Bombay Memory Box
Mohit worked at an advertising agency in California. Probably due to his south Asian connection, he had been chosen by his office to go visit their branch office in Mumbai. It had been years since Mohit had been to the city of his birth, the place where he had grown up over thirty years ago. On receiving the news, he had been filled with a sense of nervous excitement mixed with a fair amount of trepidation. Surely, the city would have changed a great deal since he had seen it last and he didn’t quite know what to expect. Nevertheless, here he was packing his bags for Mumbai.
Mohit landed at the Chatrapati Shivaji Airport early on a Monday morning and the first glance of the city seemed pretty impressive. It was neat and looked very different from what he had expected. The weather was pleasantly warm and Mohit actually welcomed the heat after the cold November days in California. He was actually a little surprised to see trendily attired girls in skirts and men in half-sleeved shirts walking all around him. He suddenly felt a little over clad in his jersey. His office had arranged a cab to pick him up at the arrival gate and soon he was on his way to Juhu where he was booked to stay in a company guest house. After a jerky ride in perhaps the most rickety taxi he had ever set foot in, he was glad to find his feet on the street again.
The guest house was located in an exclusive neighbourhood and he saw a shiny blue BMW parked next to the gate. But something was amiss. The neighbourhood was posh but ‘posh’ connoted a different meaning here in Bombay; the building was imposing, but ordinary. And the approach? Treacherous! Before getting into the elevator to reach the apartment, Mohit casually glanced at the post box which had the name plate of a prominent Bollywood music composer. He knew the name instantly and felt at ease – a little bit like he was already home.
The guest house was comfortable: it had three rooms with attached baths, a kitchen and main living-cum-dining room. After a shower and quick breakfast of paranthas with curd, Mohit got into the (same!) cab and started going towards his office which was in Malad. He was quickly distracted by the bumpy ride, dust, heat, and traffic as Jasbir, the driver, turned on the radio and the latest film music started playing in the vehicle. It was about 10 am by now and traffic was at its peak. The driver seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, nodding to the music.
About half an hour passed. “How far is the office from here?” asked Mohit, looking at his watch. “Not very far. But traffic, you know sir, at this time. Very bad,” answered Jasbir. And he was right. Hundreds of vehicles were crammed all around and in spite of being so close to each other, none were touching. Everyone seemed to be in some tearing hurry to get somewhere and Mohit noticed many people changing lanes and overtaking from all kinds of directions – anywhere they could squeeze their specific mode of transport – auto, rickshaw, bike, bicycle, car, tempo…. The car was moving at a snail’s pace and at one point Mohit even noticed that they had barely moved a few feet in twenty minutes! He was terribly worn out as the precarious drive was unnerving and Mohit felt there was bound to be an accident if he looked away.
To divert himself from the confusion of the traffic, he tried making some notes in his writing pad. But just then, he was distracted by a eunuch who tapped on his window. “Saab, paisa,” said the eunuch. Mohit’s frustration heightened and he brushed the eunuch away. After another painful half hour later, the cab driver announced, “Sir, we’ve reached.” With a sigh of relief, Mohit thanked him and got off.
Mohit had a great day! He met the India team that was headed by Nishant Malik, whom he had often spoken to over the phone thousands of miles away. He also noticed that while the team was fun-loving and friendly, they were also extremely efficient and hard working. And we think that’s an American thing, he thought, standing to be corrected.
On completing his meetings for the day, Mohit decided to head back to Juhu via Bandra. Bandra had some beautiful drives around Carter Road, which reminded him of some of his childhood days and he decided to stop by some of the boutique stores. His wife may welcome something, he thought. It all seemed so modern, complete with its miniscule, yet spectacularly stocked shops with eclectic clothes, curios, home décor and designer accessories. Mohit went further towards Linking Road, where he spotted a wide collection of dresses that caught his attention. He decided to buy a pretty floral one for his wife back in California. It’s the latest fashion there, he’d tell her when he got back and she’d certainly love it, he thought to himself.
Mohit had kept the next day free, just to soak in some more of the sights and sounds of this beautiful city which he had once so adoringly called home. After breakfast – this time his meal comprised of poha, Mohit was on his way to the southern part of the city. Needless to say, this one was a long drive too, made longer by the average speeds of 20 km per hour! In any case, the area was filled with some visions of tourist interest. For instance, there was the picturesque Bandra-Worli sea link, where he saw a number of couples leisurely sitting holding hands in front of a serene backdrop. The Bombay skyline was filled with several skyscrapers, pictures of which he had of course seen on television and the internet. There were other interesting sights on the way. A new Atria mall had opened up which Jasbir pointed out to Mohit, declaring proudly that it housed “India’s only Rolls Royce showroom.”
