The Death of Innocence

Nothing surprises me any more - be it the Nithari Killings, the Nandigram massacre, the explosions at Mecca Masjid in Hyderabad or the more mundane observations of everyday life on the Bombay locals. Absolutely nothing surprises me any more...

Here I stand, more worried about the volatility of the Sensex vis-a-vis the NYSE, more worried about whether it makes sense to buy a 'Put' or a 'Call' Option, more worried whether I should invest in Reliance Petroleum or Tata Power, more worried about the movements of oil and gold in the Commodities market while thousands perish in the city of opportunity itself every moment, not ever aware about what exactly is a commodity?

For thousands of young boys and girls out there, the only commodity they know of, is their own young innocent body and the only price they know of, is the price they pay every minute for being alive. The only investment they make is the investment of survival because for every moment alive, one has to die a million times before he gains the right to survive, the only 'Call' they receive is the Call of Death - sometimes literally and at other times figuratively- but Death does call and then there is no Option. The only volatility they experience is in the temperament of the Drug-peddlers and the Cops who swarm their streets like hungry sharks intent on getting more tasty and innocent meat.

Maybe I have lost the capacity to react or maybe the word 'react' no longer exists in my dictionary. Come to think of it, sometimes now I feel I am more close to the understanding of what it feels to be a leper - a leper has no sensation of cold, of touch and of pain.... So are we all, all of us - social lepers for we have lost the capacity to feel... the capacity to be humane, the capacity to say something, the capacity to feel the pain - except when the pain is our own, our own selfish pain.

Sahir wrote long back:

Jawaani Bhatakti Hai Badkaar Bankar
Jawaan Jism Sajte Hain Bazaar Bankar
Yahan Pyaar Hota Hai Vyopar Bankar

Yeh Duniya Jahan Aadmi Kucch Nahin Hai
Wafaa Kucch Nahin Dosti Kucch Nahin Hai
Yeh Duniya Jahan Zindagi Kucch Nahin Hai

Har Ek Jism Ghaayal, Hat Ek Rooh Pyaasi
Nigahon Mein Uljhan, Dilon Mein Udaasi
Yeh Duniya Hai Yaa Aalam-E-Bad-Hawaasi

Never could I understand the depths of the word, nor could I align myself to the harsh tone of the poet but now it feels as if the reality of the poet strikes close to me.... much closer than I could ever think. Never could I empathize with the poet when he said

Jalaa Do Ise Phook Dalo Yeh Duniya
Mere Saamne Se Hata Lo Yeh Duniya
Tumhaari Hai Tum Hai Sambhalo Yeh Duniya

It seems just like yesterday when every injustice would bother me incessantly but I know that a long time has past by since those days of sweet innocence.... maybe an era has elapsed!!!

Maybe the loss of innocence is the price one pays for maturing into an adult... Maybe I am a Man now.

Bombay - a look

Every time I am back in Bombay, the first thing that strikes me is the calm here….. Well, many cities are calm…. But there is something decidedly different in the calm I see here…. it’s not the calm of a town somewhere in the heart of the interiors or the calm of a sleepy city, close to nature; on the contrary it’s the calm of a city that has lived too close to the edge of danger to bother any more about the danger.

It’s amazing to see how many people live here on this city and every absence of mine even if it’s for a day makes me aware of new faces, not only of the teeming millions but also of the their prized possessions…..roads keep getting crowded and drains keep getting clogged but the cosmopolitan spirit of the city is not affected.

The city accepts one and all without condition, without any apprehension it gives all of them a piece of its heart… People come in with their distinct quirks and feelings, a few with their own inflexible dogmas but in the end everyone gets assimilated with their own differences in this city that allows all to maintain their identity but at the same time maintains its own unique identity…. wish we all in the country had similar feelings…

And yet Bombay can be cruel…. Very cruel… you only need to look at those who sleep on the pavements, below the bridges and under the sun to understand that Bombay can be cruel ….. Like life itself, Bombay extracts maximum punishment from all for failing because somewhere in the unspoken code of Bombay… failure is not condoned…. Yet surprisingly, nobody sleeps in Bombay on a hungry stomach…. Not even the dogs that move around and beg for a morsel in each eye that looks at them.

It’s this Janus like attitude, this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde complex that characterizes Bombay and makes it different from all other cities in India and abroad.

