Road rage, unprovoked, is clear & present in Mumbai

NOTE: For the protection of identity of my friend, all factors of identification have been obfuscated, but the incident is real and an FIR is lodged with one of the police stations in Mumbai.

Right on the heels of Gurgaon’s Seema Kataria case (Read Here), comes a case in in Aamchi Mumbai.  Shocking, more so because this has happened to someone I know well.

A friend of mine, a lady, let’s called her Jane, was driving alone in what could be considered an safe, quiet and innocuous neighborhood in Mumbai.

The particular stretch of road is narrow and just about allows two vehicles to carefully pass each other. A BEST bus halts at a designated stop and Jane stops her car waiting for the bus to pass. A biker, a man with another one on the pillion, in a hurry tries to overtake the bus but is faced with a stopped car of Jane. But unless the bus moves, neither Jane's car nor the bike can get beyond the point. That’s all there to the start of this scene. What happens next is unbelievable but has really transpired…

The biker starts abusing her for ‘blocking his way’. Jane double checks that her windows are rolled up and doors locked, and patiently waits for the bus to move hoping the enraged biker goes his way. The biker's barrage of verbal abuse goes on for about half a minute. But ruffled by Jane’s patient wait, this guy loses it all and pulls out his helmet (so far suspended to the bike's handlebar) and starts pounding it into the windshield of Jane’s car. Within a few seconds the windshield is cracked all over, but thankfully does not collapse down on her. The act of blatant unprovoked vandalism happens in the presence of at least 30 onlookers, several shopkeepers around and other drivers on bikes, cars and the BEST bus nearby. Jane keeps her cool, despite being paralyzed by fear, and thinks about the options she has. She decides that doing anything would enrage the biker, he having already done so much damage unprovoked and audaciously in the presence of the public. The BEST bus moves, biker finds his way out and rips away. Jane manages to note down the registration number of the bike.

Jane drives down to the the police station a few hundred meters away expecting that the information about the enraged biker would be followed up immediately. But, she is informed that they cannot do anything without an FIR and that FIR can be filed only in the main police station a few kilometers away. There is no further explanation provided to her. Soon after, Jane drives down to the Main Police Station and files her FIR, knowing very well that this would be only useful for insurance claim and nothing much else by way of justice.

But, the bigger question looming over this is whether the public can feel protected from audacious goons. Do such unaddressed cases of unprovoked vandalism only encourage such unscrupulous behavior? What’s happened here can happen to anyone anywhere and is a daily phenomenon. When it happens to us, we realise we have been living in our little cocoons made of cotton candy and we wake up to the reality of the grim state of affairs. Fearing uncontrolled dire consequences we remain silent about these issues.

After all not every case can be highlighted in the media and not everyone has access to the top level of police machinery, to ensure justice is meted out in time and in every case.

My Mumbai Marathon experience : Part 2

(Read Part 1 here: My experience: Part 1 )

My feet were throbbing with tiredness as well as the blisters. We went past the Hanging Gardens and turned turned right towards Babulnath Temple. Another 200 mts and I would be on Marine Drive; but the blisters on both feet were pinching me inside the shoes.

You realise the vastness of the drive and it's circularity. When you enter this road, suddenly, you are in the sun, thus far protected by tall buildings. By the time you cross Churney Road station, the sun is directly hitting you in the eye and then you are in the shade again. A little before the New Yorker and Ideal Cafe junction, a mist-tent was set up. This is a pretty neat thing, wherein, even as you run you can go through a tunnel of slow spray of a mist, bringing you instant relief albeit temporary.

3 more km to go! These are the longest miles of the half marathon. At this time, you are mustering every ounce of will to move on. The hamstrings are beginning to talk, the feet are crying for respite, the random sweat bead getting into the eye burns like acid and your head is throbbing. But the crowds takeover. Several cheering squads on all sides representing Radio Stations, The Navy, some charities etc, I pass by even as I look to my right ino the sky to spot a low flying helicopter, probably, carrying media crew.

