Mumbai, my sweetheart - A memoir - 11/27/08
- By Keya (Sharmila Murthy)
- Published 11/28/2008
I was 14, it was fall and I had first visited Mumbai with my family. It was love at first sight. I liked what I saw, heard, smelled, tasted, touched. Every fiber of my being was enthralled in this mahanagari, this megapolis which we then called as Bombay. This was Oct. 1980. It was our diwali holidays and we were visiting Bombay, Pune and Goa. In our entire trip that I was away from Bombay I wanted to be back in Bombay. I could not wait to get back.
My sister and I used to go the roof top of the building in which my uncle lived. This was Chembur, an eastern suburb of Mumbai. We would watch the vehicles come down the Highway from Pune. To me it seemed like balls of fire coming down the mountains in pairs, these were headlights of the buses, trucks and cars arriving at Bomaby through the pass.
Looking back I am amused at how long an affair I have carried out with my lover city Mumbai. Mumbai is special in the sense those who live in Mumbai, love it, those who don't have mixed feelings. Most of these people who I have met or spoken to who say they do not like Mumbai, have never been to it, or speak of the crowd they see in movies, tvs or train stations in the passing. Just like LA or New York, those who do not live here can't know what it means to be in New Yorker or resident of the city of angeles (my new home, Los Angeles).
Today as I heard, saw and read of the horror of the sabotage of Mumbai, my heart is back with my old lover. I am still thrilled by this city that swept me off my feet in the first glance. This city I have always wanted to live in, this city I have always belonged to emotionally and mentally. The only city of India I have ever connected myself with in my life, besides Los Angeles.
I was born in Guwahati, Assam, India and will always be from Guwahati, but my true love has always been Mumbai. Since 1982, I have visited Mumbai every year and in 1990 I took up a job in Mumbai. In 1992 Mumbai was my last city of residence before I left India. Since then I have always returned to Mumbai once every year until 2004, when I set up home and shop in Los Angeles.
I know the time has come to return to my old lover. I am mourning her loss today. The entire morning I watched the news on my powerbook. I spoke to my brother, sister and my parents. I even called up my friend from 20 years ago, with whom I walked the streets which are splattered by sharpnels and blood today.
I used to walk on marine drive every morning at 5. Every morning at Nariman Point, which we named LandsEnd, I did my Surya namaskar (sun salutations). My friend and I used to sit on the parapet and talk about "nothing". We grew up together, I had to call him to mourn together with him, the pain of our city, Mumbai. Every evening after work, we would walk up to marine drive and feed ourselves moong-phali (roasted peanuts still warm in the newspaper cones), chana (spiced dry roasted bengal grams), or soaked grams and peanuts spiced up with onion, cilantro, salt, pepper, dry roasted cumin powder, green chilli and lime juice drizzled over it. At times when we wanted to spoil ourselves we had bhel puri or chaat and the best of all was corn roasted on hot charcoal spiced with lime juice, salt, red chilli.
Roasted corn was my favorite since it was seasonal. Being born and raised in Assam one of the rainiest state of India in the eastern foothills of the himalayas, I still love the rain. The visual, auditory and kinesthetic experiences are beyond anything else that has ever brought me comfort. To add to the delight of the rainy day, roasted corn was what could be called cherry on the icing in the west. Some of the vendors added a dash of garam masala or roasted cumin powder to spice up this treat. Roasted corn and rainy days are synonymous to me. Waiting at a bus stop alone or with friends I would enjoy my corn on cob cooked this way. The corn was my companion which I savored on these rainy days and I did it every evening while waiting for my bus, rickshaw or train, it did not matter. The best part of rainy days were this taste, an olfactory and gustatory luxury.
When I left India in 1992, I grieved leaving Mumbai more than leaving my family behind. In every aspect Mumbai was and still is me. Every year I landed in Mumbai airport in Andheri and despite the hassles of the custom people, the porters, the taxi drivers in the early mornings, carrying sleepy or over active children and an over demanding husband I was OK, because I was in Mumbai. I had left her behind as Bombay and a few years I returned to Bombay until she turned into Mumbai. I used to be a Bombayite and now I am a non-resident Mumbaikar.
