A Walk to Remember

Geetanjali
Sep 2, 2018 · 3 min read

Moving to Mumbai for my first job in a law firm was a decision that seemed to be fairly rooted in logic, after completing five years of law school. Five rigorous years, cemented by the holy trinity of internships, good grades and a thriving interest in the field of corporate law. Now, having lived across the country as an Army kid, I never thought that I would develop a strong dislike towards walking. You heard it right! I do not particularly like walking to places in Mumbai, especially to my workplace. For some reason, this walk seems to be less of an alternative to a mode of transport and more of a challenging and risky game.

For all the compliments that are bestowed upon Mumbai, with non-Mumbaikars making it aamchi the second they step inside a local train, this city functions on an unmatchable pace of its own. I acknowledge the undeniable truth that it is the city of dreams, the city that never sleeps, a place that is generous enough to give you opportunities to make it big, so on and so forth. Yet, when I walk to office every morning at 9 a.m., there is an overwhelming sense of workaholic rush that I just cannot seem to shrug off. I can never afford to walk at a leisurely pace, even if I wanted to. It’s a mad rush, a walk which turns out to be an interesting game (I guess?) to play, if you play by the rules!

With a laptop bag in one hand and an oversized umbrella in the other, I march two kilometres to office every morning, Monday to Friday. In my first week itself, I realised that I had to walk faster and take longer strides in order to keep up with the rest of my comrades, marching on the footpath. However, on certain days when the footpath is crawling with human beings, I walk beside the footpath, on the main road. For the first one kilometre, I end up working on my ninja skills, on an everyday basis. How so, you may ask. Well, over a period of two months, I have developed the ability to smoothly slide between two bikes, and protect my eye from being poked by every Mumbaikar’s favourite accessory, i.e., an umbrella. A walk on this path involves an extremely risky game played among (i) the other pedestrians, (ii) the two wheelers (who are ever ready to take their bikes to the footpath), and (iii) me.

When I reach the junction near the flyover, there is a beeline of men, mostly workers, who stare at everyone walking to their respective offices. It isn’t as if they are sipping on their morning cuppa, reading the newspaper and silently minding their own business. It almost seems like a fashion parade is at display, with unwilling participants who are cheered on by a very enthusiastic audience, albeit silently. Going a little ahead, I start walking on the footpath, finally feeling comfortable enough to walk where I am supposed to.

The next hurdle in the remaining one kilometre includes the cluster of electric wires decorated along the footpath, right next to Kamala Mills. To overcome this particular obstacle, you must bend your neck and not touch any wire, lest you wish to get electrocuted to death. Since these wires seem to be hanging literally everywhere, you have to be extremely conscious of this stretch, both on and off the ground. Once, I did the biggest mistake of texting someone while walking on this stretch and I felt one of the wires slightly brush across my neck. In that moment, I swear I almost froze to death. What if its ends were bursting with electric current? I breathed a sigh of relief and muttered a small prayer to the Almighty, before crossing the road to reach my office. (It might have been Goddess Saraswati of the Kamala Mills who saved my life, for all I know).

Geetanjali

Written by

Reality can be funny too, if one observes keenly.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade