Mumbai Nostalgia

Living away from home is quite a challenge. Firstly you have to forgo all the comforts, love and caring of home and secondly you are left to yourself to figure out how to take care of yourself. And this is the fact no matter what your age is. The same question might haunt a school kid sent to boarding school, a college lad put up in a hostel or a young man just starting to earn a living.

But no matter how big the challenge poses itself to be, you always find ways to deal with it. Maybe that's how you learn, adapt and evolve. I can't think of any better example to prove this point, than my younger cousin, who is now in "stage 2" of this living-away-from-home situation.

His studies took him to Chennai and then his job took him to Mumbai. Quite a lucky fellow, I would say. Living in these metros must have earned him pearls of wisdom on life, its intricacies, friends, their face value and real importance, trust, loyalty and some more quintessential ingredients to make for an evolving personality.

Mumbai is where he will start earning some serious money. Which almost immediately means no pocket money. So he'd have to earn and strive on his own. That he could save enough to give back home, would be a wonderful achievement and something to be really proud of. And with what he saves for himself, he is free to splurge and indulge in what I would call living "life" in Mumbai. Its quite a happening place which doesn't waste time enticing you with its charms and once you are under the spell, "Amchi Mumbai" will never let the intoxication wear away.

And so I called up the other night to have a chat and ask hows the new city treating him. He was pretty upbeat for that hour of the night. First symptom that the city-which-never-sleeps was having its effect on him already. I asked about his workplace, the commute, the hang out places in and around the suburb. All in all he seemed quite content in that part of the world. The happening city had not disappointed him and of course it welcomed him with open arms, which did away with the many apprehensions he carried with him the day he landed there. Two weeks on, he is already comfortable with long and swift walks, bustling crowd with people hanging out of local train compartments much like popcorn trying to stay inside the carton. He already knows the locations of the Baristas and the CCDs and the PVRs and the InOrbits of the area. He has already been to an IPL match, cheered and waved in the crowd and lived an experience of a lifetime. What more could one ask for?

All this got me nostalgic. Six years ago my job took me to Mumbai and this is how I see history repeating itself. The only thing is this young fella is doing it in style! I mean an IPL match!! Come on dude!!! I almost bragged about how much I know the city. I mean I haven't stayed for long so I have limited know how, which is now outdated by about four years. A real Mumbaikar would bring me to shame in terms of really knowing the city, but my brother need not know of this. For him I could be the "subject matter expert" on Mumbai, telling fascinating experiences and anecdotes from my stay there. I immediately got into this elder brother talk mode and started dispensing some serious advice. Advice filled with my memories of the place, my mostly good experiences ( as I don't want to scare him right away ), how to deal with difficult room mates et al. The more the memories flood in, the more profound my advices become. And best of all, they are free. I don't charge for them! I find it very euphoric, in a way, since I am reliving my days in Mumbai. They were simply amazing. Nothing compares.

And as I incessantly keep spilling these nuggets of wisdom for my brother to gather as many as possible, he pretends to listen intently, never once giving away the fact that he is dead bored of my anecdotes and cant wait to get off the phone. After all, life in Mumbai is worth living every minute of it! Why takes advance lessons when you will have more fun learning this things by yourselves. I am sure if 3G and video calls were a commonplace, he would still prefer a voice call, so that he can sound interested and not actually reveal the ordeal.

Jokes apart, here's wishing him the best life has to offer in a happening place like Mumbai. I lived there for two years and came back loving every bit of it. He may take his time to fall in love with the city but once he does, there is no escape from it. As Saint Enrique has said in his gospel "You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape my love". That's what Mumbai will call out to him and he better not try to escape. Just surrender to its charm. Life as he knows it, is about to change.

My reminiscent diary

I was cleaning my bookshelf the other day. The pile was just building up, begging me for a much pending clean up. As I started with dusting the shelves and removing the books, I reached to the farthest end and caught hold of something. Something I had kept there long back, well hidden from view. It was my personal diary.

Well, I started writing this diary when once I woke up in the middle of the night fearing that one day I might loose all the cherished memories of life unless I found a way to preserve them. I made it a habit to write the diary and it was my prized possession. I wrote a lot. A lot about childhood, friends, school, everything I was lucky enough to have. Episodes gradually moved to graduating from engineering to taking up the first job. Many names made their way into the diary. Names that meant the world to me. This was one place I could visit at will and relive all the good times I had experienced.

No sooner, one name started frequenting much more than others. Soon I was filling out pages, writing about how I met her, how I felt about her, things I liked about her. In more pages to follow, no names of my friends got a mention, no incidences about work made their way into the diary. It was just me and her. I was in love and the diary was my rendezvous with her. It was here that I had written many things even before telling her in person.

It had everything. The first poem I wrote for her, followed by many others over the time. Vivid memories of my first date with her. My anticipations, my inhibitions, my confrontations. Everything. I found it easy to write down the stuff to clear the clutter from my mind. I was thinking too much and too far. Could I help it? No. Did I like it? Yes.

And then one day, the writing just stopped. Last few pages being a painful saga of things not fallen into place. I found solace in writing it down. Trying to analyse what went wrong. Few questions were left unanswered. I let them be. Simply accepted the fact and moved on. Thinking that it would be as easy as it sounded. The writing stopped abruptly, never to be resumed again.

It was reminiscent of a many things as I laid my hands on that diary after so many years. I took the effort to read through it. Knowing it would be a mistake to do so, I still skimmed through. As I read through to the last page, I could see how things have changed over the years. The very first thing I realised was about the poems. Poetic talent sincerely eludes me now. I just don't get the meaning. Could I have been that "poetic" then? I read about things that I'd rarely do now. Could I have been that hopeless a romantic? I could not believe it was me writing these things few years back. 'Creativity is at its zenith when in love'. If what I read in an article long back were true then surely this diary was my creative best. All for someone who held a special place in my heart then. 

I cannot relate with anything of the sort now. All the creativity and emotions disappeared the day I stopped writing that diary. I swore never to write in it again. Things have changed. Hopefully for good. I don't long to go back to being how I was a few years back. Nor does it hurt not to have lived and fulfilled the things I wanted to do then.

A unfulfilled love, an incomplete diary, frail traces of a creative me...maybe these are some things I can live with. It just does not matter anymore. As for the said person in the diary, I hope she will be happy with whichever path she chooses to move on.

Time to put the diary back in its place. Have some cleaning to do.