City of dreams

Bombay - correction -Mumbai. Have been reading about it these days - piecemeal - at a leisurely pace. I never came across a more layered city than this one. It might take a lifetime to uncover the various faces of Mumbai - dirty secrets - star dust - glamour and glitz - mind boggling riches - mind numbing poverty - the ignored underworld - the pseudo-stylish bhais - the corrupt politicians - the slums and the chawls - Bollywood and the actors. Perhaps the only city, where the most beautiful dreams exist in such extreme proximity to stark - bare - ugly realities.

Suketu Mehta, in his book "Maximum City", has painted Mumbai with such myriad colours that it all overwhelmed me initially. But as I progressed through the pages - I began to see Mumbai through his eyes. Mumbai - the city of the Taj Hotel - the city of Gateway of India - the city of Wankhede Stadium - the city of Dharavi slums - the city of the high-rises of Malabar Hills - the city of Dawood Ibrahim - the city of Thackeray - the city of vada-pav - the city of Dalal Street - the city of Bollywood - the city of dreams. At times - I had tears in my eyes - times when I was aghast at the audacity with which he spoke of certain sects and individuals - he came across as too blatant at times - but I was laughing with him when he made a passing sarcastic remark about something or someone - felt his pain when he missed the Bombay (not Mumbai) that he grew up with. The book spoke to me - about Mumbai and the burden of millions of shattered and fulfilled dreams that the city carried. He made me long to know Mumbai a little more better.

From the countless anecdotes, experiences and meetings he recounts with varied contrasting characters all across Mumbai, he - at times - eloquently and at times - crassly brings out the hidden truths and blatant rumours about Mumbai. Be it the Demolition Man - Honey - Mona Lisa - Sunil - Girish - Chhota Shakeel - Bala Saheb - Vidhu Vinod Chopra - Ajay Lal - everyone carries a little bit of Mumbai in their heart. They sometimes curse it - sometimes sing praises of the city - but they are addicted to it - every bit of it - the rich to their single malt whisky evenings on the high-rise balconies - the poor to their dirty and stinking chawls and shanties.

I might never get to experience Mumbai up, close and personal - but after having read Suketu's book, I can say for sure that am now a pseudo-Mumbaikar - a little bit of Mumbai goes with me now - wherever I go.