Mumbai, not Manhattan - Rediscovering Home
~The Kitab Khana Starbucks on a Friday afternoon~
The school girl in grey-striped uniform standing by the counter has just taken her coffee beverage which appears to be mostly cream and chocolate with a bit of coffee. She seems to be waiting for another one, perhaps for a friend. A spectacled girl sits opposite to a boy with heavy stubble, both staring into their laptops, pausing every now and then to discuss something. Must be college students, I think to myself, working on a project together. Music plays in the background, muffled with the sounds of the coffee machines and the chattering of the patrons.
I’m staring at a blank page.It’s hard to focus, am awfully close to this man getting schooled by his lady boss on how best to teach kids in their workshops- school teachers perhaps, of one of those posh IB schools in Sobo.Still, I feel at ease. This experience of sitting in a chic Mumbai coffee shop is new for me- not something I ever did as a teenager whose routine revolved around school, IIT coaching classes and extracurriculars.
‘Do I feel like a local here?’ I ask myself. I am reminded of Taiye Selasi’s TED talk- three things determine where you are a local- Your Relationships, Rituals and Restrictions.
Relationships - if no one else, then definitely my family.
Rituals- Watching plays at the National Center For Performing Arts, going grocery shopping with my mum…
Restrictions- oh, plenty of those- traffic, monsoons, the Indian passport, lack of green spaces..to name a few.
Yes, I am a local, even in this new, ever-changing Mumbai….
Two tables to the left of mine, a young Sundar Pichai look-alike wearing turquoise checked shirt and dark blue pants types away at his computer.It’s the Mumbai I want to get to know. 4 years of high school I had a very sheltered lifestyle revolving around studies and extracurriculars and literally nothing else. Then I went away to college in the States for another 4 years. Now, after 4 years of being away, I find that things have changed, or maybe I am rediscovering them now. Many of the relationships I had back then have faded- some I’ve lost touch with, some have left the city… and so, here I am, 4 years later- in a Fort Starbucks- trying to discover Mumbai again, or rather, to find my place in it.
Back in the States, we have poker nights, we party, we drink, we invite friends and cook - what do millennials do over here?
I’m moving to a new city in the US- I can host dinner parties to convert casual acquaintances to friends- can I do that here? Or will the long journey between Andheri and Lower Parel deter my invitees from coming.
There, I can join a sports club a ten minute walk from my apartment and play squash with my buddies. Can I do that here? Or will the time taken to get from Jogeshwari to BKC on a weekday evening make me just want to stay at home?
There, I can leave office by 6 to get back by 6:30 and work on a side-hustle or go to a hip-hop class. Can I, here in Mumbai?
...But, but, but….maybe if I have the money?
The city and this country has a part of my soul and is a place where I feel completely at home. There is no stress of what the new H1B policy will do to jeopardize my career plans. I don’t have to use a fake name at Starbucks. Where the banking system may be slow but life runs fast. Where traffic makes me cringe but listening to the Uber driver talk about his daughters fills up my heart. Where monsoon causes havoc in the low-lying areas and 9pm news debates condemn politicians, while also creating noise pollution. Where progress happens not because but despite of the government. Where fire safety is not a priority in most places, but at least we don’t have to worry about gun safety. Where my turbaned father can go anywhere any time without the risk of being attacked because some ignorant lunatic thought him a muslim terrorist. Where people may criticize the Prime Minister but at least he’s not a global embarrassment attracting protests wherever he goes. Where many people of my age may not be informed or have opinions on several political issues, but at least friendships aren’t broken or severed because of political differences. Where I can do anything for work without worrying about my ‘papers’ and my visa. Where it may take me a long time standing in line to get my Aadhar card but at least it won’t say ‘Non-Resident Alien’.
I am not an alien! I am a person, just like you! (To quote Merchant of Venice) Am I not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as you? You holder of the esteemed, the prestigious, the powerful American passport.
No, this is not a rant about the immigration system or one about loving one’s country- it’s as far from that as it gets. It’s the musings of a conflicted boy who wandered out of his country with dreams and his now questioning his place… is asking questions to both places he’s called home, one where he was raised, where he ‘belongs’, the other where he went to make a career, a life, and now disillusioned by it all.Across from me along the opposite wall, I see an old Sardarji with a big paunch and a red turban, scrolling away at his phone. He’s retired, I imagine, made enough money. His son probably in a suit in a board meeting on the 11th floor of One Indiabulls Center. He sits alone. I wonder where the wife is- dead or stayed back at home? The latter could be it, my grandmother doesn’t like to get out much either.The girl at the long table on my far left with white earphones plugged in types away on her Macbook as she has been for the last two hours. She occasionally checks her phone and smiles coyly. I wonder where her boyfriend is taking her for dinner tonight.