The imposing Haji Ali monument stood out in the water and Mohit recognized it instantly, capturing its enigma through his digital camera. The Heera Panna market came next, housing a number of brands together in a basement-looking structure. There was also an opulent building up ahead, famously known as Antilia, the residential tower of the affluent Ambani family. Jasbir announced enthusiastically that a helipad is being built on the house. Mohit cringed at the thought and said under his breath, ‘What a blatant display of wealth and how ugly!’ Thirty years ago, no one had this kind of money and even if they did, they were discreet about showing it. Mohit crossed several other old familiar buildings in south Bombay: like the Wankhede cricket stadium, Churchgate, the Race Course, the Vidhan Bhawan, Mumbai University, the High Court, the Victoria Terminus and the Bombay Municipal Corporation office. As he passed these imposing buildings, he marveled at the clear imprints of beautiful Victorian architecture.
In the very heart of the city, the stately Gateway of India stood in all its splendour, intact, with the beautiful waterfront that is still lit up at night. There were other places that Mohit recognized, all of which had been just familiar landmarks before, but had now been looked upon by the world as areas of historic significance: the Flora Fountain, the Fort, the headquarters of the Mumbai police and the coast guards of the Army and the Navy. Other notable buildings came up like the Taj Mahal Palace hotel, the Trident and the Oberoi – all of which were recently in the limelight mostly for tragic reasons.
Mohit had closely followed horrific news updates about the terrorist attacks two years ago and had felt terribly sorry for his beautiful city. But what surprised him was how easily life had moved on in all of these places. While he felt it was extremely courageous for each of these sites to have come back into business in such a big way, in some strange way it seemed to have almost worked in their advantage. Even two years later, the spirit of the city seemed to have remained completely unchanged – in spite of all its changes, the city had never once ceased to amaze him.
Mohit was filled with a feeling of nostalgia as he went back to the days when he was a student of commerce at St Xavier’s College. He remembered playing a game of cricket at the Azad stadium as a youngster. After college, he recalled attending various exhibitions at the Jehangir Art Gallery and the National Gallery of Modern Art in Kala Goda, which incidentally, he crossed next. It was here that he had met Kajal, his first girlfriend. Everything was so different back then, he thought. They were both young, equally drawn towards the arts and had not a care in the world.
Flashback to the year 1989. Kajal and Mohit had both returned after watching the first show of ‘In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones’ at Regal cinema. The movie starred Arundhati Roy. Who knew she would become such a prolific writer and activist so many years later? After the film, Kajal and Mohit had held hands and walked on the streets of Colaba. The street was still lined with a fascinating display of footpath shopping carts laden with everything from junk jewelry to books, clothes, shoes, bags and accessories on display. Mohit had bought Kajal a pretty bracelet from one of the stalls and she had shyly kissed him on the cheek.
It was the embodiment of what ‘dating’ someone meant back in the day and hereafter, the duo were to be an ‘official couple’ for all of their friends and acquaintances. Mohit had taken her into Café Leopold where they decided to have sandwiches for lunch. The café was bustling with action and excitement, with almost every table occupied. Mohit revisited the same table for two where they had first sat together and eaten so many years ago. Ironically, at the same spot, there was now a bullet shot, a painful reminder of the 26/11 terror attacks in 2008 – something that will always remain a scar in the history of the café – as in their own relationship.
Mohit also stopped by Café Mondegar for old times’ sake. Several young couples sat all around him as Justin Bieber belted out ‘Baby’ from the juke box. Mondy’s looked just the same with vibrant caricatures by Mario Miranda adorning its walls. The inner pub, ‘Innside Story’ looked the same too and Mohit decided to order a black grape juice.
Sipping his juice, Mohit began soaking engaging conversations about music, people and travel all around him. It transported him back to his college days once again and he thought about all the evenings he had spent discussing, debating and hanging out with his friends at this very spot.
