Democracy & Mumbai: Work In Progress
Everyday Political Conversations that Bridge our Gaps
“Par bhaiya phir chunav ka kya matlab? (But Sir, then what was the point of the elections?) …” asked Sampriti, when she was abruptly interrupted by a call from Tanmay.
Sampriti wrapped up her conversation with her auto-rickshaw driver before answering the call, “Sorry bhaiya, mujhe yeh call lena hai. Aap please aage bridge ke neeche se left lena, Ghatkopar ki taraf. Thank you! (Sorry sir, I have to take this call. Please take the left towards Ghatkopar, under the bridge ahead, Thank you!)”
“Hello! I am on my way to see your parents… haan haan (yes yes), I have the parcel… I will give it to them… What’s up?”
“Hey! Thanks for visiting my parents, they are all alone there a…n…d th…e..y w…ou….ld”
“Hello, hello, Tanmay? I can’t hear you, your voice is breaking,” Sampriti shouted into her phone.
“Can you hear me better now?”
“Yes, better, what was it?’
“I don’t know, it’s the Auckland-Mumbai line that particularly seems to have a problem. Anyway, I was saying thank you for visiting my parents. I am sure they would love to have you over. And just one thing…” added Tanmay in an urging tone.
“What?!”
“Just that…you know how traditional they are…I mean you guys are on either ends of the political spectrum, but just…I mean, try not to get into a debate or something. Please!! They may not agree with your views, but they mean well… and please make sure you are respectful towards them. I request!!”
“Of course, I know that. Plus, when have I ever been disrespectful towards your parents? Chill…” quipped Sampriti when she heard the golden words from the auto-rickshaw driver, “Madam, I will have to stop here. Rasta bandh hai aage (the road is blocked ahead).” This was a cue for Sampriti to look up from her phone and face the real dusty world around her. The guy was right indeed, thus Sampriti quickly wound up her call with Tanmay, “Hey, listen I have to go. The main road connecting the Eastern Express Highway to Linking Road via Ghatkopar is shut down. There is a roadblock for the metro rail extension and a flyover, ughh… You don’t worry, bro! I will be respectful, but I cannot promise to stay away from political arguments. Okay, take care, bye!”
As she got off the auto-rickshaw and handed the money, the driver said to her, “Sarkar jiski bhi bane, par kaam jaldi khatam kare, humare liye toh wohi important hai (No matter which government comes into power, it is important to us that the work is completed fast).” Sampriti smiled, waved goodbye and started to head to her destination covering her face with a scarf.
As she trudged along the torn down road to meet Tanmay’s elderly parents, Sampriti could not help but wonder what plague had attacked Mumbai, — her beloved home of five years — that it now looked like its de-skinned skeleton.
She reminisced the walks down the Carter Road promenade (which is now ‘Crater’ Road), the smooth weekend drives on the Western Express Highway with Tanmay, the clear view of the sunset behind the Sea Link from her BKC office and the good Air Quality Index! Just then she tripped on a rock and twisted her ankle, snapping back into reality.
She realized those days were behind her, as she continued on her mission to dodge rocks, dust and pain to make it to the Patel’s. Tanmay and Sampriti met in her initial friendless days in Mumbai through common colleagues. Despite being opposites, their love for cinema and Mumbai helped them get along and led to their amusing friendship. While Sampriti is a Bengali sales professional from Kolkata working as senior manager at an MNC in Mumbai for five years, Tanmay is a Gujarati (Jain) academician from Mumbai pursuing a PhD in Auckland!
After walking for close to two kilometers with her injured right foot, she finally arrived at the apartment of the Patel’s. As Ravi, Tanmay’s father, opened the door to his first-floor highway-facing-shiny-new apartment, he rambled with a frown, “Itna late! (So late!) We have been waiting. Jyoti and I have to go to our yoga class in an hour. I tried calling you, par tera phone bhi busy tha (but your phone was also busy).”
Startled at the welcome, Sampriti opened her shoes in the corridor, handed over the parcel and attempted to answer politely, “Hello Uncle, I am so sorry, I was talking to Tanmay actually. The road outside is completely dug up, I had to brave the rocks for thirty minutes to get here in one piece.”
