Where every postered wall psyched up ambition
Three days in Mumbai — The City of Dreams
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I check in at 8:30 AM. I’m hungry. I look for a place to eat, look this side of a main road and that, and an auto flies past carrying a woman who looks like an absolute showstopper lifestopper allstopper supermodel.
I was officially in Mumbai.
This is where Deepika Padikone struck out on her own, Amitabh Bacchan struck out on his own, ShahRukh Khan struck out on his own, Piyush Pandey grew and wrote and sent waves with his commercials on his own.
Mumbai.
I dug up everything culture told me about Mumbai.
This is where people come to make something of themselves against persuasion and doomsaying from parents and their like-minded. Life is hard here. Those who make it make it big. Those who don’t, watch the innings live and sleep by the doorway to the Mumbai Hall of Fame.
If everything goes wrong, and I have to strike out on my own, can I “survive” in Mumbai?
I found a busy tea and chat stall this early in the morning for breakfast. Poha was selling hot. I ate a small plate. Good. Upma was selling hot. I ate a small plate. Good. ‘Aur kya hai bhaiya?’ ‘Idli’ Small plate. Good.
Poha Rs. 15, Upma Rs. 15, Idli Rs.10.
I can survive in Mumbai.
I headed back to the Airbnb I had booked. (Very grateful to Abhishek Sharma I considered the option) I asked the host for an iron for my clothes. She was very helpful and gracious during my stay.
Even otherwise, Vignesh Swaminathan was kind to ask me to come crash at his place should accommodation not work out. It brings a relief when you know you can call someone up and say, ‘Hey, I’m in trouble. Can you come get me?’ when you’re completely new to the city, so I made it a point to meet-up with him before I left home.
To the promise in the bungalows, wall posters, and monuments of Mumbai and how they bring a sudden even if short-lived intensity to dream and take a chance and hope, I am quite thankful. The trip was a privilege.