Mumbai - An Addiction

Labels: auto, Crowds, kiss, Mumbai, romance

Being so used to traveling hither and thither in autos, I never thought that I would have a near-death experience in one of them. Ok, I am exaggerating. But ask any foreigners who travel in an auto for the first time. The way they swerve in and between cars and trucks and buses, you just have to hold on to anything within grasp real tight and pray. Larry Page and Sergey Brin probably got one of those calm, meditative drivers to have been so impressed with the machine.
So on this particular day, I took an auto from Bandstand to Vile Parle. The autowallah, surprisingly, didn’t know the route and told me to in a very pleading tone, “Sahab, raastaa nahin pata hai.” I asked him if he knew the road to the highway and he replied in the negative. I berated him for being so ignorant! What autowallah doesn’t know the road to the highway! I took the auto nonetheless and kept giving him directions.
It was on the highway that I noticed that something was amiss. The driver kept the auto on the extreme left and was riding almost at 20 kmph. While the drivers with the Schumacher trait can be scary, I didn’t appreciate such cautious driving. And plus there was a flyover coming up and the driver didn’t show any indication of taking it. I told him, “Boss, woh flyover lena hai. Itna left mein mat rakho gaadi ko.” And he changed to the lane on the right, immediately, and sharply. I rocked to my left. And then I gave him a piece of my mind.
The driver didn’t get aggressive or defensive in return. In fact he was shit scared himself. He meekly said that it was the first time he was driving on the highway. Shit! I couldn’t shout at him anymore. I didn’t want my life to be in the hands of a nervous-wreck auto driver. I told him to go slow. And soon we got stuck in traffic which made the rest of my journey safe. When I got down, I gave him some tips about how to go about learning to drive. Not that I have driven an auto, but be it a bike or an auto, the fundamentals of learning remain the same.
And then I thanked God silently that there wasn’t any truck making a dash past us when he had sharply changed lanes…

Labels: auto, bandra, highway, Mumbai, traffic, vile parle

Mumbai, a hurried, rushed up city! And there can be no place where this hurry and rush is better manifested than at a local railway station. And even the most polite, soft-spoken, and sensitive individuals drop all of that and exhibit petulance at the slightest of things.
I was at this ticket window. A person at a ticket window has one eye on the watch, following the progress of the second-hand very fervently as time races ahead and he stands the risk of missing his 8:28 train. The other eye is on the ticket counter, cursing the snail-paced person taking cash and distributing tickets. Tempers are at an edge. And there is an air that the slightest of provocation will result in bloodshed and riots. But then, we Mumbaikars are used to it. And if there is a provocation, then there is a 30 second altercation, some raised voices, a couple of swear words, and if someone has a sense of humour a bunch of sarcastic cracks, and the incident is forgotten.
I reached the ticket counter. And just as I was about to take my ticket, some guy, in his late 20’s came straight at the head of the queue to buy a ticket. People in the queue started shouting and yelling telling him to come in a queue.
“There has been a death in the family. That’s why I am in a hurry. Otherwise I always come in a queue.” He replied, quite courteously if you ask me. But then I had already got my ticket. Others in the queue were not so kindly disposed. One of them said.
“Death has already happened right? So what’s the hurry? Even if you reach late that person will still be dead. Come in the queue.”
Death. Such a painful thing. The greatest loss there can be. And something everyone is naturally sensitive about. But in the ticket queue, the excuse doesn’t hold ground. It’s ok for someone to die, but it’s not ok for someone to jump a queue. And it’s no fault of the person who made that statement. Because people regularly jump queues with excuses of an ailing mother and a dying uncle. And they feel it’s perfectly justifiable for them to think and say such negative things for the sake of saving five minutes in a queue at a railway station. That’s Mumbai life for you. Everything’s fair in love and war and at ticket queues.
Some people laughed. The queue jumper defiantly shoved his hand in the counter and took a ticket and left. Incident over.

Labels: death, Local Trains, Mumbai, queues, ticket window

Very recently, they increased the price of a Goldflake Lights cigarette from four Rupees to Four Rupees Fifty Paise. An incremental value of Fifty Paise. And we were up at arms about it. Ok, maybe I am exaggerating a bit. But we didn’t like the price going up. And the tapri-wala our office folks buy cigarettes from is in some ways notorious for not treating his customers right. And we ranted the usual hassled customers rant of the price being Four Rupees everywhere else and all that. And then the tapri-wala said that we earn so much and what is fifty paise. It is going to increase today or tomorrow. And that… rankled us no end.
Even Bangalore auto-wallas are under the misconception that IT guys, irrespective of what level they work at, earn in millions of dollars, and use that as a justification for charging extra. “Tum IT wala itna kamaataa hai… dus rupye mein kya hoga?” And that one line used to infuriate me. And I had to count to about 100 to control myself from giving a straight-left on the auto driver’s nose.
Money is a very precious object for most of us. And we might be spendthrifts indulging in the weirdest of fancies and things which are of no possible use or entertainment to us, but it’s ok as long as we are ‘spending’ it. Charity is fine too. But someone demanding money from us just because we have it doesn’t go well with our sensibilities. Is it because we liken that to begging? Or stealing perhaps? But then the righteous side of us comes bubbling up, screaming that this is our hard earned money, a side that will not flinch when we buy a 100 Rs. Popcorn at a multiplex.
I don’t know the right answer. But I think it’s a primary instinct to protect our right of choice. When that gets infringed we jump about like cat on hot coals. And that’s exactly what the tapri-wala and the auto-wallas wanted to achieve. I have voluntarily given auto-drivers ten bucks extra over and above the legitimate fare when they have agreed to give me a ride late in the night when I am not getting any other auto. But that is my choice. As long as that is protected I won’t seethe.
And now, maybe having understood the reasons of the anger, I might not get angry when someone tries to touch me for extra money, even if it is fifty paise. I still won’t hand it out ofcourse. But knowing that I am choosing to not give the money, I will probably maintain my calm.

