A New Perspective

MUMBAI, a city of dreams

MUMBAI, a city that never sleeps

MUMBAI, the city with a spirit unmatched.

The city of Mumbai has withstood numerous life altering events. But the adversities have failed to cripple the spirit of the city. The city has got back to its feet within hours. I always wondered how, till I got my first-hand experience. And life has never been the same since…

July 2005

Monsoon had begun. And although the romantics write poetry as the skies start to pour, I failed to see the beauty. Like a typical banker, rain meant volatile stock exchange, pot holes, muddy puddles that spoiled my high heels and over flowing drains. Add to it the ever increasing traffic and my hatred for the season reached a whole new level.

Driving from the Eastern Express Highway, through the slums of Dharavi to IL & FS in Bandra Kurla Complex was a part of my daily commute. During office hours when the traffic was at its peak, the drive was exhausting. In the rainy season, it felt like a punishment.

When I crossed Dharavi every day, I cringed. For all the so-called sophisticated class, Dharavi symbolised crime, foul odour and dirt… ‘Why doesn’t the government clean up this place’, I always thought. ‘Just drive all these people to some remote place, they are spoiling the city’.

At a signal, every day I noticed a group of teenage boys, laughing and chatting. ‘It’s 7:30AM. How can they waste time like this? Hooligans…If only they worked for a living…’ my thoughts trailed as the signal turned green and I drove away.

This was a daily routine. Same drive. Same signal. Same group of boys. Same thoughts.

 

26 July 2005 – Good Morning

The day began as any other. It was raining hard since early hours of morning. As I reached office that day, I was cold. ‘I am going to catch a fever’, I thought. The day progressed and I got busy with work, never to realize how much the rain gods were showering love over the city of Mumbai.

Suddenly, at 3:00PM, an announcement came requesting everyone to leave for home due to flooding. It was then that I suddenly noticed how dark it was outside. Everyone started packing and leaving. I wanted to send one last email. So without understanding the gravity of the situation, I continued my work. ‘I am anyways driving. I can wait for another 20 minutes’, I mused.

When I left around 4:30PM, the place was deserted. As I walked into the parking lot, I noticed the water levels had risen significantly. That was my first sign of fear. But I continued driving my car out of the lot and towards home. It suddenly felt like the city was sinking. There was water everywhere. People were wading through knee deep water. I cursed myself for not leaving early. But this was not the time to regret. I made way slowly through the rising water towards Dharavi…

 

26 July 2005 – 5:30PM

It was an hour since I left from office, but I had covered barely 2 KM distance, thanks to traffic. I tried calling Krish, my husband. But mobile connectivity was disrupted.

Just as I took a turn towards the signal, that I crossed every day, *Khud* *Khud* and giving a few jerks, my car gave up. The engine probably drowned in water.  I turned on the ignition a few times, but the car refused to start. The rain was incessant.

I tried opening the car door only to have a gush of water enter my car. I quickly closed the door. I felt so distraught.

Just then, there was a knock on my window. I turned to see the same group of teenagers, whom I loathed everyday at the signal. My mouth went dry. One of them was signalling me to roll down the window. I refused and desperately speed dialled Krish’s number again in vain. “Jaau tum… nahi toh police ko bulaungi” (Leave… else I’ll call the cops), I shouted out. I knew that was impossible. And so did they.

The boy knocked again. Slowly, I rolled down the window by an inch. “Kya hai?” (What is it?) I asked. My voice quivered with fear. All my life, I’ve heard about Dharavi, Asia’s biggest slum, as a place of the poor, hub of crime and negativity. So I associated everyone and everything about it with the same.

“Myself Aslam, need help Madamji?” one of them asked. I wasn’t sure what to do. I nodded. “Raining heavily. Car engine caught in water. Need mechanic”, Aslam spoke in broken English. “I bring mechanic, Taufir. He’s my friend. Come to my house tab tak”.

I froze. Stories of kidnapping, extortions, rapes flashed my mind. “No, no… I am fine. I will sit in the car”, I quickly said.

“No, No madamji, we will move car to mechanic or car no start fast fast”. I had to agree. No mechanic would come in such pouring rain. I cursed myself to bring myself in this situation. With no phone connectivity, Krish would never know what happened to me, in case they did something. I was scared to death, but got out of the car and followed Aslam and his friends.

