Jobless Days - 1 Feb

1 Feb The Moolah Streets

My day begins as the Moolah calls the praises of his lord. Crows wake up by the prayers, I am not sure if Allah wakes up though. After the Moolah, the priest downstairs starts ringing the bell- trying to wake up Sri Ram. The crows are now in complete distress. They call for help! But alas, they can’t sound like the nightingales; and thanks to all these calls- my slumber fails to grip me, and I rise too. Opening the sliding windows, I search for the massive Cadbury dairy milk Silk hoarding- the pretty model used to ward off my loneliness, but now all I see is three old actors trying to be cool- the hording of Dil toh baccha hai ji has replaced my pretty time pass! (sigh!) What go unnoticed are the cluttered slums and the market hidden below the tall buildings around. So, I decide to take a walk! (Till the thought was executed by my lazy body, it was late evening!) I still needed a motive to get out of my bed- and thus persuaded my body to listen to the ‘chai calling’. The only chai shop that remains open in the late evening is atleast half a kilometre away from my place. But its taste is worth the walk.

The chai wala sensed my helplessness as I surrendered to the aroma, and handed me a full instead of a cutting, with a smile! The chai, always amazes me. The moment the narcotic gets absorbed in my veins, the course of time reaches a nodal point. I start getting mixed emotions about my surroundings, and more than that- I get the ‘vision’. I see beyond the seen and think beyond the thoughts! Exactly at that that juncture, a little girl ran by. I realised my wallet had fallen- as I bent down to pick it up- I heard something. It was like a hymn. I searched for the source, that’s when I saw them! A group of ladies were reciting “aum”. They were sitting in a meditation room, their husbands were waiting outside. A life size cut out of a ‘god-lady’ sat infront of them, decorated with flowers and Christmas lights. The surround 5.1 speaker system played her recordings- a digital (ladies-only) satsang. The idols of Radha-Kishan, amused by man’s re-definition of satsang smiled in her background. God bless technology! I took a turn and took a short cut to my home.

Mahim, continued to muse me. The streets went through the infamous Kapad Bazar. The filthy street of Mahim that was last seen in Kashyap’s Black Friday. One of the sensitive areas of Mumbai occupied by extreme Hindus and Musalmans. In the process of amusing me, this street turned out to be a multifarious neighbourhood of insights. The smell of roasted beef lingered in the air, vendors called out to their buyers aloud, old beggars sang the praises of Allah, kids with their tiny muslim caps ran for freedom as their mothers, hidden in the black burkhas bargained with the bhaji walah. I started to cogitate again (perhaps to an onlooker I looked like a Zombie). What holds the life out here? Is it Mass media? Is it religion? The house wives seemed at perfect ease as their husbands felt pride in sowing off their masculinity. Compromises perhaps! Answers turned into questions. What makes such a harmony life hold the dagger and make bloodshed, killing millions and abducting peace? Why isn’t mass media reaching out to them and preaching them, like the god-lady? At this moment, my eyes fell on a massive hoarding of Shiv sena. Outdoor advertising at its best! The emperor was sitting on his huge spacious throne and smiling. The subjects were fighting for a place to stay! ‘When we are not fighting, we shake hands!’ Massmedia was still ruling their lives! Right below the hoarding was an abandoned Shiv temple. Poor lord, someone else has taken your place now!

People are so driven by religion, each and every morning, they wake up to the Moolah’s cries, pray in the direction of Mecca, clean their house and greet people by praising the lord (salaam-e-walekum) every single time. The Hindu, prays for the peace of mind; the Musalman praises the lord. What simply slips off from the scenario is the awareness about the villain. People driven in the cart of religion, forget the driver has other motives. But for the time being, there’s peace all around. The Kapad Bazar has become my muse!