The Concept of Bombay

Oh Bombay! The city by the sea was more than a place to live. It was an idea, a concept, a symbol of a newly independent country, India. India was conglomerate of tens of languages and dialects, religions, races, ideologies, cuisines, dietary preferences, and stages of human development. Though the western world and the middle eastern empires referred to the land east of the Indus as Hindustan, Hind, Indes, Indische, Indien and India; in practise it was never a single nation for large parts of history. The largest empire founded by Chandragupta Maurya and taken to its zenith by Ashoka did not include parts of south and east India. When the last empire builders, the British, realized they could no longer control it, the people of India decided (in most part) to forge a nation. Even though section of the Muslim population decided that they would not feel safe in a democratic nation and would prefer to live in a majority of their own, the Indian nation decided that they would form a secular democracy where every person irrespective of caste, religion and sex could vote.

A disparate nation as India needed a city where every Indian could feel at home. Bombay best suited this need, as it was a city of limited history. Rarely even mentioned as a geographic area till the Portuguese, who were the current overlords handed it over to the British as dowry, it went on to become the commercial capital of British India. Though the seven islands and the neighboring areas had a population of Kolis who made their living by fishing or agriculture, the city was formed and developed by people from all over the country. Today the Kolis are marginalized as a political power and some of the politicians of Maharashtra claim Bombay as their exclusive preserve. But Bombay had never played an important part in the Maratha confederacy.

Until 1960 Bombay city was the capital of Bombay province which included much of present day Maharashtra and Gujarat. But Bombay was forged by Marathi, Gujarati, Parsee, Marwari, Punjabi, Sindhi, Tamil, Kanadiga, Jewish, Irani, and a whole lot of other Indians. Bombay became India's city Number 1 because she belonged to nobody and everybody. You did not resent the fact that your neighbour was from Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Sindh or Bengal. Rather you enjoyed Dosas, Meen Moili, Pappad and Misti doi in their homes and celebrated Pongal, Onam, Cheti Chand and Durga Puja with them. On Holi day Southies who could not comprehend why the Northies painted each other, enjoyed smearing a bit of Gulal on their neighbour's gals. And Of course everyone celebrated the most sarvajanik of Bombay's festivals, Ganapati. The elephant headed one, welcome everybody into his pandal and guarded over the city. What could be more cosmopolitan than the pandal and sound system for the Ganesh Utsav in my area were provide by a gujarati Muslim, Christians participated in aartis, and Parsees sponsored one of the day's prasads.

The hotch-potch community fostered a spirit that ensured that city would overcome torrential rains and neighbours helped each other in times of need. But this sense of community began decaying when Bombay was made the capital of a linguistic based state and accelerated when the Shiv Sena graduated from being a lumpen force of thugs for hire into a legitimate political party. Suddenly Indians started to feel as outsiders in their homes. The cancer metastasized when the name was changed to Mumbai in 1995 after the first large scale riots in 1992.

Since then I feel the city is like a patient, weakened by Chemo and kept alive by expensive drugs that money can buy. Its like a bulding whose pillars have been damaged by some of its residents, and propped up by make-shift columns, but the people cannot move because there is no where else to go. No other city can claim to have the ethos of Bombay.

So this blog is dedicated to the memories of Bombay and the hope that someone somewhere in India can create a city that would have all the good elements of Bombay. A truly Indian city; where once again people will stand in queues for their turn; cars will stick to their lane; the police force will be ace detectives that can solve 95% of crimes and not be glorified gurkhas to criminal politicians, people will revel in the diversity and opportunity to explore new cultures, languages, ideas and cuisines. In short a New Bombay!

India is 63 years old

Its been 63 years since independence from Britain. While the country has no doubt made a lot of progress, a lot remains to be done and in some ways it is regressing. Progress is mainly in terms of producing enough food to feed every Indian, but the sheen is off due to an inefficient public distribution system and rudimentary storage mechanisms which ensures that a lot of the food rots before it reaches the consumer. Hopefully the new entrants into the food service market will bring better efficiencies. Progress in achieving a mobile penetration rate of about 50% and the lowest prices in the world; set back by a greedy politician offering cheap licenses to a few newcomers at throwaway prices(for a donation to the DMK benevolent fund?), injecting unhealthy competition to an already fragmented market. Top that with the sky high rates that the mobile companies paid for the 3G liscenses, more to get elusive spectrum than to serve a need for 3G services. Surely these companies will not have the money to spend on 3G equipment, resulting in a delay in introduction of true 3G services in India. Progress in terms of producing millions of engineers; tempered by the fact that 60% of these are not employable, because of the poor training imparted to them by a inconsistent regulatory system in many parts of the country. Progress in terms of producing thousands of high quality graduates through a heavily subsidised network of IITs, IIMs, Govt. Engineering colleges, and Arts and science colleges, contrasted against a significant majority of school children not being able to read. The country has regressed in terms of politics, with only the most venal individuals in society being able to flourish in the dirty game. Metros that were supposed to be engines of growth and commerce allowed to go to seed (with the sole exception of the neta's pet New Delhi). Regression in the attitudes of urban citizens who do not bother to vote. Regression in the way we dispense our charity. Millions to the teeming temples, churches and mosques. And a pathetic amount to investment in education, healthcare or women's rights.

Anyway, I hope the next 63 years will be better than the last.

Bambai ki Barish!

One of my earliest memories of Bombay are the monsoons. After a long hot summer only made bearable by school holidays and Alphonso Mangoes, the first few drops of the heart soothing monsoon would fall in early June. The early drops changed into steam on the hot tar roads and baked soil, but would also unshackle Bhu devi's fragrance, lying dormant during the eight months of the dry season. Earthworms would emerge as if by magic, having disappeared for many months. As the showers turned into downpours some of these reddish worms, who seemed to have neither head nor tail, since they could move in either direction would turn up in the bath room, and the sadist in me would put salt on them to see them wiggle and die.

The playground would turn from dusty brown to a jungle green only crisscrossed by footpaths. The open storm gutters would become streams and when the waters merged with the neighbouring tidal creek, fish would set out into them to seek their fortune. But as fate would have it, they ran the gauntlet of little boys like me who would love catching these little guppies and a motley collection of other fish and keep them in our fish tanks and jars. Another sadistic streak that is common in children, as the fish did not survive more than a few days, but in this case they would not survive in the gutters if there was a break in the monsoon. Of course we did not care that the rain water also mingled with the water from the open sewers that line the city.

On rainy days the streets would be a sea of umbrellas, big black ones for gents and small black or red ones for ladies. In the late 60s the gulf boom had not started, so no delicate and colorful Japanese ones were not common. Only the sturdy ones with ribs of steel and thick cotton. Even these did not survive in some of the storms Bombay experienced during the monsoon. But they could be repaired at the corner mochi. No cheap throw away Chinese Brollies.

Monsoons would also result in outbreak of diseases, thanks to the aforementioned open sewers. But all in all the rains were fun. We would make paper boats to sail down the gutters and see if they survived the bend or sudden acceleration in the water flow. Another happy memory is of the Bhutawala. Ears of corn would find their way into the city and the Bhutawalas would roast them on hot coals and rub in a mixture of chili powder and salt on lime. And they tasted great.