Thursday,
10 December 2015
Arriving
in Bombay was a bit of a disappointment. Aesthetically, the airport has been
vastly improved, but come to the immigration hall, and there were only about a
third of the booths occupied by officers, and the queues were simply chaotic.
People going under barriers to get ahead, or simply walking past the queue and protests
with a smugness writ large on their faces were annoying and disheartening. And,
of course, the legend of the giant toilet bowl – one is treated to the aromatic
treat of ammonia as soon as one lands in Bombay – continues! I had lived here
long enough to know, and have visited a number of times since I first left for
the Netherlands to experience a reverse shock. So I will write about the
constant honking, visible plumes of smoke and soot, slums et al.
In the
midst of it all, Tim, Fabian and I decided to go for a walk in the
neighbourhood, but ended up walking more. We walked to my school, college, and
some other places where I spent a lot of time in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
Not all was the same, but even where the places looked different, the heat, the
dust, and the smells took me back to when, for some seemingly inexplicable
reason, I loved the searing summer heat. But it was not inexplicable anymore:
Many a summer day have I wandered
here,
In sweat and grime under a
tormenting sun,
Down these lanes, lined with
large leafy trees.
Their ample shade brought hitherto
untold joy,
So much, that I have nothing but
gratitude
For the tormentor, my saviour’s
father and ecstasy.
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