Later, Mohit had a sumptuous dinner - French baguette and sautéed spinach at Café Basilico Bistro & Deli. He also stopped for a dessert - some yummy chocolate brownies at Theobroma, a savory shop which he hadn’t tried before. He was drawn by its tagline which read ‘Food of the Gods’ and felt it indeed came quite close to the description! It was about 8 pm by now and just then, Mohit received a phone call from his colleague, Nishant. His colleagues were meeting at the Hard Rock Café near the Bombay Dyeing mills. “How long will it take me to get there?” asked Mohit, a little concerned. “Oh, not too long,” replied Nishant, “Office rush is almost over and you should be here in about 25 minutes.”
But as unpredictable as Mumbai’s traffic is, it took Jasbir 45 minutes to wade through Mumbai’s evening traffic to reach Worli. Once there, Mohit paid a cover charge of Rs 100 after which a little symbol was stamped on the back of his hand. His colleagues were seated on a table on the ground floor and they waved out to Mohit as he entered. It was the night for a live band performance, he learnt and as he looked up, he saw a bunch of energetic youngsters playing the guitar and singing. The band called itself Barefaced Liars and the sound of the heavy metal they played drowned all of their voices and soon everyone was swaying, high, completely lost to the music. Mohit looked at his team members, each of whom had looked so serious and focused in the daytime. With the evening setting in, they seemed to have completely transformed into a bunch of fun party animals!
One of the girls in his team, a young 28-year-old was accompanied by her fiancé and the couple kept whispering and laughing into each others’ ears. Mohit, once again thought about his youth as visions of merrymaking in his own heydays flashed in his mind. ‘These are the parts that I missed out on’, he thought, the parts when his then-girlfriend Kajal too could have been wearing a ring and enjoying his company. But what had gone wrong? Mohit’s mind went back to a hazy recollection of what had transpired in his relationship so many years ago.
Just then, Nishant yanked Mohit out of his state of trance and gestured him to join in the dance. After numerous group pictures, at the end of the show, each member of the audience was given a copy of the band’s latest album, which Mohit thought made for not only a great marketing strategy, but a wonderful souvenir as well.
Back in the guest house, Mohit felt exhausted after his long and eventful day and crashed into bed almost instantly. The next day, he made the long trudge back to his office to wrap things up and say goodbye to his colleagues. After finishing up, Mohit realized he still had plenty of time before his evening flight, so he went off to Inorbit mall close to his office, where he looked at some regular branded stores and had lunch at a place called Bombay Blue. He then decided to venture into the north-western interiors, which were quiet and unspoiled by the main city. He went towards Madh island, an area which was serene and surrounded by the Arabian sea. Mohit asked Jasbir to stop the car at Aksa beach which looked peaceful with fishermen boats at work. Marve beach came up next and Mohit got a shot of Essell World, which he spotted from a distance. On his way out, Mohit read a sign board for Film City in Goregaon and he thought about his fascination for movies as a youngster.
Growing up in Bombay, he like most others was unable to extricate himself from the lure and magic of Bollywood and had even wanted to become an actor at one point! Kajal had been shocked at the idea when he mentioned it to her casually one day, even though he was just joking. They had had a fight about it and she had told him to be more responsible; she had said that she wanted to be with someone who had a ‘stable’ future. Mohit was only completing his commerce degree in those days and had not even started working. Or to put it mildly, had no plans of interviewing or looking for a job. He was still toying with the idea of pursuing a post-graduate course in animation in the US. As a youngster, he had had ‘unfocused’ dreams that had lured him and which he had seriously thought of pursuing. He wanted to try out his various ‘flights of fantasy’ that seemed full of possibilities and excitement before he actually settled down in life.
Even though she tried, Kajal could not appreciate his wanderlust. So, like many young relationships, theirs too was simply immature since they were growing and changing as people with their own individual personalities. While Mohit was much too young to settle down, he had big dreams – including everything from Bollywood to opening his own restaurant some day. Kajal, on the other hand, was the more realistic of the two, but had her own share of ambitions which were well thought-out. She wanted to complete a course in fashion and set up her own line of prêt wear in Bombay, after which she wanted to settle down and start a family. And so, with time and clashing ideologies, their relationship needed to survive the test of time.
The couple decided to give each other some breathing space during which they would sort out their respective lives. It was during this time that the two got busy with their own choices and lost touch with each other. A year later, Kajal took up a course in design and Mohit got accepted to an animation program in Chicago. The separation seemed to have made them into stronger individuals who begun to take their lives and their future seriously. But the gap had been long and their lives had taken completely different directions. In no time, their relationship became just another little story in the many chapters of history that were a part of this great city.