I have been known to get philosophical on every issue, and I know some good will come out of this carnage, but at this moment I am grieving and I believe I have every right to grieve and mourn.
In 1993 Bombay was burning from communal violence and I had casually mentioned that whenever I leave a city, havoc is let loose on that city. In 1978 we left Guwahati, 1979 and 1980 saw terrible clashes on the city which altered the state of Assam, politically, emotionally, mentally and the beautiful romantic scapes of the streets, villages, hamlets and towns forever. People altered their beliefs and faith, hopes, dreams and desires. In 1990 I left Vadodara and there was blood on the streets and alleys. I was horrified, my second hometown was bleeding. In 1991 I left Bangalore, once known as the garden city of India, there was murder on the streets, bus depots and train stations, people were fighting over the rights to the water of Cauvery river. The politicians would rather see the water being drained into the Arabian Sea than flow into a neighboring state to water their fields and towns. I came to America a year later and was amazed at how Americans had taken the water of the mighty Colorado river, trapped it in the Hoover Dam and watered four states. I was pleasantly shocked how people in the west knew how to work for what is good of the nation. I wondered what would it take for India to incorporate a similar attitude in their decisions and lifestyle, know that the nation is one and not make a river a property of the state but a gift of God to the people of the land, a nation and wherever the river chose to flow.
In 1993 the riots in Bombay shocked me but I said in all my ego of a 26 year old "whenever I leave a city, the city is at war, there is disaster." The last time I said this was in 2005 when I left Dallas and in August Katarina hit the shores of New Orleans, people in Dallas complained how it had become hard for them to feel safe because of the refugees of Katarina. I am sure there were 100s who were grateful for the hospitality but the fews 10s who vandalized Dallas and Houston were featured in the media to cause common terror and panic among the local residents. Until a few months ago I mentioned my trail of moving out of cities and the city going through trauma. All that came of being totally at the effect side of the equation.
Today I am grateful for my angels carrying me out of a place before disaster struck it. Right now all I know is how much Mumbai has been a part of who I am even today.
The streets I walked on are bleeding. People are shocked. I do not know right now what can I do to ensure that such calamity never strikes any other corner of the planet ever again. I am familiar of the butterfly effect and I send all the love and light through me and in me, to this old lover city of mine. I miss you Mumbai, YES and I still love you, just as much if not more.
My sister and I used to go the roof top of the building in which my uncle lived. This was Chembur, an eastern suburb of Mumbai. We would watch the vehicles come down the Highway from Pune. To me it seemed like balls of fire coming down the mountains in pairs, these were headlights of the buses, trucks and cars arriving at Bomaby through the pass.
Looking back I am amused at how long an affair I have carried out with my lover city Mumbai. Mumbai is special in the sense those who live in Mumbai, love it, those who don't have mixed feelings. Most of these people who I have met or spoken to who say they do not like Mumbai, have never been to it, or speak of the crowd they see in movies, tvs or train stations in the passing. Just like LA or New York, those who do not live here can't know what it means to be in New Yorker or resident of the city of angeles (my new home, Los Angeles).
Today as I heard, saw and read of the horror of the sabotage of Mumbai, my heart is back with my old lover. I am still thrilled by this city that swept me off my feet in the first glance. This city I have always wanted to live in, this city I have always belonged to emotionally and mentally. The only city of India I have ever connected myself with in my life, besides Los Angeles.
I was born in Guwahati, Assam, India and will always be from Guwahati, but my true love has always been Mumbai. Since 1982, I have visited Mumbai every year and in 1990 I took up a job in Mumbai. In 1992 Mumbai was my last city of residence before I left India. Since then I have always returned to Mumbai once every year until 2004, when I set up home and shop in Los Angeles.
I know the time has come to return to my old lover. I am mourning her loss today. The entire morning I watched the news on my powerbook. I spoke to my brother, sister and my parents. I even called up my friend from 20 years ago, with whom I walked the streets which are splattered by sharpnels and blood today.
