Imagine you are sitting in a bus in some very busy traffic. The heat is overwhelming and your mind is preoccupied with all the things you could be doing right now - more productive things. The congestion shows no sign of easing off any time soon. Slowly, slowly, you start to drift off. Now you are floating in a pool on a beautiful beach resort. Water from a nearby fountain sprays gently in your face. Your reflexive licking of your lips uncovers a surprise, for the fountain jets taste sweet! What tropical paradise is this? Suddenly you hear fumbling, and some shouts: 'I'm ever so sorry'. Your raft is capsizing. You get up with a start, only to discover that it was all a dream, unceremoniously cut short by a nearby accident with a Coca-Cola bottle: the fizz of the drink still sticky upon your face. A rude awakening indeed...
This, metaphorically, was my experience of Bombay. A rude awakening. A slap in the face jolting me out of my hitherto false sense of security about the world we live in. Bombay, Mumbai - the city that made me cry. That made me weep tears of frustration and sorrow and anguish at the utter depravity of the world we live in. Which was ultimately a good thing, for I cried out to God and got the salvation and comfort only he can give. But Bombay shook me up something silly. Perhaps this is a good place to start my story.
I have always been fascinated by Bombay - well, ever since I first read about it as a school child. Megacity of megacities, with perhaps unparalleled diveristy, Bombay captured my imagination. Its landmarks existed as real places in my head, thanks to its deracinated global offspring and their chronicles of early life. I dreamt of eating Kwality ice cream while walking on the pier to Nariman point. Perhaps I would encounter a family building sandcastles at Juhu beach, or watch a cricket match on the Maidan. All in the setting of a beautiful blend of colonial and contemporary architecture. You get the picture. Romanticism unbridled. I would taste some bhel puri and blend into the melting pot of this complicated city of culture. Who knew, perhaps I would even fall in love, just like in the movies....
(Never trust fantasies woven by writers, particulary expatriates or emigrés. Always take the fact of their displacement as a warning sign. Let them sort out their contradictory homesickness-bitterness on their own.)
How would I describe Bombay? Interesting. Overwhelming. Not unfriendly - in fact, the people in the city were mostly helpful. The things that disturbed me about Bombay did not have to do with the city itself per se, but what it showed me about the world we live in - after all, this is our future, is it not? Bombay is the financial capital of India, one of the world's next big economic superpowers. It teems with people. One of the things I love best about travelling is becoming anonymous for a while, getting to see how other people live and by so doing understanding more of the human condition. As we approached the city it occured to me that a person could die in a place like this and the world would keep moving. Nothing would change. Even the people for whom you were sacrificing your life would continue with the daily grind, for isn't that the harsh reality of existence? Why then are we here? I felt nearly suicidal at the thought, and remembered my loving family. Love and family are the most important things in the world, I'm realising. They are our greatest gift from God. This is probably the biggest lesson of all my cherished solitary travels in my short life.
I did not fall in love with Bombay at first sight as I did in Belfast and Paris. Nor did I beget an initially wary but eventually wholehearted admiration as I did in Geneva. I couldn't engage with the city at first contact. As a visitor you are advised to keep your head down, to ignore the calls of attention of people trying to sell you their wares or simply asking you for money or food. Refusing to acknowledge the existence of other human beings was terribly disconcerting. This, and the casual disregard for human life, the blatant discrimination between haves and have-nots in the city, were what chilled me. It is not easy to cross the road anywhere in India, as far as I can see. Everybody flouts traffic rules whenever they can get away with it. But the dog eat dog style of driving here, where big car trumps smaller car trumps three-wheeler trumps two-wheeler trumps pedestrians, was perhaps at its most dangerous here. At one point I was crossing the road with my travelling bag behind a mother and her two small children. We were standing at the crossing waiting for a break in the traffic. Suddenly, the flashy car that was parked behind us began to roll back - the driver was actually reversing into us, without so much as a by-your-leave! He was a bully, and knew that he could intimidate us off our patch of the road. Along with the driver, a wealthy looking man sat complacently in the back seat of the car, in the 'owner's corner'.