It was partly the reason why Mohit had not returned to Bombay for so many years: every place he went to reminded him of the past and so many memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, would come rushing back to him. This despite the fact that the city of his childhood and youth remained a far thought of safety, comfort and warmth. In a sense, he had still not fully reconciled to the parting in a complete way. He still needed closure. After the terror on 26/11, for some odd reason, he could hold himself back no longer. He needed to go back and revisit his past in the city he loved so much but had been avoiding for so many years. He needed to know how resiliently his beloved city had coped with the wounds of its own devastation. Moreover, like him, it had changed and with time, it too had healed.
It all made sense to Mohit now, and overwhelmed with emotion, he realized he had lost track of time. Jasbir had to almost nudge him. “Sir, the airport has come.” Mohit got his bags out of the vehicle, thanked Jasbir for everything and tipped him generously. Jasbir was delighted and waved out to him saying, “Come again soon!” And this time, Mohit knew he would. On the flight back to California, Mohit looked outside his seat window. With a heart that was heavy no longer, he looked down as he flew above the gleaming Queen’s Necklace along Marine Drive and wondered just what had taken him so long to make this trip.
Ever been to the place where scraps of paper remind you of giggles in a world long ago? Where dreams never fail you in nights of no sleep, where the breeze brings back memories of yesterday and the smell of rain: instant flashes of days when you jumped in puddles and never stopped smiling. Visions of laughing faces of this very rain, now moist with the afternoon drizzle. The moon is now a pale white against a spotlessly black sky. And gradually the sky is fading into an orange twilight.
The puddles reflect the clouds and a tinkle of laughter is heard somewhere in the distance. Somewhere on a deep, dark night, where the only sound heard is the gentle splash of someone's slippers against the puddles outside the window, held together is an irrepressible dream to fast forward into the future, ironically borne out of an undercurrent to cease the present moment forever.
I used to be a part of these same long-winding drives on faraway roads; I remember the feeling of awkwardness - the attempt of putting one's best foot forward, when the smallest of details seemed most important. It's shimmering mist… from ashes to ashes and dust to dust. I laugh at the thought of it, the thought meaningless like mist itself. To every desert there is an oasis and to every wound that is deep, there is time that heals.
They say everything happens for a reason. But sometimes when the magnanimity of just one moment leaves you cold, it pales everything else in comparison and you begin to wonder if life is indeed a combination of many such mind-blowing yet fleeting memories put together. Hence, you look for a fresh memory in order to finally move on.
But then you have to wait for time to take its toll, to cast its spell, to harmonize and clean up its own mess. And what for these intervening gaps, these lulls that barely matter – interspersed as they are before the next storm of intensity strikes and gradually disembarks into the soul, engulfing you from within? What of all the insecurities that remain unaddressed, staring at you starkly in the face like fears waiting to be resolved? What of all the joys lost in a maze of confusion not cleared? Are these spaces mere reminders, simply agents to help you cherish, to savor and perhaps, to finally forget this single soul-stirring event before you can prepare for the onset of another similar rush to set in? Is the shade of each separate emotion like the changing seasons – complete with its varied hues and colors?
But the tides of yesterday have already washed away to avenues of newer tomorrows. The faces are all unknown now. Yet, I can sense the bounce in every step; I recognize the silences between the chirping of birds and this landscape seems to remember me too. A huge expanse of unexplored mystique waits to be uncovered, holding on for me to plunge into it. I have nothing to fear but fear itself. And what would you do if you weren't afraid?
It was time to land.
Mohit sat up suddenly, marveling at how he had managed to sleep through the long flight back - something he had never done before. He never slept more than an hour at a stretch on flights in general! ‘Just as well,’ he thought to himself, feeling very pleased. He thought about his beautiful wife whom he would be meeting a few minutes from now and of how she would sport the floral dress he had bought for her so lovingly, as they went out for dinner later.
NEHA KIRPAL is has been working in the Indian media for the past four years. As a reporter and correspondent at New Delhi Television (NDTV) as well as the Times of India, she has also worked as a content writer in the Times Group’s online division. The common tread in each of these has of course been her primary passion, writing. Neha began writing at a young age and wrote her first poem when she was just 7. She has also done a lot of freelance writing ever since. Having studied Broadcast Journalism from the Indian Institute of Mass Communication (IIMC), she also has a Bachelor’s degree in Economics from St Stephen’s College. Neha went to boarding school in Dehradun as a child and has lived in several cities in India. She has also had the chance to travel to many different countries in the world. Apart from these, her other interests include watching films and listening to music.
