The Evening After

The silver Jaguar is parked in its usual spot. The other parking spots are empty.  This is quite unusual for a mid-week evening. It is not a national holiday or a bandh. The boulevard is perceptibly emptier. A light drizzle envelopes the area.  Lesser than usual number people walk with their umbrellas, mostly black, in the never ending line towards Churchgate Station. After a fifteen minute brisk walk I reach the station only to find it sporting a derelict look.  Only during the India-Pakistan match during the World Cup was the station emptier. I call Sve on her phone, she does not answer. The train arrives, I board it and take my usual third seat under the fan, today without any effort. Usually I have to be quick. I take a sigh before climbing on, thinking that I should have called Sve again.

It is a miracle, its 6:30 pm and there are many empty seats on the fast Mumbai sub-urban local train. It rolls out slowly, I say a silent prayer. My fellow passengers are a little more ostensible. Some of them even kissing their lockets. I look at the many black bags kept above our heads on the luggage stand thinking which one… which one could be the one…which one… The compartment is quieter than usual not because there were lesser number of people but because everyone around was quiet. A man stands at the door staring at the fan. I could tell, he was not there mentally. I look at him and think what could he be thinking. Could he be thinking the same thing I was thinking? Which one could be the one…which one… Sve calls, I am only glad to answer her call immediately. The conversation is short. Everyone in the compartment looks at the bags brought in by passengers. It seemed as if only the bags mattered. The owners of the bags got no attention. I plug my ears with earphones and manage a faint carefree smile. The media usually report this phenomenon of ‘moving on’ as “The Mumbai Spirit”.   On the inside, my mind is racing thinking will I be able to make the end of this journey in one piece and alive. I reach my station and de-board with a sigh of relief. My mother calls. She is relieved to find me safe. I can sense the relief in her voice. She blesses me on the phone. These are difficult times not only for the Mumbaikars for the many people related to them as well.

I had just lived the famed “The Mumbai Spirit” but did I really have a choice. Do the many million Mumbaikars have a choice? Or is the famed spirit just a way to covering up the helplessness of not being able to do anything. They say that Mumbai never sleeps. But is that really true? How many more lives will it take to awaken Mumbai? Like soldiers on the border, a Mumbaikar does not know whether he will return. But unlike the soldier, he does not have weapons to fight back. Every time, every single time, all he has is the “The Mumbai Spirit”.

Disbelieve anyone who tells you that Mumbai never sleeps. I have seen it asleep, literally, during daylight and we have witnessed the city sleeping for almost two decades now. What else would it take to awaken Mumbai? Mumbaikar, Mumbai kar, Mumbai ab to kuck kar !!!