Beyond the Inter-Continental Marine hotel, the density of spectators build up. And by the time you turn at Pizza By The Bay (erstwhile Jazz By The Bay) crowds takeover. By this time the Dream Runners are flooding the other side of the road, followed by charities and sponsors' volunteers. We hear the loud siren like that of a police van, but really a media bus leading some of the full marathoners. The winners must be already past the finish line, I calculate.

By this time, the milestone markers are cleverly designed to say the distance that is remaining to be covered, rather than the insofar markers which displayed the distance covered. This does play big on the mind, favourably so. You are trying to muster up the last few bars of energy left in you and give it the final push. I hear someone complain there are no water stations in the last two KMs. Fair enough, my mind was elsewhere but the point is valid.

Entering the last turn, the last 600 meters toward Azad Maidan, you eyes are set on the distant clock over the finish line. OK, I can see a digital dance happening on the display. It's definitely broken. I break into a sprint, just so that I can feel I ran with gusto across the finish line. I can feel myself making a big effort, but the output was not as big as expected. Clearly, the energy is waning.

I slow down as I cross the finish line and feel a slight tug in my left hamstring. About time I started slow stretches, I think. My second Half Marathon has just come to an end.

My Mumbai Marathon experience : Part 1

At Five in the morning of the Sunday, the air in Mumbai was chill. I expected it to feel less colder. I had taken a cold water, maybe 10 C, shower just a short while back.

I stepped into the cab dressed in a cotton crew neck, running tights, loose shorts and running shoes with the Blackberry tucked away in my armband.At that time of the day, it took me about 15 minutes to cover the distance it takes 90 minutes in peak hour traffic.

This would be my second time at the Mumbai Marathon, doing the half marathon. The second time, what helps you is remembering that you have done the 21.09 km before.

As I stepped into the runners' waiting area, the excitement was palpable. There is something about running groups giving tempo shouts, stretching, spot jogging that gets your adrenalin pumped up and puts your mind into the running mode. You want to start running right away, forgetting the pace you have planned. I bumped into Pramod Singh of PGPX (With a target time of 2 hours), who was here with his classmates and then also happened to meet a former colleague. The buzz of the crowd grew into a loud cackle by the time we closed in on 6, the first flag off. I was in the 615 flag off.

As we passed the starting point, I made sure I stepped on the RFID sensor mat. Among the dozens of beeps from the runners stepping over, my starting time too must have got registered. Once the starting point is behind you, the road ahead is pitch dark, as you go in the direction of the Sea Link. Onto the Sea Link, I paced into a brisk walk and looked over my left shoulder. An orange streak of light was pushing its way through hues of grey, black and deep blue sky behind the silhouette of the Mahim/Worli skyline. Sunrise was not far away.

"Mama, should I run for the president" lines by Pink Floyd were flowing into my ears as I crossed the mid point of the Sea Link. Downhill, I resisted the temptation to break into a sprint. At 4 km, it was not the part of the plan.

As we turned onto the INS Strata circle, I realised that the route had been slightly changed this year. They took us deeper into Mahim/Worli and brought us back to Sea Face.  By this time, I had started to alternate between a jog and brisk walk. I noticed that many who were doing the half marathon for probably the first time were doing the same mistakes I had committed last year. They had started running at the starting-gun and now they were starting to slow down, getting tired.

By the time we double backed onto Worli exit of the Sea Link, we had covered 9 KM.I felt a pinch in the arch of my my right foot. I realised what it was but could not understand why a blister should form with all controlled factors - shoes, socks etc. Anyway, it was to be only ignored. 12 more km to finish line.As if on cue, 'Shine on you crazy diamond' was beating into my ears egging me on.

As we approached Annie Besant Road, the Kenyan-Ethiopian contingent was seen running towards us on the other side of the road. Such a delight it is to watch them! Like a gust of wind, the 9 athlete group runs together in unison at an average 20 kmph. All of us cheered at the equine squadron, as the media van and bike escort that were following them zoomed past us. Louder cheers followed for the Indian male and female runners.

Crossing the Atria Mall on Annie Besant road, I realised I was falling behind the 4-5 people who had seemed to be sharing my pace. I started jogging a little faster. I was soon discouraged by another pinch under the ball of my left foot and a stronger pinch around my left pinkie toe. We were past the 14 km mark by now.