I used to walk on marine drive every morning at 5. Every morning at Nariman Point, which we named LandsEnd, I did my Surya namaskar (sun salutations). My friend and I used to sit on the parapet and talk about "nothing". We grew up together, I had to call him to mourn together with him, the pain of our city, Mumbai. Every evening after work, we would walk up to marine drive and feed ourselves moong-phali (roasted peanuts still warm in the newspaper cones), chana (spiced dry roasted bengal grams), or soaked grams and peanuts spiced up with onion, cilantro, salt, pepper, dry roasted cumin powder, green chilli and lime juice drizzled over it. At times when we wanted to spoil ourselves we had bhel puri or chaat and the best of all was corn roasted on hot charcoal spiced with lime juice, salt, red chilli.
Roasted corn was my favorite since it was seasonal. Being born and raised in Assam one of the rainiest state of India in the eastern foothills of the himalayas, I still love the rain. The visual, auditory and kinesthetic experiences are beyond anything else that has ever brought me comfort. To add to the delight of the rainy day, roasted corn was what could be called cherry on the icing in the west. Some of the vendors added a dash of garam masala or roasted cumin powder to spice up this treat. Roasted corn and rainy days are synonymous to me. Waiting at a bus stop alone or with friends I would enjoy my corn on cob cooked this way. The corn was my companion which I savored on these rainy days and I did it every evening while waiting for my bus, rickshaw or train, it did not matter. The best part of rainy days were this taste, an olfactory and gustatory luxury.
When I left India in 1992, I grieved leaving Mumbai more than leaving my family behind. In every aspect Mumbai was and still is me. Every year I landed in Mumbai airport in Andheri and despite the hassles of the custom people, the porters, the taxi drivers in the early mornings, carrying sleepy or over active children and an over demanding husband I was OK, because I was in Mumbai. I had left her behind as Bombay and a few years I returned to Bombay until she turned into Mumbai. I used to be a Bombayite and now I am a non-resident Mumbaikar.
I have been known to get philosophical on every issue, and I know some good will come out of this carnage, but at this moment I am grieving and I believe I have every right to grieve and mourn.
In 1993 Bombay was burning from communal violence and I had casually mentioned that whenever I leave a city, havoc is let loose on that city. In 1978 we left Guwahati, 1979 and 1980 saw terrible clashes on the city which altered the state of Assam, politically, emotionally, mentally and the beautiful romantic scapes of the streets, villages, hamlets and towns forever. People altered their beliefs and faith, hopes, dreams and desires. In 1990 I left Vadodara and there was blood on the streets and alleys. I was horrified, my second hometown was bleeding. In 1991 I left Bangalore, once known as the garden city of India, there was murder on the streets, bus depots and train stations, people were fighting over the rights to the water of Cauvery river. The politicians would rather see the water being drained into the Arabian Sea than flow into a neighboring state to water their fields and towns. I came to America a year later and was amazed at how Americans had taken the water of the mighty Colorado river, trapped it in the Hoover Dam and watered four states. I was pleasantly shocked how people in the west knew how to work for what is good of the nation. I wondered what would it take for India to incorporate a similar attitude in their decisions and lifestyle, know that the nation is one and not make a river a property of the state but a gift of God to the people of the land, a nation and wherever the river chose to flow.
In 1993 the riots in Bombay shocked me but I said in all my ego of a 26 year old "whenever I leave a city, the city is at war, there is disaster." The last time I said this was in 2005 when I left Dallas and in August Katarina hit the shores of New Orleans, people in Dallas complained how it had become hard for them to feel safe because of the refugees of Katarina. I am sure there were 100s who were grateful for the hospitality but the fews 10s who vandalized Dallas and Houston were featured in the media to cause common terror and panic among the local residents. Until a few months ago I mentioned my trail of moving out of cities and the city going through trauma. All that came of being totally at the effect side of the equation.
Today I am grateful for my angels carrying me out of a place before disaster struck it. Right now all I know is how much Mumbai has been a part of who I am even today.
The streets I walked on are bleeding. People are shocked. I do not know right now what can I do to ensure that such calamity never strikes any other corner of the planet ever again. I am familiar of the butterfly effect and I send all the love and light through me and in me, to this old lover city of mine. I miss you Mumbai, YES and I still love you, just as much if not more.
