Maximum City: An Introspection of my Obsession

You guessed it! It’s YET another Bombay blog (4^th now, with no sign of stopping), but it’s going to be slightly different this time. Before I launch into my usual descriptions of a small but significant part of the city, I want to take a closer look at my obsession with romanticizing this city. While I choose to be fond of its bustling architecture (don’t worry, this one PROBABLY won’t overanalyze the Indo-Saracenic architecture of Victoria Terminus), lively food, and subtle modernity, Mumbai to many is not all that great. I recognize the privilege I’ve had having grown up in a Bombay that produced someone who has enough of a stomach to come up with more nauseating descriptions of its awesomeness, but my views on the real life of this metropolis changes every day as I leave my writer’s bubble. Amongst the sea of social media handles trying to show us the truth of my beloved city, the 2004 book “Maximum City” by Suketu Mehta has really made me question my obsession.

Suketu Mehta’s style of writing has really inspired a whole new perspective of my city. In between his controlled tangents describing the steaming hot vada being plucked out of the oil (a description that made me actively salivate while reading) and an analysis of Bombay’s favorite profanity lies pages of someone obviously confronting their primary image of a city they’ve been brought up with. I felt the connection of a man with a city and country he left at an early age, learned how his environment abroad shaped what he knew about his homeland, and his ultimate surprise at what he saw when he got back. It was amazing to see how much of Bombay had stayed the same, as I could visualize through his writing his office in Elco Market (surrounded by street food), his sea-facing apartment complex on Marine Drive, and the scenes of Eid in Byculla. He describes Bombay’s problems with bureaucracy as he recounts setting up gas, electricity and other basics in his Dariya Mahal apartment, forcing me to reminisce the scolding I received at my local police station for coming in shorts to an address-proof meeting while renewing my passport. Despite my perceived bravery in explaining to the ‘saheb’ that I had come on a cycle in Bombay’s patented 35⁰ degree summer, I still showed up to the next meeting in full pants and a helmet, simply because I was at the whim of Bombay’s bureaucracy. Nevertheless, while I have had a typical Bombay-style skirmish with its administration, I was forced to reckon with Mehta’s uncovering of the truth of Bombay in the late 90s and early 2000s, much of which we still see today. While the gang wars and outright mass violence may have stopped, the visible religious confrontation seemingly at peace, and Bollywood entities as pretentious as ever, it would be foolish to think that Bombay has become better for all.

Mehta’s journalistic flair when effectively writing a biography of the city gives us a chance to explore the lives of the backbone of our city – its daily wage and low-income workers, the majority of our population. Bombay is a city characterized by hard work and resiliency, values which, in-turn, characterize our workers. Both these values are tested on a single July day when the city’s support system have to venture out of their shelters in the torrential rain to work to put food on their tables that night. Since Mehta’s book in 2004, the slow progress to bring a more hospitable economic and social environment to these people has been outlined numerous times to me, whether its news reports on government negligence, or simply passing the same low-income area on my way to school for the last 15 years. But now, it’s more than that. By creating high-end ecosystems (historically in South Bombay, and an exploding new cultural scene across the Sea Link in Bandra), a growing yet small number of people have increased their means to live, and created a large service population that would find itself unable to purchase food in these areas. The image of the equity gap has historically been epitomized by Bombay’s slums, as Mehta outlines through tremendous first-hand accounts. However, in the 2020s, this portrayal has taken on a new, modern dimension, as our population rightfully grapples with redefining the very concept of decency in their lives.

This book forced me to confront my heartfelt, idealistic image of Bombay and accept the reality that brews underneath the city (apart from the very visible, painful, and endless supposed ‘metro’ tunnelling under our barely functioning roads). While I claim ignorance of the story of Bombay 2 decades ago due to my unforeseen yet to occur birth, I have no defense to not knowing its truth today. I can only thank the city for the sheltered life it’s given me and hope I can make a case in defense of my foolish romanticization.

I think it’s ok to find poetry in madness.

While people still think of Bollywood, the Gateway or our vada pavs as the symbols of Mumbai, I firmly believe Bombay is best characterized by its people. Each and every one of us – regardless of our socio-economic status – contributes to the identity and story of Bombay, in whatever way we can. The workers we’ve spoken about so far, those who probably don’t romanticize this city as I do, are front and center in my image of Mumbai. Despite all the challenges they face upon arrival, people from around the country still throng to Mumbai for opportunities they will hardly find elsewhere. They will travel 2 hours each way every day, in a packed second-class train compartment, getting up close and personal with people that will disappear into the city as soon as a station is near, because they know that’s what this city demands and respects. Nothing stops this city’s people and their hard work – the trains will never stop despite the worst of floods or cyclones, the threat of terrorism or anybody’s religious festival. Bombay will work.

