“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Dickens would probably turn over in his grave if he knew his iconic line lends itself to my first world dilemmas, but it’s pretty great for a writer to be relevant to his readers centuries later, isn’t it? Anyway, on to what I was saying.
Have you ever felt all-consuming, ever-encompassing love towards someone or something, and felt nothing but resistance from their end? It’s hard, isn’t it, knowing you’re doing all you can to sustain the love, to fuel it, to ignite the passion, and what you get is a cold, dead shoulder in return? Lately, I’ve begun to understand what it feels like, and I’m not sure how long I can carry on with it.
So, allow me to take you into the details of this torrid affair between me, and big bad Bombay. I came to the city two years ago, as a shy, nervous 20-something year old fresh out of graduate school, ready to take on the world. We’ve seen enough of Sex and the City and Wake Up, Sid to know how to take on the big, bad city by its horns and tame it to become yours, haven’t we? All those beautiful buildings in South Bombay were waiting to be explored, the first monsoon was waiting to be enjoyed, my independence was calling out to me, and I couldn’t wait to get started.
And you know what they say- the first year is always your honeymoon period when everything is rosy, beautiful and perfect. It really was! There were so many people to meet, new friends to make, new things to eat and new places to discover. All those twinkling lights across the sea link seductively gestured me over, and I found myself spending hours at the sea face, forgetting who I was, where I came from, or what I was there to do. All that mattered was that I loved the city, and the city loved me back. Oh yes, Bombay was so kind to me then! I was a little nobody who got lost in the crowd- I knew no one and no one knew me. And the city knew that’s what I’d wanted, to be a face in the crowd, to be a story like the million others here. The city knew my imperfections and didn’t judge. I was happy.
Alas, the honeymoon period had to end, and now I face the real weight of my affair with Bombay. Life here is not easy- not on the mind, and certainly not on the pocket! Taxi drivers are amazing at making you pretend you don’t have any pride- I’ve forgotten the number of times I’ve begged, pleaded and even threatened, but they take consent pretty seriously. Landlords are fabulous at waking up with different problems and a small underlying threat beneath them all- do as we say, or we evict you. Brokers know your weaknesses and get sadistic pleasure out of showing you houses that you know you cannot afford in your wildest dreams. The weather knows it can do as it pleases, who cares if your health is collateral damage?
Every time I try to love the city with all my heart, it seems to throw a curveball, challenging me to feel otherwise. So, big, bad, Bombay, I will admit this. There are times when I feel like running away from you. Running away from the independence you gave me when I left the comfort of home. Running away from the harsh realities of life that you force me to see. Running away from the problems that you throw at me, making me stand up to them like an adult.
But I won’t. I still have a lot of fight left in me. And if you insist to throw problems my way, I promise I’ll hit them right out of the park. It may be naive of me to think so, but my gut says you’ll quit the tough love approach and make everything feel rosy again. So, big bad Bombay, you may not love me back right now, but I’ll still celebrate our 2-year mark. Because once I’ve given you my heart, there’s no chance I’m taking it back.
Tumultuously yours,
Me.
The Beautiful and the Damned 