Two-thirds done, another 7 km to go. Just as we cross the Haji Ali signal, you are reminded of the treacherous climb up Peddar Road, past the Mahalaxmi Temple. I also looked at my hands. They were swollen. When you walk or run at a stretch fluid accumulates in the feet and hands. My feet were feeling tighter in my shoes.

The last 4 miles are the slowest. The Peddar Road incline is the first speed breaker at the 15th km. I decided, I would adjust pace and climb with long strides to miminise the frequency of contact on the ground. I soon realised this would not work for too long. Time for some water. A little girl was offering glasses of water in two hands. I grabbed both of them. I also noticed that as against Worli Sea Face neighborhood volunteers, the Peddar road crowd had placed dustbins to drop used glasses and other trash.The cheers were louder on this stretch as well.

By this time, I guess the crowd realises, the runner has the first thoughts of whether she will be able to complete the half marathon start creeping into your mind. The words and claps of the spectators go a long way in reminding 'you have done well, keep going'. An old Parsi lady who stood on the road divider, looked at me and said something like 'Darling, you look like you ...' Between Akon and the general cheering her words were lost on me. But the man in orange T Shirt, ahead of me and a couple of others heard and I could see they smiled. The Orange T Shirt turned around and looked at my forehead. The lady had probably commented on the salt grains that had formed on my head and cheeks.

As I looked up at the most expensive and the most ugly private residential building in Mumbai. I was thinking "Maybe there is that point where people have so much money that they run out of ideas how to use it well. Or maybe it is just that they have so much more of it, it just doesn't matter to them."

(Continued in Part 2, here: My experience: Part 2)

A walk in the rain

It has been raining in Mumbai continuously for the last two nights. Sometimes a drizzle, sometimes a downpour, but unrelentingly on, the rain has kept at it.

This morning, it picked up pace with much louder pitter-patter. As I looked out beyond the balcony from the cozy living room with the cuppa in my hand I thought about the times, as kids, when we used to play in the rain. Busy life has a way of drawing you away from little pleasures like these. The itch to relive getting soaked in pelting water kept getting bigger.

So, I decided to take a walk in the rain. As if on a cue the rain turned into a downpour. As I stepped into the three inches of water on the concrete road, I noticed people going about their business as usual, on foot. No one seem to be particularly bothered. I was soaked to the core in no time.

There is a natural symmetry that comes with the rain. Water falling from corrugated rooftop sheets create umpteen number of little waterfalls all falling alongside each other, creating umpteen number of little puddles that get washed away in overflowing street water. Nature reminds you that she is all powerful.The underground drains were so flooded, the concrete covers were bobbing up and down in the water gushing from below.

The rain also brings alive sounds new to unaccustomed ears. I stood under a tree and could hear at least seven different water sounds; the pitter-patter of falling rain, the gushing from a water drain pipe into the water bubbling in the drain, water streaming down the street every now & then splashed about by a passing motorbike, slapping of the flip-flops of passers by, drops cracking on an abandoned plastic bag and the harmonic cycle of blobs crashing on to an inverted paint can. On the inverted paint can there was a different sound with every first, second and third drop, only to repeat the cycle of sounds thereafter, making you wonder what must be causing the drops to change size.

I was not the only one that thought a walk in the rain was all fun. There was a quartet of boys from a nearby slum  shouting and singing an undecipherable Bollywood number. Two on a bicycle kept goading the other two who were cartwheeling in ankle-deep water. I shouted in Hindi - Are you having fun in this rain? The boys on the bicycle shouted back in affirmation and flashed a beaming smile. I decided to let the camera phone rolled up in a plastic bag in my pocket remain inside. No point killing the phone even for a good shot.

We take some things for granted. We are too careful and protective of ourselves, maybe even a little inhibited. Walking in abandon in the rain offers a little escape from the life we spend ensconced in our cubbyhole apartments. There is a lot more fun in being a part of the rain than watching it from the living room. There is a sense of  liberation that comes from walking on the streets in soaked clothing, a feeling much distant from walking down the street in formal wear, watching out for and avoiding every little dirty puddle. I was smiling as passing vehicles created waves in their wake and the water kept lapping up to my shins.

