an organic birthday cake for his/her dog.
As I run by people are performing their morning ablutions.
Men in loin clothes lather-up their sinewy bodies and use water from a broken
pipe to rinse. I dare not look left or right into the sparse woods because if I
do, I might catch the eye of one of the many squatting figures quietly doing the
needful.
It seems cockamamie to
me that there are so many spas for dogs but not nearly enough toilets for
humans. Apparently almost half of all the homes in India – the world’s largest
democracy- do not have a toilet. Go figure.
When India’s minister for rural development - Jairam Ramesh -
recently announced that India was more in need of toilets than temples, an
angry mob descended on his home and yet he still went on to say that women
should refuse to get married unless they could be guaranteed a
toilet in the new home. High-Five Jairam-ji! It’s not what everybody wants to
hear so it takes a Big Mouth to say it!
P.S The title Big Mouth Strikes Again – is, of course, an
homage to the world’s most eloquent poet, Morrissey who was this week strung up
by that most insidious rag - The Daily Mail - for daring to say, amongst other
things: “If I kicked a dog I would be fined 200 pounds yet we are asked to
accept (David) Cameron shooting down a majestic stag for a hoot.” The DM refers
to this perfectly reasonable comment as ‘a rant’. I attempted to add my own online
comment in support of the great Mozza but the DM (like Stalin) does not allow
any comments which are not wholly favourable to them. A very sinister publication indeed.
