Good Morning TFI Kindness! Thats the thing. Small innocuous acts of kindness that most of us perform from time to time. A strangers smile can make a new city feel more like home, the warmth of a childs touch can make the scars of the days drudgery melt away and who knows, a few minutes of listening to the gripes of the woman sitting next to you in the local train could make her feel less crappy about her life! Particularly in a large city like Mumbai with its teeming, faceless multitudes, a kind word and a smile goes a long way, possibly because it comes where it is least expected! I was lucky to be at the receiving end of such a benediction while I was working in Mumbai. I was a fresh graduate just out of a media school and had recently moved to Mumbai, working with a television production house. I was a small town girl from Goa, and while the two years I spent in Pune pursuing my masters had given me a heady taste of freedom, they had not prepared me for life as a single working woman in a city like Mumbai. Like so many twenty somethings in Mumbai, I too was leading the paying guest existence, commuting by public transport and cooking pitiful meals of rice and daal. The hours were long, the money was short and the jagged edges of the city rubbed my soul raw every day! Travel by local trains was an experience I found especially painful. I was not used to the crowds, the jostling, the unabashed staring, the squalor and the noise. The journey back from work was particularly painful. I finished my work by eight and by the time I reached Andheri station from my office in Oshiwara, it was almost eight thirty. The thought of going back to my lonely little PG dig was depressing. I was new to the city and missed my family and my friends with an ache that was almost physical. My colleagues at work were used to the glamour and glitz of the industry while I was still in the process of stripping myself bare of the unflattering layers of my small town life. All my festering unhappiness floated to the surface in toxic, frothing bubbles on my train journey home. As I took the Andheri - Churchgate slow local till Dadar, I would find myself a window seat, preferably on the last bench. I would huddle in my dark corner, staring fixedly out of the window, my eyes would be brimming with hot salty tears as tidal wave after wave of self-pity and loneliness engulfed me. I rarely glanced at my fellow passengers, lost as I was in my depressing thoughts. Beta, itni dukhi kyon ho tum? I heard someone ask me one day as I was lost in my thoughts. I could feel the warmth of a consoling hand on my shoulders. I turned around to look at the lady who was asking me the question. She was an elderly Gujarati woman, perhaps in her sixties, ample in her proportions and with a round, fleshy face that was illuminated with kindness. I did not reply, merely wiped my tears and tried to smile at her. She nodded at me, and said, Chinta mat karo, itni chotisi toh umar hai tumhari. Bas thoda sabar Karna seekho. I have no idea why, but her words made the clouds disappear from my heart. Perhaps because I had not expected the wisdom, perhaps because that was the first time the city of Mumbai made me feel like I was one of her own. But it was a turning point for me in my hesitant relationship with Mumbai. She got off at Santacruz, but not before she had offered me vast quantities of Farsan and home made fluffy dhokla to eat. By the time I reached home, my stomach did not feel the hunger and my heart did not feel the emptiness. I went on to stay in Mumbai for four years, my dislike for the city gradually morphing into tolerance and the tolerance slowly growing into a kind of reluctant love. A couple of years later, I was commuting to work one morning. I had switched to buses as I loved the freedom and space offered by the upper deck of a double-decker bus. I was enjoying my view of Mumbai city when I felt a young man easing into the seat next to me. He too seemed to be in his early twenties, dressed in his best formals, shoes shining like mirrors. He was clutching a thick file and kept opening it every five minutes. I could not help but notice that the file had various diplomas, certificates and the copy of a resume. It was obvious that he was headed for a job interview somewhere. I could feel his nervousness increase with every passing minute, he kept tapping his foot restlessly, glanced at his watch every few minutes and rifled through his papers every now and then. My stop had arrived by this time. As I got up from the seat and made my slow swaying progress to the door, on an impulse, I held out my hand to the man and whispered, all the best, I am sure you will get the job. He appeared stunned as he shook my hand. I got off the bus and forgot all about the incident. About a couple of weeks later, I was taking the same bus to work, when I saw a young man making his way through the crowds towards me. It was the same man I had wished. He had a big smile on his face. He came up to me and said, I got the job, thanks. My interview went off very well.’ He then went on to tell me how nervous he was feeling that day as he was new to the city and a lot depended upon his getting this job. Your words were like a good omen. I felt a lot less nervous after that. He said. I remembered my Gujarati friend. That is exactly how she had made me feel with her kind words. The Karmic wheel had come full circle! © Shefali Vaidya
Posted on: Thu, 12 Jun 2014 03:33:14 +0000
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