India - Mumbai stops in its tracks

KANKANA BASU


The fear of violence erupting suddenly as it did recently has scarred the collective psyche of Mumbaikers.



The only beacon of light to emerge from this gray smog of hate and confusion is the attitude of Mumbai’s youngsters.

The last of the fireworks died down as the recent spate of festivities grinding to a pause but the prevalent mood in Mumbai continues to be sombre.

The warmth, camaraderie and tolerance that distinguished the city now seem to be things of the past. All across the city is a palpable feeling of uneasiness and apprehension.

Kissen Sharma, a 47-year-old carpenter from Bihar, sits on a charpai outside his one-room hutment abode in Jogeshwari, nursing a shattered arm. A short distance away sits his nephew, gazing vacantly into space.

The day the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena disrupted the city will remain etched in their minds. The duo was on their way back home when they were accosted by a mob. Manhandled, kicked and shoved around, Kissen lost his balance and fell, splintering his left forearm. Writhing in pain, he could only watch helplessly as his nephew was beaten up and his carpentry tools tossed into a nearby gutter.

Kissen’s hopes of making a quick trip to his hometown for the Chhat puja have come crashing down as have his professional commitments. His medical bills, on the other hand, continue to rise steadily. His nephew sits in a state of shock, unable to comprehend recent events.

Changing attitudes

“When I shifted to Mumbai seven years back, the first thing that struck me was the non-judgmental live-and-let-live quality. You could be funky, outrageous, unconventional and super successful without guilt. But now…” 26-year-old advertising professional Prerna Misra is at a loss for words.

Ruma Mukhopadhyay (name changed), Copy Editor, newswire 18, shudders as she recalls, “I was sitting in a popular fast food joint with a group of friends when this hoodlum swaggered in. On being told that they were full up, the man created a scene. ‘Dekhli (saw that)?’ muttered my friend in Bengali at which the man swung around, came to our table and slammed his fist into my friend’s face. ‘Never pass on a comment on a local man’ was his parting shot.”

The fear of violence erupting suddenly without any warning (as it did recently) has scarred the collective psyche of Mumbaikers. Night life, one of the highlights and a tribute to the safe conditions in the city, has taken a major beating. There is a tendency to glance over one’s shoulder and panic at the sight of a boisterous group of people; non-Maharashtrians are uneasy about visiting predominantly Maharashtrian areas without an escort for moral support.

Wendy D’Cruz, a suburban housewife married to a marine engineer and a single parent for a major part of the year, would step out frequently for a late night coffee or ice-cream. But now “I prefer to be safe indoors with the television, magazines and my two teenaged sons for company,” says Wendy.

City psychologists suddenly have their hands full with paranoid patients clamouring for attention. “The flash violence and, subsequently, the horrific images beamed on television have created deep and long-lasting psychological disturbances. To remedy this, they should try and superimpose the good memories of the city over the ghastly images seen recently. But, of course, that is easier said than done,” admits psychologist and counsellor Malini Shah ruefully.

Students in trouble

Among the worst hit is the student community, most of whom travel to school/college by public transport.

“For those preparing for competitive exams, attending coaching classes is of vital importance. But when trouble erupts unheralded, we have to skip classes. We are also deeply worried that the city should stay calm during the board exams or else our time table will be thrown badly out of gear,” says Manveer Singh Gupta, a std. XII student of R. N Podar School, Santa Cruz.

Parents are also a worried lot. “These MNS miscreants are utterly vicious. Our children sit at bus windows and stand at doorways of local trains. A single stone thrown in an irresponsible manner could prove life changing for a child. Besides the possibility of a bus or train being torched haunts our minds,” says Vrunda Krishnan.

Social networking, once an alive and kicking force, has taken a toss and there is a simmering current of restraint under the surface.

“As BPO employees, we were in the habit of taking midnight breaks to de-stress; a lot of irreverent Sardarji jokes were cracked, South Indian and babumoshai accents imitated and the Mumbaiyya lingo indulged in, all in good spirit. But we now prefer to be safe, politically correct and utterly boring in our conversation as there is no saying who might take offence at a harmless joke,” laments 26-year-old Yash Mathur.

Opinion (though rarely discussed loudly at road sides) stands divided. While some feel that Raj Thackeray is justified in standing up for the rights of the jobless Maharashtrian, others feel that there are jobs going a-begging in Mumbai and the only thing one needs is the willingness to work hard.