The great poet Sahir Ludhianvi in response to Iqbal’s all time classic anthem – Sara Jahaan Hamara, wrote in the film ‘Phir Subah Hogi’:

Chin-O-Arab Hamara, Hindostan Hamara
Rehne Ko Ghar Nahin Hai, Saara Jahaan Hamara

China is ours, Arabia is ours… India also in our hands we hold
Only we don’t have a house to live in…. The rest of the world we hold

When I listen to this song today, I am sometimes stunned by the agelessness of this song… as the words come out chillingly; I am sometimes astonished by the fact that the words are as relevant today as they were in 1957 when this film was released.

Each and every word of this song is as true as truth can be….

Kholi Bhi Chhin Gayi Hain, Benchen Bhi Chhin Gayi Hain
Footpath Bambai Ke Hain Aashiyaan Hamara
Sone Ko Hum Kalandar, Aate Hain Bori Bundar
Har Ek Kuli Yahaan Ka Hai Raazdaan Hamara

Jitni Bhi Buildingen Thi Sethon Ne Baant Li Hai
Sadkon Pe Ghumta Hai Ab Caravan Hamara
Jeben Hain Apni Khaali, Kyoon Deta Varna Gaali,
Woh Santri Hamara, Woh Paasbaan Hamara

Our rooms have been taken, our benches have been taken
The roads of Bombay are the new abodes of the homeless
To catch on our sleep, to Bori Bunder we trudge on shaken
Every coolie here knows us by our secrets

All Abode that were, have been shared by the rich
The streets of Bombay is where we reside
Our Purses are empty, and so abuses fly thick
By he who was supposed to security my decide

How true and how well-written….. Wish I could write even half as well as him…..

But this is not all that Bombay has or stands for ….. Bombay is also the harbinger of the Bombay spirit that has sadly been made famous by the infamous bomb blasts.

As the last line of this poem says:

Mil-Jul Ke Iss Watan Ko Aisa Sajayenge Hum
Hairat Se Munh Takega, Saara Jahaan Hamara

Together we will make this country shine so brightly
The entire world will be forced to look at us with admiration

As I said, Bombay is too complex to be understood.

The Beginnings

I was born an Indian..... in the hustle bustle of cosmopolitan Bombay (I refuse to call it Mumbai) in an era of glorious uncertainty.

Those were the days of the emergency when India was tasting for the first and decidedly the last time the fruits of unbridled ambition and delusionary power.... when rationing was the order of the day and taxation could be as high as 99%....

Maybe, you require such a time for a Devil to walk his first steps on Earth and so there I was walking the walk and talking the talk of the angst-filled 70s.. yet blissfully unaware of what 'angst' meant but still a part of the teeming millions that had a daily rendezvous with angst.

It has been 30 years since and life has since many ups and downs but somewhere deep down, the memories of those turbulent times remain firmly etched in my conscience.. as if like Abhimanyu in his mother's womb listening to the secrets of the Chakravyuh.. those days have been firmly etched.. nay, I would seared.... on my sub-consciousness.

So although the world of 2007 is vastly different from the days when I first ventured this world, many of the things still seem the same. Nothing changes more than Change and still nothing remains more constant than Change. That's the Paradox of life.

I sometimes ravel over the reasons I was posted to this urban landscape... Does God also have a lottery system.. Does he also a bureaucracy where every file is pushed for approval and rejection...I am sure the Almighty God must have also gone through a lot of personal heartburn to decide whether the devil that I was, I should be sent to the climes of crime-infested America, to the suffering continent of Africa or the lips-sealed dictatorships of Latin America, Soviet Union or China... but finally I think sanity prevailed and I was sent here.. to India....

India, the land where modernity meets ancient wisdom and where traditions meet non-conformism.... where tolerance is a way of life but there are sporadic outbursts of intolerance as well... the land of everything and nothing.. the land of simple complexes and complex thoughts ... a land where shanty slums live side by side with large palatial mansions.. the land is different ... .the land is beautiful....

Not that I mind it... in fact, despite the many frustrations that I have faced here I would still say, it has been a beautiful life in India.... and in Bombay.. .and I would not leave it for any other place anywhere...

So.. here I am ... in Bombay and occasionally and frequently out of Bombay as well.. but to be frank, the Bombay which lives in me cannot be killed.. it exists.... even when I am out, it's in.... and so I am a pucca Bombay man whether I am in Bombay or Singapore, NY or London, Tokyo or Zürich.