Life can best be described as a journey. A journey of smiles through tears, a journey of peace through war, a journey of achievement through struggle, a journey of hope through despair. I had seen all ---or so I thought------until I saw the mega-city of Mumbai for the first time. The concept of a dream city completely belied the first image, of what I had in mind about it. There was no dream to start with, rather what I saw was anyone’s nightmare. I mean, which individual dreams of getting stuck in crowds, traveling by overcrowded trains only to end up at the end of a day in a mega—flood.
I had always been considered ominous for my class in schools. Whichever class I belonged to turned out to be the most ““rowdiest, filled with goons”---in my teachers words” kind of class. The fact that I used to be the monitor (in teacher’s words, man-eater in student’s words) further aggravated the situations. I think I had infected this mega city with my minute fate.
26/11 was a sight never seen before, an experience never felt before (and hopefully never to be felt again). Mumbai has sister city arrangements with Los Angeles, London and Yokohoma, but that day it seemed more like the sister city of Venice----off course a shabby one (No offense guys !!!) with the boats being replaced by fully sunken taxis and half sunken buses, and the urban Mumbai landscape gutted by shanties, slums and high uprises replicating the romantic background of Venice---(Who would love to make love in floods, that too flooded with sewer water among others, though Indian filmmakers think differently----Tum mile being a case in point, Anyways)
There was a visible total collapse of infrastructure. The mega-city , famed for being the melting pot, land of dreams, and exaggeratedly as the city that never sleeps---was bought to its knees that day by a pathetic civic machinery and an untamed nature’s fury. But as I said, life is a journey of hope in despair, I saw the actual life of Mumbai. The ordinary MumbaIkar was out in full force, helping out the stranded victims. Seeing their enthusiasm would have made u doubt the fact that floods had actually struck Mumbai. From directions to food, everything was being served with the charge of humanity. The rains that day flooded Mumbai with much more than waste water---humanity!!!
Following the charts of humanity driven directions, I and my father somehow made a trip from SPCE to Andheri station. All throughout the way I had my umbrella open above me, foolishly not realizing the fact that I was ending up only protecting my head, as I was drenched in muddy water in the rest of the body. Reaching Andheri was an adventure in itself---that’s what I thought. But God had reserved some of his most fabulous moments for me, which I was about to know in some more time.
Anyways, at Andheri station the scene resembled that of a refugee camp, only that the refugees were dressed in formals, and were carrying expensive mobile handsets and laptops. People were scattered all over the place---on steps, on the platform floors, on the local coach floors etc. ---And believe me it wasn’t a sight to savour. Of course being from the boys school with excess of adrenaline pumping, you are bound to get excited seeing the modern, beautiful sassy girl of Mumbai all drenched wet. (DISCLAIMER: The adjectives mentioned above aren’t just limited to Mumbai girls). But then seeing them wet while u are drenched up in mucky waters doesn’t make much of a good sight seeing. To add to the fact, I had my father---the ex-army man, looking over me(though I think he was too tired to care!!!)
And tired we were, we saw one local train standing at the Andheri station with people stuffed inside. We were said that it was scheduled to leave for Dadar once the flood water recede from the tracks. It was a hope, that the train would start---and this hope made people cling to the trains, sleeping while standing, not minding sitting down upon mucky train floors---nobody cared, first of all the situation didn’t warrant cleanliness, and secondly the people were plain tired.
The night gone by, the second day saw me lining up at the only operating telephone booth near Andheri station flooded by the flood stranded people. I called up Mom, but the crowd which was growing faster than the eggs of fishes, didn’t allow me the luxury to talk with her. I just said her that I am fine and will be home soon.
We knew 2 things—the trains are not starting in the morning, the road traffic was blocked, and the second one being that we were desperate to leave. I and my dad took the decision to prod the entire 15 k.m. stretch of Western Express Highway running parallel to the tracks of Western Railway. And the walk we did……………………..!!!!!!!!!!!!
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