Now you may think this never-ending cycle of work is what’s wrong with Mumbai, and you’d be correct. However, I’d like to think that this city was reclaimed from the sea, all those years ago, to be a display of hard work for the world to see. Back then, it was for freeing India. Today, its for making my country a dominant force to be reckoned with, and to bring the wealth and knowledge of the world back home. We may all be tired of our omnipresent bureaucratical challenges, but its tremendous hard work is something about Bombay that will never change (very much like Borkar uncle’s vada pavs on Charni Road). The people’s continued perseverance is their commitment to contributing to something larger than them.

By now, you’re thinking I’m crazy, and you’d be correct. But here me out.

I’ve found solace in a small group of people and performers of contemporary culture who, on different levels, have a similar affection for the city or are willing to engage in a spirited debate on its nature.

In my giddy anticipation of going back home for the first time in December 2022, I created a playlist for when the pilot announced that we’d started our descent into Bombay. I was a little disappointed to find a really small number of songs about the city itself, your usual “Yeh hai Bombay meri jaan” with a few generic “Ghanan Ghanan” and Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara songs that I willed into describing Mumbai. There is, however, one song about Mumbai that elicits mixed reactions from me – “I’m in Mumbai, waiting for a miracle,” by Raghu Dixit – that I urge you to check out. Dixit highlights the duality of Mumbai in a blend of Indian folk influences and contemporary pop rhythms, and takes a remarkable step towards addressing the cities problems with equity. The first time I was just excited to hear a contemporary song solely about the city – now, I find that my interpretation of this song depends on my mood. When I seek blunt realism, the song highlights that “Kisi ka saya ho ya jeb me rupaiya, nahi to phooti teri kismat bhaiya“ (tr. If you don’t have money or someone’s support, you have bad luck in the city), the basis of Bombay’s obsession with dhanda (business) and wealth. Whether it’s the pursuit of money to make ends meet or simply grow your assets, Bombay’s humdrum life is my sobering reality. Yet, on days when I want to feed my need for borderline magical realism, I simply let the chorus of “Well I’m in Mumbai and I’m waiting for a miracle” dictate my hope for the future. It’s holding out for the probability that something extraordinary was waiting for you in this city, no matter its challenges. In the most vibrantly chaotic city in the world, it’s important to acknowledge people’s optimism of ‘making’ it here. Maybe that’s just want I want to hear, but we’ve pretty much established that my fan-boy commentary must really be taken with a grain of salt.

It would be remiss to forget one of Bombay’s, nay India’s most famous comedians, Vir Das, when talking about those who share my sentiments of the city (coincidently, I first heard Dixit’s song as the outro on a Das special!) I’ve had the privilege of watching him live at a number of cheap, Tuesday night trial-joke shows in small rooms in Khar and Bandra – and on Netflix – and I always get excited to see the joy he exudes when he gets a chance to talk about the seven islands. I jumped at the chance to see him in an obscure suburb of Baltimore – Timonium, Maryland –  this summer, and shed tears of joy when he spoke in broken Marathi, much like I would. As he described the city to be extremely kind (though ridiculously impolite at times), I felt a familiar warm feeling spread across me as I recounted the city’s affection. When I was on crutches and had failed to hail a cab for 30 minutes in Worli, a random biker stopped and offered to drop me on his bike; when we judged that I would probably tear another ligament in this misadventure, he actually went to the middle of a busy road and brought a cab driver to me. At that moment, all was right in the world, and I felt the city’s kindness through this person that she had produced. I got home safe that day – and every day after that, empowered with the knowledge that my community was here for me. Das talks about this community – the good, the bad, the factions that want to have him arrested – and I realize the city has made me accept them all. Now that’s power.

While I can never contend with the ridiculously high standards Vir Das and Suketu Metha have set for articulateness when it comes to describing this city, I can certainly hope to get better (and yes, Bombay blog #5 is already in the works!) I think I can now conclude why I am a foolish romantic for Bombay – yes, that answer will always begin with a tale about Indo-Saracenic architecture, but it will gradually enumerate the inherent qualities of the city and its people: its resiliency, hard work, and kindness.

There is, however, one thing I haven’t figured out yet – why is this city like this? Why are its people, who come from all over the country, suddenly imbibed with these values? I really think it’s the blue, alluring sea.