YEH HAI BAMBAI MERI JAAN

Have patience; the city will grow on you, I was told. It’s almost three months since we moved to the city from Hyderabad. I’m still waiting.
The first thing that hits you about the city is its distinct smell. There’s definitely something “fishy” about it. As soon as we moved into our house in Badhwar Park, Cuffe Parade, my husband and I traced the stench around the house and looked for a dead rat. There was none. I spent the next few minutes vigorously brushing my dog. The stench still persisted. We soon realized that the malodorous culprit was nowhere within bounds but seeped in the very air. Since we could not brush up Nature or embark on a sniffing spree, we gave up. And then, in a few days we found that the stench had disappeared. Or had our olfactory nerves been toughened?
Our next challenge was Space. I speak not of the cosmos or the universe but of the limitations of living right here on earth. That of course I blame entirely on the Railways- for spoiling us with Bungalows that have so much legroom that sometimes there is a room for every leg in the house. Naturally after that any apartment anywhere would feel ‘flat’. But we overcame that too, after scrutinising the double-storied slums of the overpopulated, space constricted Mumbai. In fact now our three-bedroom flat in posh Colaba feels like a luxury. And with a view of the sea that many consider ‘awfully scenic’ it is an extravagance. That after the Tsunami, a sea view sometimes feels cynically ‘awe’full, is a different thing altogether.
And just as one had begun to warm up to the city’s many advantages- like driving down Marine Drive or taking a walk in Colaba woods or getting seeped in its art and culture, a cloud suddenly decides to burst itself right above the city. It scares the hell out of us non-Mumbaites. Even the Mumbaites are befuddled. The rain Gods are angry. The train tracks go awry. The tides rise. The city sighs. In a hundred years not even Cherapunji has seen so much saturation.

As the normal monsoons continue, every black fabric inside the almirah turns white with mildew. The dals change colour faster than a chameleon. Forget about leather, there is mould even on gold. My spick and span Golden retriever now retrieves fleas from the environs. One day I was shocked to find fungus forming on the buttons of the remote control. It was now time to panic!

Can I now risk sitting at one place for longer than a minute? I doubt. So I go about my chores stoically, always flitting from place to place. Meanwhile, I wait for the city to finally grow on me. Before something else starts to grow! All the time, though, there is a song on my lips - a golden oldie that I adore: ‘Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahaan/ Zara hatke, zara bachke/ Yeh hai Bambai meri jaan’.

Nargis Natarajan