Mohit worked at an advertising agency in California. Probably due to his south Asian connection, he had been chosen by his office to go visit their branch office in Mumbai. It had been years since Mohit had been to the city of his birth, the place where he had grown up over thirty years ago. On receiving the news, he had been filled with a sense of nervous excitement mixed with a fair amount of trepidation. Surely, the city would have changed a great deal since he had seen it last and he didn’t quite know what to expect. Nevertheless, here he was packing his bags for Mumbai.
Mohit landed at the Chatrapati Shivaji Airport early on a Monday morning and the first glance of the city seemed pretty impressive. It was neat and looked very different from what he had expected. The weather was pleasantly warm and Mohit actually welcomed the heat after the cold November days in California. He was actually a little surprised to see trendily attired girls in skirts and men in half-sleeved shirts walking all around him. He suddenly felt a little over clad in his jersey. His office had arranged a cab to pick him up at the arrival gate and soon he was on his way to Juhu where he was booked to stay in a company guest house. After a jerky ride in perhaps the most rickety taxi he had ever set foot in, he was glad to find his feet on the street again.
The guest house was located in an exclusive neighbourhood and he saw a shiny blue BMW parked next to the gate. But something was amiss. The neighbourhood was posh but ‘posh’ connoted a different meaning here in Bombay; the building was imposing, but ordinary. And the approach? Treacherous! Before getting into the elevator to reach the apartment, Mohit casually glanced at the post box which had the name plate of a prominent Bollywood music composer. He knew the name instantly and felt at ease – a little bit like he was already home.
The guest house was comfortable: it had three rooms with attached baths, a kitchen and main living-cum-dining room. After a shower and quick breakfast of paranthas with curd, Mohit got into the (same!) cab and started going towards his office which was in Malad. He was quickly distracted by the bumpy ride, dust, heat, and traffic as Jasbir, the driver, turned on the radio and the latest film music started playing in the vehicle. It was about 10 am by now and traffic was at its peak. The driver seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, nodding to the music.
About half an hour passed. “How far is the office from here?” asked Mohit, looking at his watch. “Not very far. But traffic, you know sir, at this time. Very bad,” answered Jasbir. And he was right. Hundreds of vehicles were crammed all around and in spite of being so close to each other, none were touching. Everyone seemed to be in some tearing hurry to get somewhere and Mohit noticed many people changing lanes and overtaking from all kinds of directions – anywhere they could squeeze their specific mode of transport – auto, rickshaw, bike, bicycle, car, tempo…. The car was moving at a snail’s pace and at one point Mohit even noticed that they had barely moved a few feet in twenty minutes! He was terribly worn out as the precarious drive was unnerving and Mohit felt there was bound to be an accident if he looked away.
To divert himself from the confusion of the traffic, he tried making some notes in his writing pad. But just then, he was distracted by a eunuch who tapped on his window. “Saab, paisa,” said the eunuch. Mohit’s frustration heightened and he brushed the eunuch away. After another painful half hour later, the cab driver announced, “Sir, we’ve reached.” With a sigh of relief, Mohit thanked him and got off.
Mohit had a great day! He met the India team that was headed by Nishant Malik, whom he had often spoken to over the phone thousands of miles away. He also noticed that while the team was fun-loving and friendly, they were also extremely efficient and hard working. And we think that’s an American thing, he thought, standing to be corrected.
On completing his meetings for the day, Mohit decided to head back to Juhu via Bandra. Bandra had some beautiful drives around Carter Road, which reminded him of some of his childhood days and he decided to stop by some of the boutique stores. His wife may welcome something, he thought. It all seemed so modern, complete with its miniscule, yet spectacularly stocked shops with eclectic clothes, curios, home décor and designer accessories. Mohit went further towards Linking Road, where he spotted a wide collection of dresses that caught his attention. He decided to buy a pretty floral one for his wife back in California. It’s the latest fashion there, he’d tell her when he got back and she’d certainly love it, he thought to himself.
Mohit had kept the next day free, just to soak in some more of the sights and sounds of this beautiful city which he had once so adoringly called home. After breakfast – this time his meal comprised of poha, Mohit was on his way to the southern part of the city. Needless to say, this one was a long drive too, made longer by the average speeds of 20 km per hour! In any case, the area was filled with some visions of tourist interest. For instance, there was the picturesque Bandra-Worli sea link, where he saw a number of couples leisurely sitting holding hands in front of a serene backdrop. The Bombay skyline was filled with several skyscrapers, pictures of which he had of course seen on television and the internet. There were other interesting sights on the way. A new Atria mall had opened up which Jasbir pointed out to Mohit, declaring proudly that it housed “India’s only Rolls Royce showroom.”
