Rise And Shine, Mumbai Curled up cozily, but slightly awake like a purring cat, she rolled over in bed several times. Some people who believe that nightlife is the highlight were the reason for her being half awake. Dogs barking and howling in unison competing with that of a farther territory relatives made her lose the tight sleep of hers. She almost woke up twice (or thrice) when the guardians of the city patrolled the streets in their sweaty khakis or when the second shift rickshaw-walas hit the night-joints at Vakola, Kalanagar and Kurla et cetera to satiate their hour-long-hungry appetites. In a few hours she would be so lit up, fast and active that if Pegasus had not been a part of Greek mythology and had lived hitherto in the present world, it would have died of envy. First alarm rang up and so rang the horns of the first Local Trains. Out of the car-sheds from their starting stations at extreme ends whereas some from junctions, trains started limbering up. Middle-aged, junk-coloured Harbour and Central line engines yawned while a little younger, cocky Western Line engines flaunted their blaring horns. A little irritated she put it all on snooze and tried to doze off again but her responsibilities woke her up before the second alarm could ring. Newspapers went to the distributers at the local stations for hawkers and retailers to collect. Amidst the thudding of trains, clinking of tea (cut-chai) glasses and partially cooked up fables of retailers lay the huge wads of dailies piled up and excited to reach every citizen’s doorstep. Headlines stated something about greedy politicians, economy crash and lip-smacking glamour scoops. Words and information in Hindi, Marathi, English and other regional languages ready to accompany breakfast at the table, tea at the stalls and leap towards spectacled eyes: screamed and wept through these wads like new born babies waiting for their mother to carry them. Indeed, she will, she has woken up. Light has started to play hide and seek in the grey clouds with the diminishing stars. Although she woke up; the second alarm rang. Tiffin bags replaced the newspaper bundles in about an hour time. Dabbawalas carried the distinctly smelling Tiffin bags on their heads to the local train platforms and arranged them in front of their respective reserved luggage compartments. Flower retailer women in decent coloured Saris and Jasmine gajras started gathering at Dadar flower market. They are here to get the dispatch of their stocks of flowers. This place, which a few hours ago was a desolate dormitory for the homeless, looks like an artificial garden except the flowers bunched into bamboo baskets rather than clung to the plants. It seems she has taken a royal bath in perfumed oils and rose petals. Marigolds and Roses would have temple-goers as potential buyers, while the rare Orchids and Lilies would be bought by youngsters to impress their lovers and better halves. Market is set and Sun is rising. Suburbs are in a rush while the Town runs in elegance. All the Parsee restaurants have opened up with people gobbling up their favorite kind of omelets, flushing them down with their favorite kind of beverages. She feeds her citizens well as ever. Crawford Market is swarming with goods trucks and circles are teeming with pigeons. Pompous waves waxing to highlight themselves in the rising Sun are unknowingly highlighting the sea. Mild inbound traffic has limited the stray dogs to roam on footpaths: working class got out of houses plumed in formals with one hand engaged carrying brief cases while other occupied with lunch boxes. Buskers on local trains and beggars on traffic signals have begun their shifts already. School buses are abuzz with thumping little boots and frolicking kindergarteners. Kids parted with their parents differently for their schools, some with no resistance while some with a noisy display- some with runny noses with a handkerchief safety-pinned to their shirts, some with a bright visible puff of snow on their faces. This rush will become a milk run for them for the next five decades with uniforms replaced by formals and parting wives or husbands in place of parents. Few hours down the line, the roads would be clogged with vehicles of myriad kinds and frustrated people, but she deals with all of them in apt manner daily. She deals with citizens nudging each other in Local trains and Best buses too. She feeds them, nurtures them, chides them, teaches them, shelters them and protects them. And she, unlike the other metropolitans of the world, sleeps to wake up and take care of her nineteen million citizens. She is like a doting mother; she is Mumbai.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Sep 2013 08:06:29 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015