Apric Light

October 11th, 2008 Roshan

You’re sitting at the table, mooching off the neighbour’s Wi-Fi. There’s a glass of Riesling (2007) in your hand. It’s your last glass, but hey, you’ve eaten well, no reason to skimp on the drink. The only thing that bothers you is that you could only afford a bottle of Madera to replace it. A small matter, and your mind drifts to other things, to the evening, for instance.

You’re looking out the large glass windows in the flat, Schubert’s Piano Quintet in A major playing at the back of your mind. Everything is more dramatic with Schubert’s P.Q.; and looking out of windows at flocks of doves flying in concert makes it seem to you like you’re witness to a moment of great import. It doesn’t last. On an impulse you decide to go for a walk, and perhaps photograph everything on the way. Donning your trusty ancient AJAX jersey, you set out. At first all is familiar; it appears you’re in comfortable territory, despite the Shiv Sena board in the corner.

But soon things change, you reach a crossroads and something makes you pick the road less travelled by. The further on you walk, the more unfamiliar things get. You’re an alien here: you barely speak the language, your wallet is fatter than it should be, and you’re the wrong religion. But it seems peaceful, all seems well. Mumbai’s propensity for roads that lead off into nowhere, and buildings that look like they’ve been here a hundred years is only unmatched by Calcutta. But you’re not in Calcutta now. A little way on, you come to a crossroads. Laziness demands that you choose not to cross the road, and you obey, but only for so long.

A few seconds later, you suddenly feel a tug inside you: something’s calling out to you. Barely formed thoughts echo in your mind. It’s not entirely by choice that you turn and choose to cross the road, laziness forgotten. As you walk further on, the words in your head seem to take shape, and pictures flash across your sight, familiar pictures but you can’t quite tell what. You walk past a bunch of boys trying to get at a kite that’s entangled with an overhead cable. The stick they’re using is 2 metres short; the sight nearly makes you laugh and you think of waiting and taking a shot. But that now familiar tug draws you onward, forcing you to ignore the kids. They have a different idea though, and want to be photographed. You oblige. But you can’t wait.

A voice speaks to you, right inside you, so it isn’t heard but felt. It asks you to look for an old man carrying grain past a stagnant canal, it warns you of a hole in your path. It fades away softly as you walk on. A strange script covers a building that you pass by, a sign perhaps. There are more jewellers here than there should be, every other shop sells gold. You pull out your camera, but suddenly everything goes dark, there are no lights, it’s hard to see. Holding your wallet tight you stalk past suspicious looking men, ignoring vendors’ calling out to “Bhai-saab!”. Suddenly the lights come back on, but you don’t know this place at all, you don’t even remember how you got here. You can barely see the road for the people on it. Panic fills your throat.

Images pulse through your head - a Riven-like wooden building, with a staircase in front; a stalled van, half-converted into a shop by a snake-oil salesman; paved streets that lead to dust. The impulse to run is stronger than ever now, something is reaching across time to pull you onward, dragging you when you won’t budge. Your eyes are closed, but behind them memories whiz past: a time when you were a child, feeding the crows half your lunch; another time when you ate puffed brown rice at a cousin’s home; rain falling down all around you as you stood looking at a duck on a lake; a road slick with water, an uphill trudge to a friend’s house where you see the biggest aquarium you’ve seen till then; palm trees, huge lagoons, tales of Christian priests; fried beef, mutton curry and fish for lunch. All of this overwhelms you, you open your eyes and read the signboard in front of you: “SUNNY“. You stand on the doorstep for a long time, your mind a haze, a single question unanswered, “Am I worthy?”

Posted in Bombay | 8 Comments »

The day the Earth didn’t stand still for me

September 18th, 2008 Roshan

It all started when I decided to go to Victoria Terminus, now Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus, to catch my train to Madras. I have a tendency to be paranoid about trains and missing them so I left an hour before the departure time. Granted this would only give me fifteen minutes at the station but hey, I’m a seasoned passenger. I’ve travelled on more trains than most fifth graders can count. I don’t need more than that. Well, turns out I did. And that explains just what I’m doing here at the airport, trying to get the so-called wifi to work.

