Sometimes
it becomes a hard fact to sink in, that Mumbai no longer remains the place I
stay in.
It
felt like yesterday when I packed my bags and moved to this city for the second
time, with a suitcase stuffed with more dreams than the first time (earlier it
was supposedly to study). The only little (may seem big for some) difference this
time was having to be all on my own - To find a shelter, a social life and
manage a new job – all by myself. All good though as expected, the harsh yet
welcoming city welcomed. A decent PG was not hard to find, fortunately with
like-minded people around.
Speak
of Mumbai and people start picturing the sea, the high-rises, the tall offices,
the rains and the street food. For me,
this picture will be altogether a different one now. For me, that home (will
not demean it calling a PG at this point) is Mumbai in the first of thoughts.
Staying with a group of 7-8 men of varying backgrounds, professions, and age
group, was an experience of its kind. While most of us belonged to different
cities, there was this feeling of loneliness itself being away from our families
that bound us together. Every evening after dinner, we would gather in the
compound of the building and try to make everyone feel home, albeit
unknowingly. We would smoke, share how the day was for each one of us, talk
about our little-big problems, take a brisk walk and sign off to our rooms
finally. The most memorable of them all were, though, those evenings where we would
get wasted with ridiculous quantities of alcohol, while Amit, a singer and
acoustic guitarist by hobby and ad guy by profession, would sing and we all
would join as the chorus. There would be laughs, jibes, I-know-better
arguments, and sometimes aimless wandering on the roads in not-so-sober state
post all the clamor.
However,
staying away from home had its own share of unpleasant ways of life. I recall
often eating alone, only to leave the meals midway. The days sometimes seemed
like what I had between two rounds of sleep, mechanical and monotonous. I would
try to keep myself happy and joyous at work, as if I was trying to gather as
much happiness as I could from the people around. Leaving from work, knowing no
one waits for you back home, the predictability of what lied ahead after those
work hours, and taking the walk back home alone sometimes… all this would
become unbearable sometimes. The rains would only add to the gloom and low
states of moods, when sometimes I would just sit by the window alone and gaze
out for hours waiting for it to stop.
Then
there was a strange fear, an apprehension of the fact that now that you are
here, how much difference would your absence make to the lives of those who you
care about? Would they care about you less when you go back? I would call home,
my friends, the one I loved, and speak my heart out often about how life became
so difficult there sometimes. They would hear, empathize in most genuine way
possible and tell me it was only a matter of time, till all this changed for
good. Deep inside, I knew that they were only spoken words, that don’t matter,
at least until the change.
Now
that I am back to where I belonged, I look back and see if the experience was
fulfilling or pleasant or unworthy or merely a learning one, and I realize it
was all – at different points in
time. It is immensely satisfying indeed to come back and find that the people
around you still stand where you left them. At least most of them. They
still smile back at you, when you smile at them. And as I unpack my bags back
home now - I’m thinking to myself – Am I
the same person as I was when I had packed them? I am not too sure… but
somewhere, I feel I’ve grown up to be more tolerant, if not wiser.
Like
a famous film maker said about Mumbai, “It's
not so much what you learn about Mumbai, it's what you learn about yourself,
really… You find out a lot about yourself and your tolerance, and about your
inclusiveness”.