“Thank you! Oh haan, main batana bhul gaya (Oh yes, I forgot to inform you). There is so much work to be done in the city and despite that four political parties are fighting over which one of them is better to come to power in Maharashtra. We had a government as per the papers this morning but as per the television we may not have it anymore. Anyway, now that you are here Jyoti has made some chaas (buttermilk), matke mein rakha hai table par, pi lo (It is in the earthen pot on the table, drink up),” said Ravi while locking the door.
“Haan fatafat pi lo, main ek minute me ayi (Yes, drink it up quickly, I will be out in a minute),” Jyoti shouted out from their open kitchen.
“But Uncle, Aunty I don’t drink chaas (buttermilk). I have told you several times that I am lactose intolerant” insisted Sampriti.
“Par beta, dairy sehat ke liye achha hai aur khas tumare liye banaya hai (But beta, dairy is good for health and I have especially made it for you). Plus we do not believe in the culture of storing stale food in the fridge. Ab jaldi jaldi khatam karo (Now, have it, quick!). Come sit at the table and eat these theplas (flavored flat bread) as well,” explained Jyoti walking out with a steel plate full of fresh theplas and a big smile on her face.
Sampriti was almost at her wits end as Tanmay’s request to be respectful kept ringing in her ears, “Thank you so much aunty for all this, but I have to eat dinner with my cousin in Bandra in a few hours. I will definitely have a little — ” Sampriti attempted to argue gently, but was readily interrupted.
“It’s already 5:30 pm, tu sunset ke baad dinner karegi! (you will eat dinner after sunset!) Bilkul nahi, kya maine pehle nahi bataya tujhe? (Absolutely not, haven’t I warned you before?) Chal, ab bahane band kar (Stop your tantrums now) and eat this, it’s healthy,” exclaimed Jyoti. As Sampriti settled down to obey the orders she thought in her head, I don’t even like theplas, but it’s so sweet of her to have prepared all this, how do I say no.
Right at that moment Ravi sank into their L-shaped couch with his glass of chaas, switched on their giant LED television and tuned in to Zee News to get an update on what was going on with Maharashtra’s power crisis (em…circus). As Ravi raised the volume of the television to find who was likely to form the 2019 state government, Sampriti’s big Bengali eyes widened and her liberal ears stood up. It is needless to say it was the first time she was watching Zee News live and not on a Facebook meme.
“This is such a circus. They are all good for nothing. We had a stable government, now there is none because they can’t decide,” proclaimed Ravi angrily.
“Haan, akhir mein aam admi ko kya pharak parta hai? (how does it really matter to the common man ultimately?) I am telling you it’s just their greed for power. Our lives are and will be the same no matter what,” added Jyoti in agitation as she dipped her thepla in a cup of tea while settling down on the couch.
“Well, I agree that this is a major power struggle playing out in public. But it does matter to us. Doesn’t it? Aren’t we beneficiaries of the government that we elect. Plus, we all voted for someone, they can’t be all equally bad. Other than those who chose NOTA of course,” argued Sampriti with her unpopular opinion.
“Haan (Yes), we voted but dekho kya hua (see what happened after). No one has majority and they all want to be in power at the same time. How will this work out? A majoritarian government can at least be trusted as they will have the power to make concrete changes for the state’s development just like our central government,” countered Ravi.
“You are absolutely right; the vote has indeed led to a more confusing time for us. However, it is important to note what it means — it means that people are divided in their choice and not everyone is ready to put all their hopes in one basket. It could also mean that being in a coalition would ensure more accountability and a stronger opposition. I think it’s an angle worth thinking about,” Sampriti answered after gulping down a thepla with a glass of water.
“The three parties who are fighting the defending champions have all been in power in the past. Unhone sirf paisa luta aur apna mahal banaya. (All they did was plundered money and build their own villas). How do we trust such corrupt people? On the other hand, the party who ruled us until now, is also in power at the center. They are completely transparent and free of corruption”, claimed Jyoti jumping back in, keeping her tea cup on the center table, as Ravi nodded in agreement.
“Aunty I cannot agree more on the rampant corruption that has prevailed in this state. You have lived here all your life and have certainly witnessed it over the decades. But unfortunately, we as a people also accept corrupt representatives and actively vote for them while cribbing in our living rooms. As long as that continues to be our reality, we will have to smell the coffee and make do with combinations that are best suited to the need of the hour. As far as transparency goes, there are pending cases against them ALL.
