Got off the train and got into a sea of people. They headed to the exit and we followed. At the top of the stairs to the exit, they split. We followed our noses and turned left because nobody would even stop to listen to our questions. We walked through shouts of “memory bolo”, “USB bolo”, “cheapest saab, dekho”! It started to drizzle and the kids were getting worried that we would let go off their hands. We walked down stairs and landed bang in the middle of a flower market. Lovely colours and shapes everywhere. Blue orchids strung into garlands ready to hang from Ganeshas’ neck, taut ‘mogra’ buds lined into ‘gajras’ with silver tinsel waiting to be tucked into a Marathi mulgi’s hair and tired looking women, men and kids selling them sitting on mounds of rubbish. This shocking assault of our senses kicked us into action and we literally grabbed a guy to make him stop and listen to our question. “Is this Dadar East?” He shook his head, pointed the way we had just come and disappeared. Back we trudged through the noise and the people. As you might have gathered, we were in Mumbai for a holiday during Ganesh Chaturthi.
Our initiation into the East-West divide left us a little wide-eyed, but we persevered and reached our destination which was in a surprisingly quiet, wide street lined with trees on either side in Wadala. We drove through an old Parsi locality with buildings named Ahura and Adenwala; spotting many Ganeshas. But the name that stayed on the top of my tickled mind through my stay in Mumbai, was ‘Highway Darshan’. An apartment overlooking a highway had been reverently named after its USP. I think the nomenclature stands for what I understand is the philosophy behind Mumbai city - matter of fact, unapologetically practical! “This is how we are”. If there is a bomb blast, we pick the pieces up and we take the next train back home.
We did not take the train in Mumbai this time. We drove around the city and took in the magnificent gateway of India, the beautiful Taj hotel with no sign of the bullet holes or fire, the imposing buildings built during the British Raj leading up to the Flora fountain, the in-your-face; soaring-up-to the sky Ambani residence, the unavoidable Marine Drive, the wow-evoking Worli sea-link (not just because of its architectural magnificence, but also because of how fast you reach Bandra from Worli!), the sudden appearance of Dharavi and the seemingly inert co-existence of people on either sides of the poverty line.
The Ambani residence Dharavi
Although we passed the best vada pav stall near the Central Telegraph Office (vouched for by a cousin who lives and eats in Mumbai), we did not taste the quintessential mumbaiya roadside grub. Not even when we passed a Jumbo king, the desi retort to ‘burger king(?), where they sell vada pav with cheese and diet vada pav using brown bread, apart from the original crispy, tangy, spicy, vada pav as we know it. But we did manage to tuck into the other pav snack, Pav bhaji! It was what it promised to be; chatpataa!
On our drives, we were pointing out things just to keep the kids engaged. Whenever we pointed something out and asked them what they saw, they would quip, “People”. Crowded bus stops. Crowded trains. Crowded markets. Crowds in shanty towns. Crowds in hi-rise apartments. Crowds on trailers taking their Ganeshas for immersion.
The other thing that struck me was the profusion of grillwork that invaded your view. Windows had grillwork encasing them. The AC compressors had grills around them for protection. The balconies had grills encroaching upon airspace, staking a claim to hang clothes or store cycles or line up flower pots! I looked up into a balcony and saw a man talking on his phone in his balcony. He was walking back and forth. And it was like watching a tiger in its cage pacing the small realm that it was allowed.
I think it is this repressed living that makes them pull out all stops when Ganesh Chaturthi arrives. They erect huge enclosures for Ganeshas in different poses. Golden Ganesha, silver Ganesha, flower Ganesha, pahelwan ganesha(!), you name it, they have it. On the day of immersion they dance without worry. They throw gulal without restraint. They blow the noisy trumpets without stopping to breathe. They beat the drums without missing a beat. The street party goes on…
The chaos continues. The traffic jams get worse. The buildings get higher. The people still arrive in hordes. But look between the buildings, you can see the serene, rolling hills in the distance!