“The entire infrastructure of Mumbai is supported by people from North India” says Mumbai resident Parthapratim Chandra “If taxi drivers, milk delivery men, newspaper vendors, carpenters, auto-rickshaw drivers, coolies, sweepers and construction workers were to depart suddenly, where would that leave us?”

Subroto Chatterjee, an octogenarian living in Mumbai for more than four decades, has seen the city in all its colours and moods. He confesses to being absolutely astonished and disturbed at the recent spate of hate and violence in the city. “I grew up in Patna and all my good friends were local Biharis. I remember them as being a hot-headed lot who always chided me for being a ‘peace loving Bengali wimp.’ I’m amazed that, in spite of such atrocities being committed on their community, the Biharis in the city have kept their cool. If they decided to retaliate, they could have easily given the MNS goons a walloping that they would never have forgotten.”

But the retaliation policy finds few takers, most Mumbaikers being of the opinion that violence can only beget more violence.

Rajbali Pal, an auto-rickshaw driver from UP, cites his own case when an MNS activist muscled into his auto on the day of trouble and demanded to be taken to faraway Lokhandwala. Even though the roads were deserted, Pal drove along meekly, risking a possible lynching or stone throwing. On reaching his destination the man flung a Rs.10 note at Pal (though the fare was more than Rs. 50) and slunk away. Pal calmly pocketed the money, parked his auto in a safe lane and quietly waited for conditions to normalise before heading homewards.

“We survive on daily wages and lead a hand to mouth existence. Getting into a panga and landing one’s name in the police records could mean a lifetime of harassment. And let’s not forget that at the end of it all, the Maharashtrians are our hosts in this city and we are the guests.”

Repercussions

The feeling of phobia has permeated both sides of the fence and some auto drivers now sport a prominent smear of saffron on their foreheads in an effort to distinguish themselves as non-Biharis. The endearing term of address, “bhaiyyaji” of earlier days, has taken on sinister connotations.

Passengers prefer to bark out their destination, lean back, stare out of the windows and refrain from making small talk with the drivers.

Rajbali Pal confesses to doing a brief assessment of a person hailing his auto and if the prospective passenger looks remotely like trouble, he just drives on. Passengers, likewise, admit to doing a quick driver check before stepping into a cab or an auto. Ambiguous looks help in the current state of affairs.

A common thread of emotion running through most Mumbaikers is a general disillusionment with the way the police has handled the MNS matter. “Whether you are reported as a victim or an aggressor seems to depend entirely on the discretion of policeman in charge of the case. Mumbai’s policemen seem to be coming across as specialists in manipulation tactics rather than in maintaining law and order,” say most citizens cynically.

Bollywood, an industry with a multi-lingual fraternity, is also feeling the heat. A day’s closure of shooting could mean losses running into lakhs. “This city nearly killed me years back when I lay on the road with my legs crushed under a BEST bus. But at the same time it gave me a new lease of life in showbiz once I got my Jaipur legs,” says actor and well known danseuse Sudha Chandran “I’ve invested my time, money, emotions and energy in this city. My home, property, family, relationship with friends and colleagues, acting and dance careers continue to thrive here. Today they are turning on North Indians, tomorrow it could be the Gujaratis, the Sindhis and the South Indians in the line of fire. If we are turned out of this city, where do we go?”

Youth talk

Interestingly, the only beacon of light to emerge from this gray smog of hate and confusion is the attitude of Mumbai’s youngsters. A hybrid lot with one foot in one culture and another in a different set of traditions altogether, they are an opinionated and articulate generation.

“Raj Thackeray is a disgrace to the Marathi community. The sweeping generalisation doing the rounds of all Maharashtrians having the same ideology as him is totally unfair,” says 22year-old collegian Shubhangi Ghanekar heatedly.

“Ideology? What ideology?” her class mate Tushar Waghmare retorts “Raj Thackeray is least bothered about the plight of the average Maharashtrian. All he is interested in is stealing the thunder from the Shiv Sena and gathering prospective votes for the future. If he thinks the Marathi manoos is going to be taken in by such obvious antics, he is highly mistaken. ”

Mumbai’s youth stands firmly convinced that a bunch of misguided hoodlums can’t hold the city to ransom for long. In their heart of hearts they are sure that peace will prevail and this rocking cosmopolitan city will get its groove back very soon.