The imposing Haji Ali monument stood out in the water and Mohit recognized it instantly, capturing its enigma through his digital camera. The Heera Panna market came next, housing a number of brands together in a basement-looking structure. There was also an opulent building up ahead, famously known as Antilia, the residential tower of the affluent Ambani family. Jasbir announced enthusiastically that a helipad is being built on the house. Mohit cringed at the thought and said under his breath, ‘What a blatant display of wealth and how ugly!’ Thirty years ago, no one had this kind of money and even if they did, they were discreet about showing it. Mohit crossed several other old familiar buildings in south Bombay: like the Wankhede cricket stadium, Churchgate, the Race Course, the Vidhan Bhawan, Mumbai University, the High Court, the Victoria Terminus and the Bombay Municipal Corporation office. As he passed these imposing buildings, he marveled at the clear imprints of beautiful Victorian architecture.
In the very heart of the city, the stately Gateway of India stood in all its splendour, intact, with the beautiful waterfront that is still lit up at night. There were other places that Mohit recognized, all of which had been just familiar landmarks before, but had now been looked upon by the world as areas of historic significance: the Flora Fountain, the Fort, the headquarters of the Mumbai police and the coast guards of the Army and the Navy. Other notable buildings came up like the Taj Mahal Palace hotel, the Trident and the Oberoi – all of which were recently in the limelight mostly for tragic reasons.
Mohit had closely followed horrific news updates about the terrorist attacks two years ago and had felt terribly sorry for his beautiful city. But what surprised him was how easily life had moved on in all of these places. While he felt it was extremely courageous for each of these sites to have come back into business in such a big way, in some strange way it seemed to have almost worked in their advantage. Even two years later, the spirit of the city seemed to have remained completely unchanged – in spite of all its changes, the city had never once ceased to amaze him.
Mohit was filled with a feeling of nostalgia as he went back to the days when he was a student of commerce at St Xavier’s College. He remembered playing a game of cricket at the Azad stadium as a youngster. After college, he recalled attending various exhibitions at the Jehangir Art Gallery and the National Gallery of Modern Art in Kala Goda, which incidentally, he crossed next. It was here that he had met Kajal, his first girlfriend. Everything was so different back then, he thought. They were both young, equally drawn towards the arts and had not a care in the world.
Flashback to the year 1989. Kajal and Mohit had both returned after watching the first show of ‘In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones’ at Regal cinema. The movie starred Arundhati Roy. Who knew she would become such a prolific writer and activist so many years later? After the film, Kajal and Mohit had held hands and walked on the streets of Colaba. The street was still lined with a fascinating display of footpath shopping carts laden with everything from junk jewelry to books, clothes, shoes, bags and accessories on display. Mohit had bought Kajal a pretty bracelet from one of the stalls and she had shyly kissed him on the cheek.
It was the embodiment of what ‘dating’ someone meant back in the day and hereafter, the duo were to be an ‘official couple’ for all of their friends and acquaintances. Mohit had taken her into Café Leopold where they decided to have sandwiches for lunch. The café was bustling with action and excitement, with almost every table occupied. Mohit revisited the same table for two where they had first sat together and eaten so many years ago. Ironically, at the same spot, there was now a bullet shot, a painful reminder of the 26/11 terror attacks in 2008 – something that will always remain a scar in the history of the café – as in their own relationship.
Mohit also stopped by Café Mondegar for old times’ sake. Several young couples sat all around him as Justin Bieber belted out ‘Baby’ from the juke box. Mondy’s looked just the same with vibrant caricatures by Mario Miranda adorning its walls. The inner pub, ‘Innside Story’ looked the same too and Mohit decided to order a black grape juice.
Sipping his juice, Mohit began soaking engaging conversations about music, people and travel all around him. It transported him back to his college days once again and he thought about all the evenings he had spent discussing, debating and hanging out with his friends at this very spot.
Later, Mohit had a sumptuous dinner - French baguette and sautéed spinach at Café Basilico Bistro & Deli. He also stopped for a dessert - some yummy chocolate brownies at Theobroma, a savory shop which he hadn’t tried before. He was drawn by its tagline which read ‘Food of the Gods’ and felt it indeed came quite close to the description! It was about 8 pm by now and just then, Mohit received a phone call from his colleague, Nishant. His colleagues were meeting at the Hard Rock Café near the Bombay Dyeing mills. “How long will it take me to get there?” asked Mohit, a little concerned. “Oh, not too long,” replied Nishant, “Office rush is almost over and you should be here in about 25 minutes.”