We walked in the inner lanes. As I looked around, I was amazed. Although I was driving past this area for the last 4 years, today in that extreme weather, I actually took a deeper look. The size of the houses were little bigger than my walk-in closet. Most houses were flooded with water, but people had smiles on their faces. They were helping their neighbours in rearranging things and although everyone was in a rush, they greeted one another.

“Aslam miya, kahan se?” (Brother Aslam, where to?) someone yelled.

“Madamji ki gaadi band pad gayi hai. Taufir bhai ko bulaane jaa raha hu” (Madam’s car has broken down. I am going to call Taufir), Aslam replied.

I could not remember the turns we took as we walked and I felt completely lost. Just then, Aslam stopped at a door and knocked. A middle aged woman opened the door. “Ammi, madamji ko thoda bithaana. Gaadi band pad gayi unki. Taufir miya ko dikhake ata hu” (Mum, please seat Madam. Her car is broken down. I’ll show it to Taufir)

Aslam’s mother took me in the house. They had a single room house. There was a solo cot, raised on a tower of bricks to keep it from sinking in the water, a few trunks and a wooden chair. I sat on the cot. Aslam and his friends had disappeared.

I looked at my watch. It was past 7PM. ‘Krish, where are you’ I was in tears. “Paani”, Aslam’s mother offered me water. I just took the glass and sat holding it. ‘I don’t drink tap water’ I wanted to say, but kept quiet. But probably she understood. She called out to a neighbouring kid and gave him a Rs. 10 note. “Jaa, chacha ki dukaan se Bisleri ki bottle le aa” (Go get Bisleri water from uncle’s shop). The kid scurried and was back in 5 minutes with a big bottle of Bisleri. I was stunned!

About an hour later, Aslam returned. “Madamji, you want to phone home?” I nodded hurriedly.

“Give me your home number. I call from chacha’s shop”.

“Can I come? I want to speak to my family”.

“Lot of water outside Madamji. You will get wet. Nahi nahi, I call and come back”

I reluctantly gave him the number.  Aslam was gone again. Another 2 hours went by. I felt so helpless. There was no sign of Krish. Why wasn’t he coming to get me? I knew about the extreme weather, but I wasn’t in a condition to think logically.

Farida, Aslam’s mother, offered me dinner. The dish wasn’t porcelain, the food wasn’t continental, but on that rainy day, in that tin plate, I tasted some of the best food in this world. While eating, I got to know that Aslam worked at the mechanic’s shop all day and went to night school to continue his education. He wanted to be like sahebji. It was his father’s dream. His father had died during the 1992 riots, killed by a Hindu fanatic. But Farida was a proud mother.

“Mujhe use ek accha insaan banana hai. Ye majhab ki ladai sab bekaar hai. (‘I want to raise him to be a good human being. This war over religion is a waste’). The woman wasn’t educated, but she was a wise lady.

I never realised when I went off to sleep on the solo cot in Aslam’s house. When he returned in the early hours of morning, the rain had stopped.

“Madamji, spoke to Sirji. He come by 8 o’clock. Your car is ready in another hour. Taufir miya is doing work on it.”

By the time Krish reached, Farida had arranged for hot tea and Parle G for me. Krish looked amazed when he saw me squatting comfortably on the cot and laughing with Farida on some joke we shared. He was still shocked when we walked towards my car that Taufir miya had fixed.

When Krish offered Aslam money for taking care of me, he looked visibly upset. “Sirji, not helped Madamji for money. Please. No money”

—

When I left from Dharavi, I was a new person. My faith in humanity was renewed. Appearances are deceptive, I had always heard. But on that rainy day, I experienced it. When the city of dreams was under water, in that small Muslim household, I was safe.

Aslam did not take money from us. Taufir did not charge me for repairing my car. We were indebted for life. We decided to sponsor Aslam’s education. Krish enrolled him in one of the finest schools and still continues to sponsor his education. Today, Aslam is pursuing his MBA. He is one of the toppers of his class. What he did for me that day I can never repay, but seeing him succeed in life, I get a feeling of pride and satisfaction.

We repaired Taufir’s garage, which was damaged due to rain. He continues to maintain all our cars for us.

—

That rainy day taught me what no textbook could. The rainy day in July 2005 gave me a new perspective.

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