Bombay is a rich city, and bullying is routine here. It's the constant degradation of people who aren't paying customers. The lack of dignity for those who have the temerity to be in need. My friends and I were walking to the gateway of India in the pouring monsoon rain. I wondered if we could walk on the pavement adjacent to the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, which was ringfenced by potted plants and a chain link. My knowledgeable friend said that the land belonged to the hotel and we probably would not be allowed to. I couldn't believe such a gross misappropriation of public space (how can a pavement be off limits to the public?) and convinced the group to try our luck anyway. It turned out he was right, we eventually got turfed out onto the rainy road and my Indian friend received a torrent of abuse from the security guard.
Before I arrived another Indian friend had warned me about this colonial mentality, but it was still shocking to see. What is even more shocking is the widespread cavalier response to this attitude, as if it is OK to accept prejudice. Isn't that what it is when we judge people on appearances only, presuming attributes without any evidence? Is it enough just to acknowledge these issues without challenging them when we see them? Prejudice is pernicious. It undermines our very value as human beings. I'm beginning to realise how important it is to accord people the respect that is falsely denied to so many, rather than demanding it for ourselves. Not in a simpering or exaggerated way, just in a way that recognises the worth of all people. If this means giving up special privileges which we may have received, then it's a price worth paying, because it'll make our world a safer, more joyful place to live in.
According people with respect is easier said than done. Or is it? It's easy enough to be polite and well mannered, but what about giving graciously and not assuming the worst of others? Being a newcomer in a city like Bombay really pushes you to the limits. The necessities of survival and security make you suspicious; they brought out the worst in me. How could I be so concerned by the gross disparities between the rich and the poor and yet refrain from giving money to the child begging for it on the street, finding sanctuary instead in an air conditioned cafe? The only word for that is cruelty. Now you see why I cried - for the world, for myself, for what we are becoming. I begged God for forgiveness and repented of my sin. Sin, which we are all complicit in, when we pursue our own narrow interests. I had previously been yearning for egalitarian Europe, built on a foundation of human rights - I realised that this is the true marker of development, not wealth or even happiness, which is a red herring - where there may be subtle undercurrents of class and racial prejudice and hypocritical discrimination but at least everyone has rights in the eyes of the law, and just as importantly, the opportunity to exercise them. And I cried for the piecemeal dismantling of these rights that is happening in the West - all over the world, our leaders are selling our birthright for a mess of pottage.
Today is India's independence day. The country has a solid, progressive constitution, drawn up by the nation's founders and enshrining the rights of all individuals - rich and poor, male and female, high caste and low caste - equally on paper. A lot of good work has been done. A lot of people have done well since independence. But there is still much economic deprivation and marginalisation of millions of people due to poor implementation of these laws in many places. I believe a lot of this is due to attitudes - to the way we see and treat each other. It starts with the child snatching things from other children, and ends with the rich and powerful oppressing the poor and denying them their rights - basic rights of life, liberty, shelter and good health. We need to learn to value the other. We need to truly learn to namasté - not just as a cursory greeting, but seeing our relations with others, even strangers, as an extension of our relationship with God. This is what I believe as a Christian. God himself came and died for our dark and broken world, because he cares for each person. It was only the reality of Jesus that brought me back from the brink. Jesus cares. He alone can save me from my venality, my betrayal of righteousness for comfort. He accepts me as I am, and I know he's sufficient for me - to guide me through difficult decisions, to show me how to live, to entrust with the lives of all those I meet and am concerned for. Like the half naked little boy jumping for joy in the middle of the road, gleefully showing his mother the ten rupee note somebody had given him from a passing car.
The more familiar I grew with Bombay the more I came to appreciate the city. People here are nice and will go out of their way to help you, without asking for anything in return. Twice I came across the same man who showed me to places I was looking for. Another man walked me to the train station. I missed the greenery of the countryside, and while I appreciated the city's beautiful architecture, the density and heat were uncomfortable. But those cannot be helped and are merely attributes of urban life. The place is a hustler's paradise; too fast paced for comfort. It seems I am not the city sophisticat I thought I was...
My favourite thing about Bombay was the press. India's literary tradition is reflected in an intelligent, analytical, free press that seems to value objectivity over tribal loyalties. The scope of imagination was encouraging. Surely, with such values it's only a matter of time before what appear to be idealistic dreams become reality. So I'm glad I went to Bombay. I did find the inspiration I was looking for, even if it didn't present in the way I expected.
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