The damn flight’s been delayed too. Have you ever wondered about that? Why are the things you’d rather get done fast usually the one’s delayed? I could have settled for ten minutes more in the morning. Coming back to that, this thing applies there too. A very helpful suburban local came fifteen minutes late and reluctantly bore me to the station. Too late, apparently. I listened, calmly incredulous, as the lady explained to me “1041? Wo gaya”. Not a trace of emotion on her face, not a flicker of embarrassment for having flagged off a train while its most important passenger was still biting his nails on a crippled local that was happily trundling its way through Dockyard Road.

One day, I shall find the people who did this to me. I will travel from village to town to city, the smell of guilt strong in my nostrils. I shall wander across deserts and hills…and rivers, or what passes for those here, and I will reach a city of great splendour. With the memory of this railway betrayal fresh in my mind I will roam the streets, my eyes scouring the signs for the place I want. And I’ll know it when I see it, and I’ll barge in, smashing the door down, all rage and fury. And then, just as I draw myself up, just as I scream out, “I am become revenge, destroyer of rails.” in impassioned anger I’ll realise that I’m looking at a mirror.

The wifi doesn’t work either.

Posted in Bombay | 9 Comments »

A new city, a new home

August 22nd, 2008 Roshan

In the interest of those awaiting the next episode in Roshan’s life, I present: Life in Bombay.

I moved to Bombay in the first week of August after fate noticed my true desire and delayed my flight a few days, at first, and then a few weeks from the original date of mid-July. Everything came intact, so I’m now a big fan of Indigo, though I recognise it’s a sad state of affairs when that’s commendable. As for the city itself, I love it. While I’d still rather be in Madras today, I love Mumbai, it’s a goddamned metropolis. Everything here moves! There’s action! Things are getting done! Or so it seems, unless everyone enjoys riding the trains up and down all day. Unlike sleepy Chennai, where even on Mount Road, life goes along at a gentle 20km/h (if you’re lucky), in Bombay people are flying from home to work to home to bar to outside home having forgotten their keys at an incredible 100km/h. The trains are fast, the people are in a hurry, and it rains all the bloody time.

It’s been three weeks and I still haven’t seen the city fully yet. As a matter of fact, I’ve seen very little. One thing I’ve noticed about Bombay is that class discrimination is very clear here. If you’re poor you live on one side of the tracks, if you aren’t you live on the other side. Allow me to demonstrate with a photograph:

Observe, my friends, a lightly loaded Harbour Line local. Notice how it demarcates the poor man's lands.

With that in mind, I am deeply grateful that I’m on this side of the rails. And the trains themselves, beautiful things, I’m told some routes average 100km/h. Now that’s transport my friends, in style. No traffic to worry about, no two-wheelers and autos switching into your lane without warning, just a nice, uncomfortable, 7-per-square-metre standing all the way ride. Sometimes I even get a seat.

I’d tell you more, but I’m bored of typing. So I’ll give you another two photographs, the views out the living room window from the 20th floor apartment where I live:

  1. The view from out front, near the hill is Bhabha Atomic Research Centre, the nuke plant is on the other side. The sea like region out there is Vashi creek.
  2. This is the same place, except darker so you can see that there are buildings on the other side. That's New Bombay. It has its own story, the government made sure there are no slums there by pushing everyone to this side of the creek. So all the workers travel to that side every day. Clever, no?
  3. This is my room. Here's a detailed description just because some people hate that: In the background is the rest of the 'Daffodil' block, that's my bed and my pillowcase. The rest is also mine. The box between the bed and the desk is my motherboard-in-a-box from Dell, and the rest of the photo is obvious. Oh yeah, that's the chair in the foreground right.

Posted in Bombay | 10 Comments »