Mumbai - a city fueled by dreams, hopes, ambitions and essentially the concept of survival. There are a million things you could love about this city. I for one love the sea, the city's rains, the willingness of its taxi drivers to take you to your destination (known or unknown), the sound of bickering of a bargaining customer and a stubborn shopkeeper, the smell of Paav Bhaaji that somehow finds its way through all the traffic and pollution to mock your appetite as you pass it by in the bus you're seated in. But mostly I am in love the familiarity I associate with all that I mentioned above.
I also happen to love the local folk that call Mumbai their home. The average local is easily described – Impatient, Hasty, intolerant and generally the sort of person who doesn’t really care what the rest of the world is doing. They are strange beings, the locals. They move with unmatched pace and efficiency, their actions (be it pulling out change for the bus or stitching blouse-pieces at the bus stop) are precise as if practised a hundred times. The average local can make the most of any situation. But what fascinates me the most is the mystery that their lives are, the stories that are just waiting to be heard buried safely behind the skilfully erected walls of enigma that they use to shield themselves with from our prying, curious eyes.
Pretty intense, huh?
But that isn’t why you chose to read the humour column, so let me tell you some things about Mumbai you should be cautious of:
William Congreve once said that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. Well William Congreve obviously never had the misfortune of encountering a BEST bus conductor. There is no reasoning with them. Ever. For those who don't take the bus around very often, I advise you to always ensure that you have plenty of loose change.
Also, during the festive season, beware of celebrations especially if you aren't intentionally participating in them.
Need an anecdote?
It was the last working day before Holi - the festival of colour, water, pollution and towards the end of the day - general discomfort and poor hygiene. I was headed out to a friend's place and the only way I could get there then was the bus. Now the bus stop closest to my home is strategically positioned right outside a public school which on that fateful morning had decided to give their students half the day off. The bus stop seemed quiet enough at first as I stood there waiting for a bus but the sudden sound of a stampede coming from the school building alerted me of the incoming swarm of deliriously happy children. I braced myself for what I knew would come soon but when it did, I was hardly prepared.
A battle cry - "holi hai!!" from a single especially small child unleashed utter chaos. All hell broke loose in roughly 10 seconds. Water flew in every direction as did particularly disagreeable shades of pink and yellow. Children ran in every direction making my journey to the bus (that was now waiting for me) the hardest 10 meters I’ve ever had to sprint. I ran towards my refuge anyway, holding up my bag as a barrier between me and the ongoing war. There it was, almost within reach. The refrain of the song 'we are the champions' ran through my mind, as did several victory speeches.
Whether I owe the moisture in my eyes to the relief the safe, dry bus gave me or to the nasty dust flying around, I will never know. I took the handle and hauled myself on when suddenly a loud splash and an apologetic little boy shattered my reverie. I was dripping wet. Surprised, I dropped the change I had been clutching in my fist and before I could pick it up, the bus began moving. So now I was wet, out of change and tinted an unpleasant shade of pink. Oh and of course I still had the bus conductor to face. Brilliant.
I bravely made my way impending doom. I handed him my 100 rupee note (the only one I had) and asked him for my ticket. "Chillar," he demanded in a monotone without looking up at me. "Nahi hai," I answered guiltily. "Leke aao" He said pushing the note back at me. "Kahan se?!" I asked frustrated. He looked up at me and glared for the longest second, then went back to his business, giving me my ticket and my change then moved on to the next passenger all while muttering something unintelligible under his breath leaving me there feeling very sorry for myself. He came back a minute later, his eyebrows pulled together in irritation. “Holi baad mei hai. Tum log aaj kyu khelta hai? Poora bus geela kar diya” He admonished, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. Exasperated, I gave up leaving this one for karma to sort out.
-Shreya
#yusoawesome #rhetoricalquestion
I also happen to love the local folk that call Mumbai their home. The average local is easily described – Impatient, Hasty, intolerant and generally the sort of person who doesn’t really care what the rest of the world is doing. They are strange beings, the locals. They move with unmatched pace and efficiency, their actions (be it pulling out change for the bus or stitching blouse-pieces at the bus stop) are precise as if practised a hundred times. The average local can make the most of any situation. But what fascinates me the most is the mystery that their lives are, the stories that are just waiting to be heard buried safely behind the skilfully erected walls of enigma that they use to shield themselves with from our prying, curious eyes.
Pretty intense, huh?
But that isn’t why you chose to read the humour column, so let me tell you some things about Mumbai you should be cautious of:
William Congreve once said that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. Well William Congreve obviously never had the misfortune of encountering a BEST bus conductor. There is no reasoning with them. Ever. For those who don't take the bus around very often, I advise you to always ensure that you have plenty of loose change.
Also, during the festive season, beware of celebrations especially if you aren't intentionally participating in them.
Need an anecdote?
It was the last working day before Holi - the festival of colour, water, pollution and towards the end of the day - general discomfort and poor hygiene. I was headed out to a friend's place and the only way I could get there then was the bus. Now the bus stop closest to my home is strategically positioned right outside a public school which on that fateful morning had decided to give their students half the day off. The bus stop seemed quiet enough at first as I stood there waiting for a bus but the sudden sound of a stampede coming from the school building alerted me of the incoming swarm of deliriously happy children. I braced myself for what I knew would come soon but when it did, I was hardly prepared.
A battle cry - "holi hai!!" from a single especially small child unleashed utter chaos. All hell broke loose in roughly 10 seconds. Water flew in every direction as did particularly disagreeable shades of pink and yellow. Children ran in every direction making my journey to the bus (that was now waiting for me) the hardest 10 meters I’ve ever had to sprint. I ran towards my refuge anyway, holding up my bag as a barrier between me and the ongoing war. There it was, almost within reach. The refrain of the song 'we are the champions' ran through my mind, as did several victory speeches.
Whether I owe the moisture in my eyes to the relief the safe, dry bus gave me or to the nasty dust flying around, I will never know. I took the handle and hauled myself on when suddenly a loud splash and an apologetic little boy shattered my reverie. I was dripping wet. Surprised, I dropped the change I had been clutching in my fist and before I could pick it up, the bus began moving. So now I was wet, out of change and tinted an unpleasant shade of pink. Oh and of course I still had the bus conductor to face. Brilliant.
I bravely made my way impending doom. I handed him my 100 rupee note (the only one I had) and asked him for my ticket. "Chillar," he demanded in a monotone without looking up at me. "Nahi hai," I answered guiltily. "Leke aao" He said pushing the note back at me. "Kahan se?!" I asked frustrated. He looked up at me and glared for the longest second, then went back to his business, giving me my ticket and my change then moved on to the next passenger all while muttering something unintelligible under his breath leaving me there feeling very sorry for myself. He came back a minute later, his eyebrows pulled together in irritation. “Holi baad mei hai. Tum log aaj kyu khelta hai? Poora bus geela kar diya” He admonished, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. Exasperated, I gave up leaving this one for karma to sort out.
-Shreya
#yusoawesome #rhetoricalquestion