“Haan (yes), but — ,” Jyoti tried to chip in.
“Plus, how can you forget the dark days that befell upon the nation for demonetization and the ill-timed unstructured implementation of GST. Aunty you and I have been working with large and small businesses in our day jobs since then, and Uncle you were with the bank until recently. I shouldn’t have to explain the horrors that continue to haunt our economy to you at least! While we definitely look forward to that morning when all our politicians are clean, we have to take what we get at least this time as the votes are locked…”
“…hmm woh sab thik hai, par safety ka kya? (All that is fine, but what about safety?) You cannot deny that this government protects us against anti-nationals,” countered Jyoti, interrupting Sampriti
“Aunty, which anti-nationals? Unarmed university students and online dissenters? Do we really need protection against such deemed “anti nationals” in this country? I don’t feel safe walking out of this building into multiple trenches without streetlights, and you think we need to be saved from students… Anyway, safety and anti-nationals are a whole new topic for another day. At the moment Maharashtra is without leadership, that’s alarming and like uncle mentioned what does that mean for its development?” replied Sampriti to get the conversation back on track.
“Yes, beta I understand where you are coming from, but we also speak from experience. We have both been taking the train everyday twenty kilometre one way for over thirty years now. Kya badla hai? (What has changed?) Nothing. At least this government started the additional metro line project and is building so many bridges. If they don’t come back, how will any of this see the light of day?” Ravi argued very convincingly.
“Uncle point taken. It is Mumbaikars like you who have seen the city being built and torn down block by block year after year. I cannot argue with you on that. Your authentic experience definitely holds more value than that of any politicians or relatively new residents like me,” acknowledged Sampriti.
“Exactly, see that’s what I mean,” clapped Ravi as he leaned back on the couch.
“Hmm, but Uncle… don’t you think starting major infrastructure projects initiated towards the end of a term is also a strategic move to seek re-election?” Sampriti risked thinking out loud.
“Kya matlab?” (“What do you mean?”) questioned Ravi with an inquisitive frown as Jyoti listened completely baffled.
“I mean while I am sure there are multiple administrative explanations to why and when construction work for any project begins, however, it does seem a little orchestrated when multiple major projects are started towards the end of a tenure and work is halted for months before two important consecutive elections… both Lok Sabha and the Legislative Assembly coming up, hai na? Doesn’t it seem like a scheme to get votes for the next term?”
“Hmm…” sighed Ravi.
Jyoti began speaking in a dismissive tone, “But that is just an assumption — ” when Ravi interrupted, “No, she does seem to have a point. While I do not completely buy into it, yet I certainly don’t mind looking into it.”
“Thank you Uncle…and that’s a start!” chirped Sampriti, “May I ask you if you just watch Zee News or some other news channels as well?”
“We also watch Aaj Tak, that is the best news channel in India,” smirked Jyoti.
Sampriti politely enquired, “How about NDTV India? That’s also a Hindi news channel, I read that their leading journalist got the Magsaysay Award for journalism recently. I have heard its very good.”
“I don’t think we watch it…Jyoti, tujhe Dish TV pe channel number pata hai kya? (Jyoti, do you know the channel number on Dish TV)” asked Ravi, when Jyoti quickly reminded him, “Arey, we have watched it before, remember that channel we watched when Tanmay sent us an YouTube video? It was a debate but neither did they have any representatives from ruling party nor from all religions and the man in a suit gave a long preachy one-sided monologue?”
“Ohhhh! Is it the channel that made fun of the Prime Minister’s harmless interview with that film-star? Woh jo aam ke upar banaya tha (That whole thing on mangoes), which we watched on the family Whatsapp group? Are you talking about the same channel Sampriti?”
“Haanji (Oh yes, I am). But you seem to have been exposed to the channel already. Actually, I had heard they do a lot of features on real issues such as unemployment, health, education etc. so I thought of recommending,” Sampriti quipped with a smirk.
“Ah okay!” said Jyoti, while getting up to clear the utensils.
“Chaliye (Alright then), I’ll make a move. I will not bore you anymore and hold you back from yoga class! I hope you like the gifts Tanmay has sent. There is a little something from me as well in there! Goodbye!” Sampriti wrapped up as she got up and walked towards the door.
