Mumbai Mayhem

I could talk about the jet-lag, but I won't. I could talk about the mosquitoes and the pollution and the humidity and the incessant rain and the puddles and the noise and the traffic and the pace and the scratching at my throat, but I won't. I don't need to. I have memories that will eclipse all these and other passing inconveniences in Bombay. Just so that I don't forget those, here are memories of my city that I have carried back to the US with me:

1. The crows, cawing all day long, swooping down to the kitchen window to grab a little round ball of atta,
2. The trees, vividly green and fresh in the monsoon rains,
3. The large, colorful wall murals (painted enthusiastically by Pigglett) decorating the walls of my home,
4. Ma, framed against the explosion of light from the kitchen window,
5. Paa, comfy in his favorite accustomed seat on the sofa,
6. Naughty Little Pigglett, trotting about everywhere, making herself indispensable to everybody ("If we had a parrot at home, the first word it would learn would be 'Pigglett'!"),
7. Bargaining for shoes and bags on Linking Road, something Pigg and I are picking up for almost the first time ever,
8. The shopping malls springing up everywhere ("No Bargaining!"), trying to make things easier for yuppies but only succeeding in making them less interesting for us,
9. The clouds swirling overhead,
10. The airplanes weaving in and out of the clouds,
11. The little paan-beedi-walla dukaan, where you also get bread and candy and a good gossip,
12. The tiny grocery stores that house almost everything you could wish for in the kind of space you couldn't even begin to imagine,
13. The "Horn, OK, Please" signs on the back of trucks,
14. The waterfalls beside the Mumbai-Pune Expressway - now there's a view you'll never get to see from a highway here in the US!
15. Wet salwars clinging to legs as auto-rickshaws determinedly steer away and the heavens continue to pour,
16. The Great Wide Beautiful Wonderful Book Exhibition - a treat for everybody! Five Blandings Castle treats, can you imagine? All at one go!
17. The rakhi stalls, colorful and artistic, beads, threads, pompons hanging everywhere,
18. The "Bombay smell" at the airport - reminds me I'm home.

And so I am. In spite of the rush and the lack of time and the perpetual motion and living out of a suitcase and the fear of cholera from unboiled water, I've never felt so much at home as - at home.

Turning Sixty-One

I remember, six years ago, observing India's anniversary of Independence for the very first time from outside my country. I had just gone through a trying patch with some people and was tired of butting my head against their stone walls of prejudice and injustice. On the 15th of August 2002, from my desk at Maryland, I wrote an email to my friends and loved ones, talking of how free India may have turned fifty-five but the true meaning of freedom still eluded most of her people, the "educated white-collar middle-class" included. Freedom is only achieved when we can rationalize our experiences without giving in to any form of external pressure. Freedom is freedom only when we are free to question. Freedom is when one can choose what to do now or tomorrow without being forced - by the guns of a gangster or the emotional blackmail of a parent or the pleading of a friend, no matter the choice or the issue. Freedom from the British didn't include freedom from class prejudices, religious or cultural divides. Those were always up to us to cultivate, and unfortunately, we haven't always done a good job with that.

I still maintain those ideas; however, over the years, I have realized how difficult it is for a "normal" Indian, having been brought up with those prejudices, to leave them at adulthood. More than ever, I realize that my parents understood the true definition of freedom early on, and have tried to follow those concepts and have successfully imparted them, not only to Pigglett and me, but also to many other youngsters along the route. I'm glad for that and I hope I can hold that torch up for as long as I exist.

As for my battle of six years ago, I still have to fight it, but I'm now old enough to make the allowances for my "opponents" that culture and society dictate, and I believe I have acquired a sense of self and level of maturity enough to handle that situation with the delicacy it deserves. Although, I hope that they have, too. That will give me hope for sixty-two and beyond!