City of Stars

Are you shining just for me?

I came to this city with an appointment letter for my first job and a study loan that I was committed to repay.

The job had me doing regular night shifts. And after work, my Manager would take me with him to hit the bars networking with his Industry contacts.

My second job had me taking the suburban train to the South end of the city early mornings to beat the rush hour.

This was when I met JJ - the sprightly one. Being true to our Bollywood tradition, we confessed love even before we started dating. Every evening, she took me around showing me the sights of her town. The seaside cafe, the revolving restaurant, the Parsi colony - she didn’t believe in rest days; I often joked that I would get her a t-shirt printed saying - All I want is Everything.

I learnt to do early mornings, late nights, late late nights with friends, and then, sleep the whole of Sunday.

The city set the pace and I simply ran along.

Marine Drive is exactly like it is shown in the movies. Always worthy of a picture. And every picture could be a postcard.

A perfectly arced promenade, orderly buildings on one side and a large pavement with a wide parapet wall on the other - the jobseeker, the millionaire and the hawker are all accommodated side by side here. Sitting on that wall and turning away from the city, one is treated to a jugalbandi where the sea and the sky are forever enhancing one another.

One June evening, JJ had brought her friends along. Her new friend HP was a Londoner who had been living and working in Bombay for a while. SG was JJ's childhood friend. He was openly gay and after hanging out with HP for some weeks, he had already picked up the Londoner accent and even some slang.

We were finishing dinner at a restaurant when we realized it was about to rain. They wanted to rush outside to not miss soaking in the first rain of the season.

This marked the end of the sweaty summer season and there was jubilation all around. The hugs and cheers soon turned into a dance under the drizzling night sky!

Jhalak Dhikla ja went the song and they were singing aloud while swaying to it.

I had hardly ever danced, even in private. The only time I had danced in public was during the annual temple festival at the village. When we were about 12-13 years old, us siblings and friends would dance together in a circle or sometimes join the larger crowd of other revelers. And it completely stopped around the time we all finished high school.

I secured their phones and kept them safe in my bag. While they were dancing away on the parapet wall in full public glare, I was feeling extremely embarrassed and wished I could run away from there. I was becoming more and more mindful of the other pedestrians who were looking at them as they were passing by.

Is everyone looking at us?
Is this even allowed? Are these people mad?
Why am I still here?

The rain was becoming steady and by then, I had realized that no one was interested in stopping to stare at us.

While they kept asking me to join, I kept shrugging my shoulders and pointing to my leather shoes. I didn't want them to get wet in the rain.

Out of nowhere, some children came running to join them. These were children who sold knick-knacks on Marine Drive. This party was in full swing now!

Ek baar aaja aaja aaja aaja aaaaja!

No matter how much I wanted to experience this freedom, I had to give myself a pragmatic reason to join in.

By this time, my clothes had become quite wet and my shoes were anyway getting spoilt just by standing there. So I finally allowed myself to move a little closer to them with some openness in my body language and they swiftly pulled me in between them and huddled all around me.

It was the first rains after all.

The Annual festival of this city

City of stars
There's so much that I can't see

The next morning, I was back on the crowded train headed to work. There was something in the air that morning. It wasn’t the heavy silence that I felt on the morning after the serial train blasts, nor was it the celebratory mood of that Monday morning after we had won the World Cup.

But everyone seemed to be doing somewhat better. Someone had shaved after days.

My friend from boarding school had written an email asking me about my life in Bombay.

'Is it like how they show in the movies - gangsters and all?', he had asked.

In the morning, I am on a crowded train reading from a newspaper that I have to fold many times over so that it fits into the ambit of my constrained arms.

And in the evening, I am on the promenade, looking over the vast sea, and dancing in the rain.

Who knows?

Is this the start of something wonderful and new?
Or one more dream that I cannot make true?