“Goodbye beta! It was lovely meeting you. Dinner pe ao kabhi (come for dinner sometime) and stay over? With Tanmay gone, it feels good when you drop by!” Ravi exclaimed.
“Absolutely!.. actually you know what? Uncle, Aunty, I am free next Saturday. Do you mind if I come for dinner then?”
“Haan! (Yes!) of course please do!” said Jyoti smiling ear to ear.
“Excellent! In that case I have a plan. Since all three of us swear by good old business transactions, how about after dinner on Saturday night we watch all the news channels the three of us like and engage in a discussion about what we learnt and liked about each? Are you up for it?” proposed Sampriti.
“Hahahaha! Okay that sounds like an interesting deal. We haven’t done it before but what’s the harm in trying for a day!” Ravi said accepting the proposal.
“Perfect! it’s a date then, I will be here Saturday night…oops! Saturday evening for dinner, before sunset. See aunty, I remember, not so bad after all!” quipped Sampriti as she put on her shoes.
They all laughed and bid adieu as Sampriti took the lift downstairs.
Once Sampriti managed her way out onto the highway and convinced an auto-rickshaw driver that it is indeed a profitable proposition to give her a ride till Bandra, she sat back and texted Tanmay to check if he was still awake. He called back immediately and asked, “Hello! So how was it?”
“Hey, you are up!”
“I hope there was no fight?”
“Guess what, none whatsoever! We had a civil discussion on one topic only… Okay, yes it was politics… You know me, it is too tempting not to discuss it in such dramatic times. But I am happy to report that we listened to each other this time and at least considered our arguments. Can you imagine, I discussed politics with your folks and yet no fireworks!” gushed Sampriti, “Plus I scored another date with them. I will be back next weekend!”
Tanmay was perplexed, “Well that’s new. I don’t know if you are being sarcastic or this is all true. If it is, then hurrah buddy! That’s quite a progress.”
“Of course, it is all true… you can cross check with them,”
“Anyway, its bedtime for me now, thanks for agreeing to meet my parents again and engaging in patient discussions with them. I tend to lose my cool, as you know, and give up quick. Good night buddy, talk later” concluded Tanmay.
“Anytime… Good night!” Sampriti hung up with a toothy grin.
Just as is customary with Sampriti, she then began talking with her auto-rickshaw driver, and no prize for guessing what the topic was. She knew it in her heart that none of these conversations would change their vote. She believed that though we conform to concrete bricks of identity, yet in our hearts we are like ice cubes. As long as we walk into conversations as ice cubes, willing to melt and re-shape our ideas and opinions in various forms and sizes — even when the temperature rises and falls — there is still hope.
Thus, just like the “work in progress” signs in Mumbai, Sampriti was happy to partake in India’s work in progress Democracy with her work in progress deliberation skills, one day and one person at a time, for the long run.
About the Story
The News gives us our daily dose of politics in public life which enters our private lives through humble living room conversations. While the media brilliantly attributes identity tags to highlight our similarities and differences, it is we the citizens who embrace these labels. Thus, continuously shaping identities of everyone, including ourselves, in our minds. Even in 2020, we think of these identity labels as opaque concrete bricks. However, if we dedicate our time to reason and indulge in peaceful open-minded conversations with one and all — old, young, CEOs, taxi drivers, liberals, right-wingers — we will notice that the identity labels are more like ice cubes. Ice cubes that can be melted and refrozen in different shapes and sizes. These ever-evolving ice-cubes are a positive steppingstone to grow as society with our work in progress democracy.
This tale is set in a politically confused Mumbai (post Maharashtra Legislative Assembly Elections) of November 2019, when four political parties played every possible game to forge alliances to assume power. The story follows Sampriti — a liberal Mumbaikar of five years, in one of her everyday political conversions with her friend Tanmay’s traditional parents — Ravi and Jyoti Patel. They are retired government employees, leaning towards right-wing views. The story unravels a heated discussion among the trio — will there be fireworks?
About the Author
Sampurna is part time Indian writer, traveler and photographer who is enjoying her recent transition from being full time corporate to a Young India Fellow at Ashoka University.