After about an hour, I returned to my building and the security guard was beaming. He must have recognized my game. I thought maybe he was wondering what fun these people find walking soaked in heavy rain, or may be he was remembering his fun days in the rain.

As I waited outside my door, I was wondering what the reaction of my folks would be. My wife opened the door and gave me instructions on how to avoid getting the whole floor wet, including a side remark on washing my feet with Dettol water before getting under the shower.

Then, she asked how it had been. I said that I had had a lot of fun and saw new things. She said she would join me in the walk next time.

In Mumbai, there's lot of drama...(Part 2)

(Continued from here)

Scene#1 Take#2:

It's late on a Saturday winter afternoon in a winterless Mumbai. It is very crowded today as I drive from one point in the suburbs to another. 'When isn't it crowded?' are my thoughts as I pull into a traffic light. Trance is playing on my car music system just as I notice that I am surrounded by autorickshaws.

A face peers out of the auto stopped to my immediate right. The sweet looking girl gestures me to roll down my car window. And I think, 'Don't I know this girl? I am dreaming? This has happened to me before. Is this deja vu?' Mind races back to the last time this scene was played out. Four months back, rainy night, traffic, same gestures... 'Oh, I know what is coming. Damn...my instincts were on the dot! I am glad I did not fall for that trick last time',are my thoughts as I cut the music and roll down the window.

Looks can be deceptive. But I feel a little proud for having judged it right the first time around. I need to get this girl to understand that she cannot get away with it all the time. A meek 'Sorry!' wouldn't have the punch. I need to say it like she cannot forget it for some time. But, I cannot make a scene. If a guy shouts at a stranger-woman (by now, all the sweetness about her has metamorphosed into wiliness) who is asking for help, those around you will likely trash you verbally, or physically, before listening to your story. Then there will be lot of honking from those behind me who are not interested in seeing where this goes. The inanity of the potential chaos makes me think we'll settle it the simple way. I only need to get a point across.

So, by the time she says it, I am saying it in my mind, smile on my face 'Sir, can you please do me a favour?'. My smile widens, as I lift up my index finger and say ' Ma'am, I know what you are going to say. But you have asked me for this favour once before, remember?'. I think she does not recognize me. But, I am sure that she knows that I know. She knows that she has slipped this time. She also probably cannot believe that she has tried to trick the same guy twice. What are the odds, isn't it? There are some things money can buy, but the look on her face was priceless.

Anyway, I am glad I had recognized that confident delivery of the request the first time around. I see that confidence again, when she recovers her poise and with sufficient stoicism, responds with 'OK' and then withdraws into the auto rickshaw.


(To be continued)

In Mumbai, there's lots of drama...(Part 1)

Called by many names, Mumbai, as a film city, ensnares people's imagination like no other. Does life mimic cinema or cinema mimic life here? In the continuum of what imitates what, the answer must lie only somewhere at the center. You'll find all flavours of life on the street -romance, fantasy, adultery, violence, deceit, drama, comedy etc- as long as you care to step back and observe. When the regular Mumbaikar cannot escape the real virtuality of the city, how can a simple guy like me? Here's are a few scenes from my life in the past few months...

Scene#1 Take#1:

It's late on a rainy evening of an otherwise quiet Saturday. You might have noticed that when it has been drizzling continuously, things kind of quieten down. I am driving alone from one point in the suburbs to another, cutting across several busy junctions. Now, I am stuck at the same signal for the third time that the light changes back to red.

Just as I am cursing the traffic congestion, the autorickshaw that was , directionally speaking, hanging around my five o'clock pulls ahead to my one o'clock. A sweet face of a girl in her early twenties or late teens cranes out of the auto. Her hand gestures to me to roll down my car window. As I see her eyelashes blinking away rain drops, I wonder whether she is looking for directions. But she is in an auto and usually, it is me that goes to an auto for directions, not the other way round. Anyway, my car window hisses halfway down and I wait for her to speak.

