Two weeks ago, I met a college friend from Goa at one of thecoffee shops in Mumbai. He was here to complete a couple of tests to make itfor his next voyage on time. “It’s been a day since I’m in Mumbai, and I’malready so bored. How do you survive here?” he asked me. Every friend from Goaasks me this same question. And I reply, “Stay here for a year, and you willfall in love with this city.” They think I’m crazy. I don’t explain because Iknow Goans in Mumbai will agree with me.
When I first came to Mumbai five years ago, I wanted to takethe next train and flee to Goa. The odour, traffic, crowded trains, the noiseand the fast pace “ It was all just too brisk and beyond my senses to catch upwith. But after a point, I guess we start liking this shift from slow to fast.At times, we’re so used to the fast pace that a slow train’s speed feels like acrawl when it’s actually not. It’s just not the train that skips stations or ifput the other way, it’s the train that halts at all stations. Let’s take eachsense at a time, and how it undergoes transformation.
The first sense to be alerted is your nose. Previously, whenI visited Mumbai, the moment my nose sensed a strong odour, I knew the trainhad entered the city. It was so strong that even clenching my nostrils with myfingers wouldn’t stop the smell from entering my nose. But today, I’m immune tothis same smell. I can pass a dustbin on the street without covering my nosewith a handkerchief or I just pause my breath for a moment and it’s gone.
Next on the alert areour eyes. After a point, my eyes started paying close attention to traffic jamsand people running helter-skelter. And it’s normal. The day you do not spot avehicle on the road or lesser than usual, you will wonder if you’ve stepped outof your house on the wrong day. Is it a holiday? Is it a bandh? Also, your eyeswill get used to distinguishing between economy cars and luxury cars. Numberplates are one thing I make a note of.
With all this comes noise. Earlier, this noise used to giverise to a base drum banging in my chest. It reminded me of pigs making noise ina trough. This noise was mainly of tardy trains helloing each other, taxisgreeting auto rickshaws, two-wheelers and four-wheelers wafting up or BESTbuses puttering noises of their own. And again, it doesn’t bother anymore.Sometimes, these decibels are so high that it can be jarring to your earsdespite listening to music through noise isolating headphones.
Then comes the sense of taste. I remember my days in Goa.The moment I saw leafy vegetables my face would droop as if it was not wateredsince weeks. But the day there was fish, chicken or any other meat, I would geta command from my palate to lead the queue so that my mother could serve herdaughter first. However, I’ve now developed a taste for paneer (cottage cheese)and other north Indian vegetarian food, masala dosas and idlis from the south,Mumbai street food - vada pao, bhel, paani puri and other chaats. Notforgetting the famous cutting-chai!
Lastly, if you think you can walk on the road or enter a busor even stand still in a train, you will find it difficult to do so withoutnudging someone to make your way. Beware about your toes being crushed under akitten heel. Especially, if you’re trying to commute during peak hours, evenGod seems confused about whom to extend his help to.
As long as I’m in Mumbai, I won’t understand thesetransformations. But the day I visit Goa, it’s a break from the odour,unavoidable traffic, uncontrollable noise, monotonous dal-rice-roti-sabji andthe hustle-bustle of Mumbai city. In Goa, my body starts functioning at aleisurely pace. Drifting away from the past seems difficult, but as youapproach the present everything seems incredible.
Bombay is a place most Goans got to for a career oreducation. Many make it their home. SUEZELLE D’COSTA from Cuncolim is one ofthem. A media professional, she starts her fortnightly column A GOAN IN BOMBAY.Hopefully this will find resonance in the hearts of Goans in Bombay and in Goa
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