But as unpredictable as Mumbai’s traffic is, it took Jasbir 45 minutes to wade through Mumbai’s evening traffic to reach Worli. Once there, Mohit paid a cover charge of Rs 100 after which a little symbol was stamped on the back of his hand. His colleagues were seated on a table on the ground floor and they waved out to Mohit as he entered. It was the night for a live band performance, he learnt and as he looked up, he saw a bunch of energetic youngsters playing the guitar and singing. The band called itself Barefaced Liars and the sound of the heavy metal they played drowned all of their voices and soon everyone was swaying, high, completely lost to the music. Mohit looked at his team members, each of whom had looked so serious and focused in the daytime. With the evening setting in, they seemed to have completely transformed into a bunch of fun party animals!
One of the girls in his team, a young 28-year-old was accompanied by her fiancé and the couple kept whispering and laughing into each others’ ears. Mohit, once again thought about his youth as visions of merrymaking in his own heydays flashed in his mind. ‘These are the parts that I missed out on’, he thought, the parts when his then-girlfriend Kajal too could have been wearing a ring and enjoying his company. But what had gone wrong? Mohit’s mind went back to a hazy recollection of what had transpired in his relationship so many years ago.
Just then, Nishant yanked Mohit out of his state of trance and gestured him to join in the dance. After numerous group pictures, at the end of the show, each member of the audience was given a copy of the band’s latest album, which Mohit thought made for not only a great marketing strategy, but a wonderful souvenir as well.
Back in the guest house, Mohit felt exhausted after his long and eventful day and crashed into bed almost instantly. The next day, he made the long trudge back to his office to wrap things up and say goodbye to his colleagues. After finishing up, Mohit realized he still had plenty of time before his evening flight, so he went off to Inorbit mall close to his office, where he looked at some regular branded stores and had lunch at a place called Bombay Blue. He then decided to venture into the north-western interiors, which were quiet and unspoiled by the main city. He went towards Madh island, an area which was serene and surrounded by the Arabian sea. Mohit asked Jasbir to stop the car at Aksa beach which looked peaceful with fishermen boats at work. Marve beach came up next and Mohit got a shot of Essell World, which he spotted from a distance. On his way out, Mohit read a sign board for Film City in Goregaon and he thought about his fascination for movies as a youngster.
Growing up in Bombay, he like most others was unable to extricate himself from the lure and magic of Bollywood and had even wanted to become an actor at one point! Kajal had been shocked at the idea when he mentioned it to her casually one day, even though he was just joking. They had had a fight about it and she had told him to be more responsible; she had said that she wanted to be with someone who had a ‘stable’ future. Mohit was only completing his commerce degree in those days and had not even started working. Or to put it mildly, had no plans of interviewing or looking for a job. He was still toying with the idea of pursuing a post-graduate course in animation in the US. As a youngster, he had had ‘unfocused’ dreams that had lured him and which he had seriously thought of pursuing. He wanted to try out his various ‘flights of fantasy’ that seemed full of possibilities and excitement before he actually settled down in life.
Even though she tried, Kajal could not appreciate his wanderlust. So, like many young relationships, theirs too was simply immature since they were growing and changing as people with their own individual personalities. While Mohit was much too young to settle down, he had big dreams – including everything from Bollywood to opening his own restaurant some day. Kajal, on the other hand, was the more realistic of the two, but had her own share of ambitions which were well thought-out. She wanted to complete a course in fashion and set up her own line of prêt wear in Bombay, after which she wanted to settle down and start a family. And so, with time and clashing ideologies, their relationship needed to survive the test of time.
The couple decided to give each other some breathing space during which they would sort out their respective lives. It was during this time that the two got busy with their own choices and lost touch with each other. A year later, Kajal took up a course in design and Mohit got accepted to an animation program in Chicago. The separation seemed to have made them into stronger individuals who begun to take their lives and their future seriously. But the gap had been long and their lives had taken completely different directions. In no time, their relationship became just another little story in the many chapters of history that were a part of this great city.