She says,in perfect English, "Sir, can you please do me a favour?" I am all the more unsure about what to expect now. "Sir, I do not have money to pay to this autorishaw guy. Can you please give me 80 Rupees?" My mind races. Something is not right about this scenario. Her sweet voice wants me to believe this is a genuine request. Her immaculate private school educated accent tells me she must be coming from at least a middle class home. I cannot make out what she is wearing, but, someone in her position, I assume, must have a cellphone. Even if she does not have one, why doesn't she wait till she reaches her destination and arrange for money with whomever she is meeting? Maybe, she is even going home now. Either way, asking money, publicly, from a stranger, is not a smart thing to do in my opinion. Doing so exposes her vulnerability. Why is she asking me then?

A couple or three seconds pass as I consider all this. My thoughts are interrupted by her voice again, "Sir?". I have to decide whether I want to dig into my pocket or not. Would it be OK to not give her the money? 'Come on fast', I think. I go with my instincts and decide that the straight face and the confidence with which she delivered her request tells me that she is used to making such requests. Maybe she is just wanting to bill her ride on a stranger willing to help. Circumstances do not seem to be dire. So, I just shake my head and say "I am sorry!" and roll up my window. Her face disappears into the auto and I look around to check whether the light has changed. It has not.

In the background of raindrops falling on my car roof, I think about whether I did the right thing. She did seem sweet, after all.


(To be continued)

No Discounting New Year's Eve

The Christmas to new year's week is usually filled with tension among those who want to put it on sale and those who come to buy it. On one hand are those willing to start their new year with a bang. They will shop till the ball drops. On the other, there are those who want bang for their buck. Bargain hunters will make sure they start the new year with 'new everything' with nothing more than a pinch on their wallet. Then there are those who will, each year, shop one last time before they step into the new year with a resolution to stop splurging altogether. The malls have something for all categories.

The weird thing, though, is if you want to stay at home on the new year's eve, you will not get an offer in just the right places. I was asked to register and sign up for promotions before I could access the downloadable coupons from a couple of top pizza houses in the country. And when I did download them, the fine print did not help my appetite- "This offer is not valid on 31-Dec-2009!" I am trying to recall if this is the case in the United States too. I guess they have special discounts on the turn of the year. Is it because the same chains in India think people here are less imaginative on new year's and would order more pizzas no matter what? Why then pass the opportunity to fill the orders, at full price, from home parties?

Hearing about New year's eve parties is one of the traditional catching up activities you do in the first week. After the first week, it's as boring as talking about last year! Anyway, as you'd have guessed ours was a 'nice' one at home. Sit at home, play with our son and order pizzas at full price; no offers! Don't get me wrong, for a bargain hunter is not really about money. Just like for a kleptomaniac, it is not about the item. Think bigger, it is a middle class value; more like a value game.

But for many the eve went better than they expected it to. For some it almost did. Here are some stories I heard...

One of my colleagues regretted that she and her husband could not go to Goa to one of the progressive trance parties where they ring every new year in. Later, on learning that, this year, the place got busted with a lot of drugs on site they thought it was a good sign of times to come.

Another colleague ushered new year in a resort and for unknown reasons (he thinks it is a case of mistaken identity), he and his wife received more than their share of hospitality. They could not believe their luck when they received as gift a 'three days all expenses covered package at a beach resort'. It was given as a reward for their loyal patronage. But, this was the first time the couple had even been to the city. Would you call that lucky start or what?

You have reason to be happy when you have free couples pass to, I was told, one of the coolest places to be in Mumbai. Named after an exotic amphibian, the place charges a high fee for its new year's party. If all a guy has, to take to the party, is another male friend, then he does not want to use the pass as a couples pass, lest he send out all the wrong signals. So, he should feel luckier that he gets two free passes to cover both the stags. Economically, as one colleague pointed out, this is a loss to a potential couple who could have instead gone free to the party with those two half unused passe. Anyway, this guy lands up and finds himself among TV celebrities and really cool crowd. Or hot crowd as he later corrected himself.

