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Mumbai 17.07.09


At first sight Mumbai, or Bombay as most of my, Indian generation prefer to call it, is a city full of dirt and filth. Its air thick with pollution from the gridlocked roads, piles of stagnant rubbish, fish, and an overflowing sewage system. The humidity is suitably graded to open the pores and ensure as much of this filth enters the body as is possible. Breathing is not good enough to ensure you have a healthy dose of your fellow, 20 million, compatriots.


On a second look though, Bombay, Mumbai to the younger generation, truly is a city full of dirt and filth. Its air thick with pollution from the gridlocked roads, piles of stagnant rubbish, fish, and an overflowing sewage system. However, all this shit comes from somewhere and it is this 20 million people and there extremities of existence that gives Bombay its character.


Because of its massive population, Bombay’s accommodation is terribly overpriced and of a suitably low standard. Four story apartment blocks, be speckled from concrete fatigue and a mold that is indigenous to concrete buildings be speckled with concrete fatigue, adorn the middle class suburbs and resemble something from a film where all humanity has died and the wildlife is re gaining its ground. A film, probably starring Charlton Heston, if Charlton Heston could star in any more apocalyptic visions of humanity.


If you are not lucky enough to live here, then it is the slums for you. Shanty towns, or zopadpatti, made out of the flotsam and jetsam of modern human existence. A thousand rupees a month rents you a pile of rusting corrugation and frayed tarpaulin with no water, electricity or sanitation. And they are the lucky ones, for the rest it is the street. A piece of  cardboard is your home. This is not like London or any other Metropolitan city where homelessness is seen as something that happens to the unfortunate few. This is homelessness on a grand scale and is a way of life for many of the workers within the city. The chances are, are that the man that is serving you your plate of dhal, roti, thalis or Domino Pizza spent the night huddled in a doorway on that very same pizza box. It is life here, pure and simple.


I guess this is the point whereby I am supposed to say something like: I will never complain again about the aircon being too cold, or that there was a pubic hair in the shower, or there was a smidging too much salt in the soup. But I will, why lie to myself for my own brief sense  of altruistic empathy. My god that would make me feel at one with humanity for about 20 seconds, 20 seconds before I go into a hotel and complain about the soup being too cold, too much salt in the shower and a pubic hair in the aircon.


It doesn’t matter who we are or where we are at, we just can’t accept that things could possibly be ok.


How dare somebody else have the audacity to infiltrate my concept of a good social standing by shedding a hair from their nether regions, while rigorously washing with inferior soap and the management just turned a blind eye. God forbid!! 

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