The rains in Mumbai have started.
It's maddening to walk among the honking cars and bellowing trucks , while playing Hopscotch to avoid the puddles on the road. My pants and shoes are in a perennial mess.
What's funny are the umbrellas , or rather the way the Mumbaikars use them. The rains in Mumbai follow the start-and-stop technique ( pun unintended !) , and the folk open and close their umbrellas in citywide unison.
I have always been amazed at the way this city envelopes a person , you start walking briskly, you tend to laugh off the long working hours , you can live off Vada-Pavs for days on end and can jump off the locals without any semblance of fear. You become yet another fibre in the fabric of coarse-fraternity which holds the city together.
But i feel there is a deep, sinister reason behind the friendliness that you witness from your fellow Mumbaikar.
This city humbles you into realising that you are just another pawn in this great circle of life, being pushed and shoved by forces more powerful than you. We are all nameless, faceless people trying to set a foot on the ladder , the one which leads to untold riches and power, a ladder which only the chosen few climb, and even they pay a huge price for it. . . . . We are all losers in this Rat-race , and we offer each other sympathy , which is often mistaken for friendship.
I better end this post right here , because if i don't , I will miss the last ' local' going north and won't be able to go back home .
