...I’ve felt bad for people living
in Bombay. Okay, maybe I feel bad for them (and myself) each time I’m stuck in
a horrendous traffic jam in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, but today
I felt sorry for them. An emotion I’d never thought I would feel.
I say them because I don’t live
here anymore. Technically. Yes, I may spend quite a lot of time in this city
and Bombay will always be home, but I’ve experienced life outside of potholes
and traffic jams and muggy weather that makes you want to kill yourself every
other day. And I grudgingly accept that it feels good. Sure, I miss the
comforts of having everything at your doorstep, and I definitely miss the food.
But I’m beginning to realise these are luxuries one can live without.
But I get ahead of myself here.
What inspired such feelings was wanting to assuage the building guilt (of
living on mithai for the last 2 weeks) by heading out for a walk. But as soon
as I’d decided on resuming my evening ritual, I was faced with the problem of
where to go. The beach was too wet and littered with plastic from the sea, the
roads near home too full of open manholes, crazy traffic and crateresque (yes,
it’s a word) potholes. Not to speak of the million and one construction sites
that have left a permanent haze of concrete dust in the air. That left a
joggers park with a round walking track of some 200 metres as my only option.
So the grandmom (forcibly taken
for some exercise) and I get to the park and I realise that (a) all of the
senior citizen population of the area were there and (b) most of the under 40
were there too. Walking the track was like walking on Churchgate station at
5.30 pm, dodging people right left and centre in an attempt to get ahead. Of
course, most of the elderly were sitting on chairs provided in the park,
content to take in some greenery and fresh air and gossip for an hour or two
with friends. Some of them were brave enough to venture out for a walk, making
their way around the track slowly and steadily. Then there were those who were
obviously there on medical advice. There was also the category of walkers who
seemed to have lost their way, standing out in their jeans and fancy kurtis.
Which left the serious walkers, children and maids with babies in prams.
And this is when I felt sorry for
people living in Bombay. And myself. I missed the luxury of stepping out of my
house and having all the space in the world to go for a walk. I missed the
fresh air, the absence of traffic, the long winding lanes I could go down
without worrying about potholes and open drains. I felt sorry for the people in
the park then, who had to search for a patch of green and some place to walk
without worrying about getting hit by a speeding car. I felt bad for the
children who couldn’t run around carefree and untroubled, restricted by the
rules of the park and limited to a pair of swings. And I felt some relief that
I wasn’t living in Bombay anymore.
Because I can’t imagine being
bound by concrete and traffic anymore.