Labels: 50 paise, auto, Cigarette, Mumbai

It was another day, and I was all set for another routine work day. I was at the flyover near my home to jump into the first auto I found. Usually it doesn't take much time or effort, but today, the market for autos was certainly teeming. And not all customers were swanky corporate honchos like myself.

The other customers who were hunting for autos with me were the beggars who had made a living out of taking money from the cars and autos stopping at the signal by displaying their supposedly pitiful existence. Today, while they were still looking pitifully poor as ever, the sadness in the eyes when they begged was replaced by the frustration that any person who is waiting unsuccessfully for an auto experiences.

Eventually, I got an auto... and close on my heels they got one too.

We got rolling. I couldn't stop being bewildered that the beggars were actually commuting in an auto. They couldn't be that poor after all, I guessed.

And soon I ran into a signal. I could see some beggars going about making hay while the signal was red. They approached the auto next to mine, pleading for money. And I noticed, that the auto had the same beggars who took an auto from where I had taken one. Now I have seen everything, I thought, Beggars begging from beggars!

And the beggars who were in the auto said dismissively, "Arrey, hum peeche ke signal pe kaam karte hai." (We work at the signal just before this one) Hearing that, the begging beggars simply didn't pester them. Neither did they look surprised. Nor did they display any hurt their egos ought to have experienced at seeing their peers so well off then themselves. What’s a little professional rivalry, ehh? People in my line are constantly playing the one-upmanship game when they tell each other in polite tones “Oh you have Lxi? I have ‘V’xi. Check it out.” Apparently begging is not as competitive as the corporate world. The beggars on the feet just moved on to the next auto, which was mine and said, "Bhaiyya, do din se khana nahin khaya, kuch paisa dedo bhaiyya"

I felt like asking them if they too travelled places in an auto. But I just turned my head away.

Labels: auto, beggar, Mumbai

These days when you roam around the roads of Mumbai you notice the huge electronic dashboards put up by the RTO I assume that display messages encouraging driving discipline, or instilling fear of the rod as they show the count of number of drivers who are thrown to the gallows for drunken driving, etc. etc.

But RTO sure caught me by surprise with one of its messages:

“Go when Green, and stop when red. Unless you are eating a water melon”!!!

Now humour is the last thing I expected from RTO. When you go to the Mumbai RTO, with the utterly unpaved road which forms atrociously gooey mud puddles in the rains. And with the throngs of daily applicants for licenses, and the endless documents for which someone must have felled an entire rain forest… humour is the last thing that strikes you about the RTO.

And yet they had that water melon message. I wonder how many levels of approval that innocuous message must have gone through. How many “traditional” officers would have opposed putting an unorthodox message like that for public display.

Or maybe I am just thinking too much.

Labels: Mumbai, RTO, signal

Begging is as profitable an industry as any in Mumbai. And over the period of time it has evolved to match the ever changing sensibilities of the ones they depend on. That is Us. Of course they have also scaled up to match the inflation and the increased salaries that the spoilt and pampered youth of today jingle in their pockets. But even the beggars can't think it all... and end up running into a client who is so overly helpful... that they just can not accept his offerings.

Outside Andheri station, at the signal, an established modus operandi of a beggar, or a group of them, is to claim money from the people in autos, cars and bikes, who are already quite hassled about the traffic to have the patience to deal with trouser hemlines tugging beggars. The pretext is what makes the Andheri signal beggars stand apart. They claim money saying that there is a funeral procession for which they need money. Now death, even of absolute strangers, does move most of us. And people do buy in to this death scam and dole out money, a lot more generously than they would have otherwise.

But this time, right next to my own auto, was a guy who either had a heart of tin, or a sense of humour of the devil himself. This beggar comes up to him and says... "Bhai... Janaza hai. Madat karo. Paisa do (There's a funeral. Please help by giving some money)" The irate guy just mumbled something under his breath in his attempt to shoo the beggar away. But beggars are more persistent than that sales guy who knocks on your door to sell the latest whitening detergent. "Janaze ke liye mana nahin kartein (You shouldn't refuse to help for a funeral)" The beggar scolded. Wrong Move!

The guy, as if extremely moved, and enlightened by the beggar’s wise words, grabbed him and pulled him in the auto. "Sahi Kaha. Tu mujhe janaze mein lekar chal. Main puri madat karoonga. Saare kharche doonga. Tu mereko leke chal. (You are right. Take me to the funeral. I will help with everything and pay all expenses. Just take me there)"

Not used to such vehement sympathies, the beggar tried pulling away. The guy held on with an iron grip, now pleading to let him help. The Beggar wanted none of it. It was a rare scene.
It concluded by the signal becoming green, and the beggar scampering away to safety. And me and my autowala guffawing away at the guy's ready wit.

Labels: andheri, beggar, funeral, Mumbai

It was a regular morning. Trains were jam-packed as usual. I was standing amidst the hundreds others in my compartment. A yowl… of sheer pain tore through the hullabaloo from a someone beside me. Someone landed his foot heavily on someone else’s foot. The victim pleaded to the pain inflictor standing in front of him, “Bhaisaab, jara apna pair hataana” The bhaisaab looked at the victim with a bewildered expression. He looked down at the victim’s foot, which still had its tormentor nested on it. He looked back squarely at the victim. “Yeh mera pair nahin hai” And got back to the grind of his journey again.

The foot eventually removed itself. Its owner was never identified.

Labels: Crowds, Local Trains, Mumbai