A Tail of Two Cities

Khalil Gibran’s ‘Prophet’ begins at the poignant moment where ALMUSTAFA, after a wait of 12 long years sights the ship that is coming to take him home. He is delighted to see the ship, but soon grief engulfs him as he realises that he has to leave the city of Orphalese behind. He laments

Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets,

and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills,

and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.

It is not a garment that I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hand

I too now find myself at the same crossroad as ALMUSTAFA, as the date of parting with Mumbai approaches. Excitement brews about the new chapter I am to start, but the sorrow of moving out of this city, that I love so dearly, clings to my heart.

Looking back, my life neatly divides into two completed chapters and a promising ‘tail’. First, Nagpur where my childhood bloomed and adolescence took roots. Then, Mumbai, where I learnt to live passionately romancing life itself.  And now, on horizon lies the serene beauty of Parapinkara in Alakode village of Idukki district in Kerala, that whispers to me of new possibilities, urging me to experiment with adventures yet untried.

God breathed life into Adam in one of the Genesis stories, so did Nagpur and Mumbai shape me - not in one life-giving gasp, but through a series of episodes that, only now, when I am 53, reveal themselves as life lessons, at that time, they were just ordinary transactions.

In Nagpur, I had developed a healthy defiance of authority and a strong sense of fairness and justice, always siding with the underdogs. The motto of my school “Sapere Aude” reflected in its anthem “Dare to be wise” got ingrained in me. Armed with this attitude and the naïve bravado and foolishness of a 22-year-old I arrived in Mumbai in August 1993, with a suitcase in hand an appointment letter to join as a trainee engineer in a shipyard.

Guided by the Sun:

Following the instruction in my appointment letter, I disembarked at the designated railway station. A side effect of taking ‘Sapere Aude’ too seriously is the confidence in one’s misguided ideas. Therefore, upon exiting the railway station, I looked at the sun to determine west direction, assuming shipyard to be at the seashore. Confident in my reasoning I walked to the west. After walking for a while, I asked someone for directions, only to be told that the shipyard was to the east. Later I realised my enormous ignorance, that shipyards are never in open sea but towards the harbour, in Mumbai it is to the east.

Jolly Jelly

When I arrived at the shipyard office, the HR manager greeted me - a sweet lady with a pleasant countenance and curious wobble to her head when she spoke.  This earned her the moniker ‘Jolly Jelly” among our large batch of new trainee engineers who joined that day.

Jolly Jelly was nothing, if not fastidious. She insisted that she would fill the joining forms herself, terrified that our atrocious handwritings would render the forms illegible. When it was my turn, the interrogation began:

JJ : Name?

BM : Baiju

JJ  : Surname

BM : I have none, the ‘Mathew’ you see is actually dad's name not my surname

At this Jolly Jelly let out an irritated huff and moved on

JJ : Religion?

BM : None

She slapped her pen down, grimaced and said, “How can a human not have a religion”

BM: Look at me mam’ very much a human, and I don’t believe in any god, perhaps

its time you update your knowledge about what makes us human.

By now, my funny bone was tickled and I loved watching her expression morph from pleasant to a mix of bewildered anger, with a spritz of doubt that this recruitment was a mistake.

JJ : Your present address

BM : None

JJ : I am sure you have an explanation for that

BM : Absolutely. As you can see, I am holding my suitcase, after we are done with this

paperwork, I will be off looking for accommodation. Any suggestions?

JJ : what’s your mother tongue?

BM : My mother speaks in four tongues

Of course, the last one was my tongue in cheek; I would like to remember that Jolly Jelly also saw the humour in it and laughed

The Jolt

The stories above happened on the day I arrived in Mumbai. They reveal my cocky nature and the chutzpah with which I dealt with people. Mumbai is a great teacher, and it gave me a befitting tryst with reality in the first week itself.

I was at Nariman Point, my first visit to the spot that would later become my favourite place in the world. There I saw this man in tatters sitting cross-legged on the footpath with a piece of cloth spread out in front of him. He had three opaque blue coloured plastic discs, identical but for a pink spot on the underside of one. He would juggle the discs and lay them out, calling the onlookers to bet money on which was the disc with the pink spot. The winners would multiply their money, while the losers – well, they lost.

I stood there studying his moves, convinced that I could predict the disc every time. Cut to the chase: I lost 2000 rupees in one go. It dawned upon me that the whole scene – the winners, the losers, and the crowd – was a carefully orchestrated con. I had fallen for the classic trick of a common man.

Mumbai has always been quick to show me my place, be it the trickster that relieved me of 2000 rupees or the encounter I had with a third-gender person, much later during my time in the city. I was sitting at Nariman Point watching the setting sun along with a lady friend. A hijra (a member of the third-gender community, a distinct cultural feature in this part of the world) approached us asking for money. I gave him a one-rupee coin. The hijra blessed us as a couple to which the lady shot back “This is not the guy I want to be with.” Without missing a beat, the hijra replied, “For one rupee this is what you get. You don’t deserve better!”

