Lower Parel, 1st August 2011

The Shape-Shifters

I made my way through the horde of people gushing into the belly of the local from the railway platform. It was a busy day in Mumbai just like every other busy day. Each man was busy in his own mind; busy about his own sense of occupation. I looked around for a vacant spot on the hard seats made of steel to rest myself, which though was not a requirement, but surely lends a sense of achievement at the very start of every day in Mumbai. To be able to sit in a local and go – is to be considered as a good omen for all things good to happen for the rest of the day. Doing a 360 degree observation of the seats is a routine ritual for every commuter right after he boards a local train. A puny old man’s eyes met mine as I began that ritual religiously. He could not have been overlooked for the stark difference he presented. It was a face that had been crinkled out of all youthful energy and enthusiasm, but not of spirit. As it was a face that reflected weakness, but not helplessness. It was a face that could clearly notice my clean shaven face, the neatly trimmed and combed hair, the shiny silver watch piece on my wrist, my crisp white shirt, the contrasting black pants. His face indicated a silent knowledge of my outsider status, the next almost immediate acceptance of my presence in Mumbai, inside a local, in that compartment, next to him. A person, who has been living in Mumbai; still clinging to the prideful traditional wear with the concomitant red tilak vertically stamped across the length of his forehead. We never did talk to each other, but his look made me aware that I am still a trespasser on their famed land. The land of the famed mumba devi; the patron goddess of the fishermen who lived on the seven islands city that is now an international business hotspot. He did not betray any sense of dejection, nor sadness, as was expected had his thoughts aligned with my thoughts about him.

The PA system announced that the train was to reach “Lower Parel”. We both got down at the station. It was Monday, 1^st of August, the day when Mumbai was to face a bandh across the city to help fulfil the mill workers demand for rehabilitation. Lower Parel, a time ago was a bustling centre of textile mills and thousands of workers who toiled there since several decades supplying the british colonial hunger for textile products. The tradition had abruptly come to a halt and soon gave to the days of liberalization which have resulted in Lower Parel and surrounding areas to become the most sought after spots for office-space. The labour of the hands had given way to the toil of the mind. The generational shift had been effected. The greying older men were to be replaced by smarter and younger men. Hands well adept with spindles and yarn were to be replaced by hands efficient with Androids and Macs.

That man left a little smile before getting down at Lower Parel. Perhaps, he had made his life to be at peace with the change in circumstances, the changes in ground realities. Perhaps he realised the importance of mental toil, the greatness of education which helps a person be in tune with his times. Or perhaps it could have been a smile to prophesize a similar doom for me. It was a smile to let me not smile; a smile to bust my sense of complacency at having completed an education. A smile that was telling me, that I too will soon become grey and old and be replaced by smarter and younger ones.

This is not a fear of mine; just an observation.......through the Lookin' Glass.