Unplanned rendezvous

Mumbai , The maximum city .

The maximum symbolizing its population density and unmatched dynamism . Also for its cultural diversity and for its many big bulls running the trade markets . Truly a city that never sleeps , and dreams when it’s awake .

But what holds all these people together to transgress various rings of the social ladder ?

It’s the same dream dreamt by a million people at Marine Drive gazing at the orange sun setting on the Arabian Sea .

The resilience that holds people together with an invisible string .

A never die spirit that has the city covered in its blanket .

The sea and the many stories it holds ,of stories told to it by people who had no one else to speak to .

The softness that lies hidden in all the loudness and noise .

The little acts of kindness , in the kinship that now and then emerges when people pause and look around .

7.19 am IST .Wednesday . Navi Mumbai.

The A-419 BEST bus sluggishly pulls up at the Chandivli bus stop to take its passengers up to Ghatkopar West .

People are up and running in a rather New Yorkish kind of way . The “hustle culture” it’s called . Hurried footsteps , a brush against a shoulder now and then , hastily parked 2 wheelers on no parking zones . A traffic Hawaldar lurks around with his morning dose of cutting chai , readying up for the day.

The TC makes his final announcements and soon everyone is onboard . The Mumbai heat has not yet set in for the day , there is a nudging breeze coming in through the half open windows of the bus ,carrying with it an assortment of scents and smells . Of fresh mogra( jasmine flowers )delicately hanging with a bobby pin from a woman’s tied up hair , of a lunch box packed with kanda poha and sev, freshly picked Ratnagiri mangoes carried in a basket by a farmer travelling into town , of freshly printed newspaper and the remnants of cologne a previous passenger left behind .

While the bus speeds past , views of the city unfold . A bustling fish market, skyscraper skylines , the blue thatched roofs of local slums , an occasional Gothic style pre independence era building , glimpses of the sea .

A conversation begins between two strangers somewhere in the second last row . Heartfelt discoveries of a common ancestral town soon unfold . A secret ingredient for a perfect Aluchi Vadi ( a traditional maharashtrian dish ; deep-fried colocasia leaves encased in a flavourful gram flour mixture seasoned with mustard seeds, cumin seeds, and sesame seeds) is revealed . A local alteration tailor’s mobile number is shared , newspapers and politics are discussed in a parliamentary fashion .

A bag of fresh mungaphalli ( groundnuts) makes its rounds between some travellers.While a college student wrestles on his seat and rests his rather heavy backpack on his knees and is soon leaning on it to fall asleep for the rest of the journey .

A young girl in her early twenties pulls out wired headphones from her hand embroidered purse and settles down with a book , occasionally looking up nonchalantly to observe the crowd .

Two women ,likely neighbours , are chatting non stop of how the milk has become thinner these days with not enough malai ( cream ) and debating the economics of vegetable prices .

While the man in the last row hasn’t looked up from his newspaper a single time , another looks out the window expressionlessly , somewhat of a frozen gaze . He either has too much on his mind or nothing at all .

Though the bus is now brimming , the TC with a sigh , just about manages to squeeze in a few more people at one of the stops .

There are now three pairs of hands holding on to the stanchion at end of the aisle .

The physical proximity isn’t enough for them to have a conversation , yet there is something indescribable about their individual unspoken struggles that they will share on this journey together .

Some conversations are never had .

Conversations on buses

“Journeys are stories forming stories within themselves”