Authority needs theatrics:

As already stated, I enjoyed cocking the snook at authority. As a trainee engineer, I was at the lowest rung in the hierarchy of my employer, the shipbuilder, but that didn’t stop me from finding my creative ways to get things done.

Once my boss asked me to go and collect a particular drawing from the design department. When I approached the officer there, he brushed me off, saying he was too busy, in a rather brash manner. I noted his intercom number displayed at his desk, and headed straight to the canteen and ordered some snacks. While waiting for the snacks I called this officer and with all authority barked into the intercom “This is the DGM Planning, I had sent my officer to collect the drawings and you had the audacity to refuse him?” The officer at the other end, clearly flustered, apologised profusely and promised to give the drawings immediately.

After eating my snacks, I went back to the design department. The person, clearly embarrassed, advised me that I should not have complained to the DGM about him. The authority in my voice had left him too rattled to even think of questioning who this DGM really was.

That day I learnt something vital: a little drama goes a long way in exercising authority. I am yet to discover the true utility of authority, especially the ones that come with a title in an organisation. Over time, I have come to realize that authority is often redundant and far less effective than engaging in a discussion with one's team, as equals. This insight was reinforced by some of the excellent superiors I’ve had, who led by example and connection, not by wielding authority.

The Romance:

Mumbai was a treasure trove for book lovers. The streets brimmed with second-hand books, each corner offering a world of literature. I had some prior experience buying second-hand books from the streets of Delhi, where booksellers had little knowledge of what they were selling. But Mumbai, oh, it was different.

My first encounter with Mumbai’s second-hand booksellers came while browsing through a stack and “The Outsider” (also known as The Stranger in some editions) by Albert Camus caught my eye. The seller, with a seasoned air, said it was 70 rupees. I, of course, tried to haggle, pointing out the torn cover. To my surprise, he confidently replied, “You won’t find any existentialist authors like Camus, Kafka, or Sartre for less than 70 rupees. And that Bertrand Russell book you were eyeing earlier? Russell goes for no less than 75.” I was floored by the depth of his knowledge. This wasn’t a one-off occurrence either. The booksellers around Flora Fountain seemed to know their craft intimately. In fact, I once even sought advice from one of them when I wanted to explore haikus.

I had a similar experience in another city — Santiago, Chile. I had traveled there for work, and nobody seemed to speak English. Except, that is, for an elderly man selling second-hand books on the street. I discussed with him on what the current generation in Chile was reading etc. He recommended visiting Pablo Neruda’s house, La Chascona, just a short distance away, which I did and was thankful to him for that suggestion.

Mumbai enriched my life by exposing me to so many fields. I’d wander through Jehangir Art Gallery, discussing paintings with artists. Visiting the Prince of Wales Museum (now CSMVS). Watch plays, especially at NCPA, by Goethe, Beckett, GB Shaw, Munshi Premchand, Ismat Chughtai, Shakespeare etc. Visiting the Nehru Planetarium, its basement library (no longer there) and Nehru science center, which still does not fail to amuse me. It was the British Council Library membership during my early years in Mumbai that truly fed my voracious reading habit. I would and still do attend free lectures by experts in varied fields all around the city from Nehru center to Bhaudaji Lad museum etc.

My wife and I share a love for wandering through the streets of Mumbai, exploring the vibrant street food scene, especially late in the night. High-end places often serve standardized dishes, but street food in Mumbai? Every stall has a signature taste, a flavour distinct from other locations. After a late night movie, play or concert, we set out on an adventure to discover new flavours, an activity we indulge in with great delight.

Over the 30 years that I have lived in Mumbai with brief stints in other cities, my relation with this city has deepened. The stories I have shared come from my early days in Mumbai, but they illustrate how the city expanded my horizons and enriched my life.

Like ALMUSTUFA, I am leaving behind ‘fragments of spirit’ - in the peals of laughter with my friends that echo through streets of Mumbai. My excitement from watching Naseeruddin Shah playing the devil Mephistopheles in Faust at the Tata Theatre still lingers there as does my awe and amazement in the Elephanta caves. The grandeur of Victoria Terminus (now CSMT) remains elusive, like ALMUSTUFA’s ‘children of longing’, as I have failed to capture its majesty in my photographs, no matter how many attempts I have made.

Unlike ALMUSTAFA, I am not leaving behind friends nor am I bidding a final farewell to Mumbai. Technology allows me to stay in touch with those who matter and my wife and I are resolved to visit Mumbai frequently. Being in Mumbai had become ‘rhythm of life’ for us, we have to now dance to a different tune. We will forever carry the essence of Mumbai in our hearts.

NB: All pictures are generated on the the AI webs Gencraft using approproate prompts by me