It was partly the reason why Mohit had not returned to Bombay for so many years: every place he went to reminded him of the past and so many memories, both pleasant and unpleasant, would come rushing back to him. This despite the fact that the city of his childhood and youth remained a far thought of safety, comfort and warmth. In a sense, he had still not fully reconciled to the parting in a complete way. He still needed closure. After the terror on 26/11, for some odd reason, he could hold himself back no longer. He needed to go back and revisit his past in the city he loved so much but had been avoiding for so many years. He needed to know how resiliently his beloved city had coped with the wounds of its own devastation. Moreover, like him, it had changed and with time, it too had healed.
It all made sense to Mohit now, and overwhelmed with emotion, he realized he had lost track of time. Jasbir had to almost nudge him. “Sir, the airport has come.” Mohit got his bags out of the vehicle, thanked Jasbir for everything and tipped him generously. Jasbir was delighted and waved out to him saying, “Come again soon!” And this time, Mohit knew he would. On the flight back to California, Mohit looked outside his seat window. With a heart that was heavy no longer, he looked down as he flew above the gleaming Queen’s Necklace along Marine Drive and wondered just what had taken him so long to make this trip.
Ever been to the place where scraps of paper remind you of giggles in a world long ago? Where dreams never fail you in nights of no sleep, where the breeze brings back memories of yesterday and the smell of rain: instant flashes of days when you jumped in puddles and never stopped smiling. Visions of laughing faces of this very rain, now moist with the afternoon drizzle. The moon is now a pale white against a spotlessly black sky. And gradually the sky is fading into an orange twilight.
The puddles reflect the clouds and a tinkle of laughter is heard somewhere in the distance. Somewhere on a deep, dark night, where the only sound heard is the gentle splash of someone's slippers against the puddles outside the window, held together is an irrepressible dream to fast forward into the future, ironically borne out of an undercurrent to cease the present moment forever.
I used to be a part of these same long-winding drives on faraway roads; I remember the feeling of awkwardness - the attempt of putting one's best foot forward, when the smallest of details seemed most important. It's shimmering mist… from ashes to ashes and dust to dust. I laugh at the thought of it, the thought meaningless like mist itself. To every desert there is an oasis and to every wound that is deep, there is time that heals.
They say everything happens for a reason. But sometimes when the magnanimity of just one moment leaves you cold, it pales everything else in comparison and you begin to wonder if life is indeed a combination of many such mind-blowing yet fleeting memories put together. Hence, you look for a fresh memory in order to finally move on.
But then you have to wait for time to take its toll, to cast its spell, to harmonize and clean up its own mess. And what for these intervening gaps, these lulls that barely matter – interspersed as they are before the next storm of intensity strikes and gradually disembarks into the soul, engulfing you from within? What of all the insecurities that remain unaddressed, staring at you starkly in the face like fears waiting to be resolved? What of all the joys lost in a maze of confusion not cleared? Are these spaces mere reminders, simply agents to help you cherish, to savor and perhaps, to finally forget this single soul-stirring event before you can prepare for the onset of another similar rush to set in? Is the shade of each separate emotion like the changing seasons – complete with its varied hues and colors?
But the tides of yesterday have already washed away to avenues of newer tomorrows. The faces are all unknown now. Yet, I can sense the bounce in every step; I recognize the silences between the chirping of birds and this landscape seems to remember me too. A huge expanse of unexplored mystique waits to be uncovered, holding on for me to plunge into it. I have nothing to fear but fear itself. And what would you do if you weren't afraid?
It was time to land.
Mohit sat up suddenly, marveling at how he had managed to sleep through the long flight back - something he had never done before. He never slept more than an hour at a stretch on flights in general! ‘Just as well,’ he thought to himself, feeling very pleased. He thought about his beautiful wife whom he would be meeting a few minutes from now and of how she would sport the floral dress he had bought for her so lovingly, as they went out for dinner later.
NEHA KIRPAL is has been working in the Indian media for the past four years. As a reporter and correspondent at New Delhi Television (NDTV) as well as the Times of India, she has also worked as a content writer in the Times Group’s online division. The common tread in each of these has of course been her primary passion, writing. Neha began writing at a young age and wrote her first poem when she was just 7. She has also done a lot of freelance writing ever since. Having studied Broadcast Journalism from the Indian Institute of Mass Communication (IIMC), she also has a Bachelor’s degree in Economics from St Stephen’s College. Neha went to boarding school in Dehradun as a child and has lived in several cities in India. She has also had the chance to travel to many different countries in the world. Apart from these, her other interests include watching films and listening to music.