Having the time of his life, he lands up at the bar next to an attractive woman (his description was much risqué). Adrenalin and new years spirits propel him to ask her, harmlessly, if she would like to dance with him. He, however, is faced with the dilemma of answering the question- "How much will you pay me?" Got to give it to the honesty of the guy, unfazed, he replies "What are the standard rates at a place like this? I am new here." 'I charge twenty five thousand' pat comes the reply. Still maintaining his presence of mind and also trying some fishing, if not getting some more free airtime as well as taking a big risk on his reputation or judgement on class (But, no mincing words in Mumbai, they say) he says 'Isn't that a little too high even for today?'. Looks like this woman is ready for anything, she says 'For you I will give a 10% discount!'. That response, to me was simply Manoj T Shyamalan-esqe unanticipated. Tell me if you hear a better one than that in all of 2010!

Like I said, if you are into buying something, there is someone selling it for a discount on new years. Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the case with pizzas delivered home on New Year's eve.

Up and down in Mumbai

Mumbai, the big city of India, teaches you something new every day. The last six weeks have been full of hopes rising up and hopes falling down, traveling up and down, moving up and down and looking up and down.

For the most part of last three weeks, the small talk has revolved around the delayed onset of monsoons. Wiping beads of sweat off their foreheads, people glance up at the sky and shake their heads down in disbelief that rains have beaten them in to the sultry mid-summer. Kids though too happy to go back to school, also probably wonder when it will be called off for a day or two when the waters enshroud the roads and bring productivity of the city down.

My second day in Mumbai was spent learning firsthand the vicissitudes of life on a ‘local’. My local batch mates from IIMA-PGPX had planned a meeting, it so happened, on the day after I landed here. Living with a few relatives until I moved into the company guest house, I was left to figure out how I could negotiate the forty kilometer distance from uptown Borivali to downtown Colaba. The first evening I watched trains at Borivali station cough out people in a hurry and suck in people in a hurry. Two and a half decades back, as a kid, watching trains was apparently an obsession with me. After work, my parents would take me to the nearest level crossing where we would watch trains until they got bored or I stopped jumping with joy, or both. Watching what was going on in the Mumbai local station did not bring up any of those fond memories. Anyway, I had a task to do the next day and my wife’s cousin and uncle had one of their own that day. They had to ensure that their esteemed (tch! tch!) relative was well taken care of and trained enough to travel safely up and down the busy chest of the big city. The next day, while I had no problem getting to Churchgate, on the way back, I learned not to underestimate statements made with respect to the local. I had been warned 'let the Virar local go, you have to take the Borivali local'. But, I thought that warning was too much to be taken seriously at midnight. The Virar passengers take it to their heart that someone would take a Virar local to Borivali when the latter has a train all to itself, last stop Borivali. And they showed this to me the hard way. The carriage full of people standing on each other’s feet, would only allow people in and refused to let me out. (Stepping out and into locals is not how it works in India's city that never sleeps) Jumping out of a train slowing gathering speed, I learned it is never too late (read as never too restful) on a Mumbai local, time of the night notwithstanding.

Lifts, the ones that take you up and down, of all kinds is another thing that one needs to get used to in the Big Apple of India. Tall buildings are not built to impress; they are built to sustain. Sustain the ever growing population of the city that shelters (or not) the fourteen million aspirants and the arrived. But unlike many other cities, Mumbai had learnt many decades ago that it needed high rises. Hence, the variety of lifts in the variety of buildings. The modern one in our office is not always as predictable as the old collapsible-grill kind in the guest house building. The former, though computerized (ahem!) has a mind of its own. Back at the guest house, one has to remember that the lift is not automatic. And this learning did not come to me automatically. One evening, a bunch of kids rushed in shouting ‘wait, lift, uncle, wait’ (or was it ‘wait, lift-uncle, wait’?). I smiled and opened the door. The little people took over the charge of lift operations. They pressed some number and I said ‘Six please’. The little girl did not respond. So, I looked down at her and said ‘Six please’. A little irritated, she looked up at me and said ‘Uncle, this is not automatic. You press Six after we go out’.

Like I said, Mumbai (small or big) teaches you something every day.