Some call her Bombay. Some call her Mumbai. For me this is Home.
‘Coz Home is where the Heart is.
Thousands of souls come to this City everyday. Each one with a different past, a different dream. And each one has a different story to tell. And although there’s nothing that sets my story apart from that of an average Mumbaikar’s, I’ll still share it with you. Why? Because I am in love with this City and it’s little gifts of love.
I was born here, and thank God for that. A tiny little bundle of life, on a rainy day. The City had just witnessed the infamous 1993 riots. And the spirit of Mumbai had resurrected the pace of the City. Yes, this spirit is what we are known for. Apart from, of-course, the Vada Pav.
To an outsider, this City seems like a big, bad world. With it’s tall buildings and it’s always-on-the-go lifestyle, Mumbai can be quite intimidating. But in reality, it’s the little joys, the big opportunities, and the diversity that makes you fall in love with the place.
Ok. I’ve digressed. But now here’s the story I’ve been meaning to tell. My love story with the goodness of MUMBAI.
It was 11pm. I was returning home from a friend’s place. I should’ve been worried. It was past the hustle-bustle hours and the road was deserted. But my courage took over that tiny voice, and I kept moving.
All the way I’d been alert, planning my moves to escape in case of an incident. And ta-da! No sooner had I lifted my head, I saw a hooded figure, in all his glory, threatening me with a knife. It was indeed a sharp knife, I couldn’t help noticing.
He plunged for my bag and tried to escape with it. But that stupid sense of courage kicked in again, and I held on to the strap of my bag. My grip was so tight, I could’ve easily won Gold in the Tug-of-War Olympics. But soon enough, the strap threatened to break loose. And there was still the knife to worry about. Obviously I was screaming for help, but in vain.
I was about to give up, when suddenly there was a flash of headlights. Believing that my Messiah was here, I heaved a sigh of relief. But at that exact moment, the stupid strap came undone, and the hooded figure escaped into darkness, with my precious bag tailing behind him.
Those headlights did belong to my Messiah, the Rickshawala (Auto driver, for those who are unaccustomed to the use of the term Rickshawala). After witnessing my plight, and expressing remorse for not having reached the spot earlier so as to help, he offered to drop me home, without asking for the fare. All that I could say to him that night, and all that I still wan’t to say is “Thank you”.
And since I’m recounting my encounters with the goodness of this City, how can I not tell you this story of mine, when I fainted in the local train. So here’s what happened.
I was travelling in a Virar-bound local train during the peak hours. I was travelling in a second-class compartment, and my fellow Mumbaikars will definitely be able to relate to my plight. The compartment was packed with people, so much so that some were hanging on the foot-board. It was the summer of 2012, and summers in Mumbai can get bitter when they want to. All the heat and insufficient air got to me, and I fainted, with my lack of grace quite evident.
But inspite of the train being crowded, and the ladies tired from a long day at work, they offered me a seat, some water, lots of candies and some even fanned me with their dupattas. One of the ladies accompanied me home, just in case I fainted again. To them, I want to say “Thank you”.
There have been countless such incidences, and I’ve got thousands of people to thank. But above all, I want to thank this city and its spirit, which makes every soul feel at home. No matter how many stories I recall, or how many words I use, none will be enough to show just how much I love this City.
So summing all my emotions into four simple words, here’s to the City with a beautiful heart,
I LOVE YOU, MUMBAI!
Love. Laugh. Live.
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