Laxmi Dhaul’s Blog

Marine Drive in South Mumbai on the Arabian Sea. Ever since I can remember, evening walks there have served me as relaxation, exercise and recreation, and sometimes I find it hard to imagine that Mumbai, India’s Manhattan, was once a beautiful tropical archipelago of seven islands. Until the sun sets on Marine Drive. Then you can watch the magnificent sky change color from an array of oranges and purples to the dull steel blue of night. ‘Queens necklace’ transforms itself instantly, as thousands of lights flood the night sky in Marine Drive’s circular bay. No wonder we call it the Pride of Mumbai.
Rotate 180 degrees, and turn your back to the Arabian sea - the ferocity of the city overwhelms you. The traffic, the people and the noise. First time visitors to Mumbai often ask “How can you call your city beautiful?”.

Diehard Mumbai lovers shrug their shoulders. “The sounds, the smells, the sea , the colours , the festivals and the friendliness of the Mumbai people - we love it all !.”

Foreigners are not aware of a secret guarded ferociously by Indians . The secret being that Indians are still evolving in the Darwinian sense - survival of the fittest. They have developed a special survival tool - it is known as “selective sight”. We only see what we want to! But there is not much to selectively discard in Marine Drive as it is quite a beautiful oasis in the crowded city!

Marine Drive ends in a plush area known as Nariman Point an explosion of high rise buildings, five star hotels and offices - the heart of business in Mumbai. Reclaimed extensively from the sea, Nariman Point is named after Mr. Khurshid Nariman a Muncipal Corporator, who in the 40’s reclaimed the entire area and filled in the shallows by using debris from various parts of the city. Eventually he was sacked for using reinforced concrete cement and imported steel obtained from the “black” market at exorbitant prices due to outbreak of World War 2. Today real estate prices in this area are said to be the highest in the world and what Mr Nariman spent was a pittance compared to todays value. He will never know this…it is said he committed suicide !

Most people who live in South Mumbai drive through Marine Drive at least once a day but only a privileged few actually experience Marine Drive at 7.30 am in the morning. The cobble stoned promenade between the road and the Arabian see is transformed into a ‘Walking path’ and nearby residents pursue their morning recreations with regularity and seriousness. Numerous residents walk in their regular groups, others walk with their friends and spouses or their pets. Nodding, waving and acknowledging each other is common. Drenched by the morning sun, all have a fixed glaze and look forward to the prospect of going home to their morning tea. Armed with their ipods the young run or jog, children often cycle or skate and dogs sniff each other. Sweepers gather ‘yesterdays evening’ garbage into wheelbarrows, pigeons alight on the parapet at will cooing their good mornings.
Of the hundreds of people and various groups one passes on Marine Drive one notices a prominent group comprising of retired stock brokers. God fearing and religious they greet each other by saying ‘Jai Sri Krishna’ . Many of them are from Gujarat, a state in India that has produced India’s best traders and businessmen. All wear traditional long shirts and traditional muslin ‘Dhotis’ , ankle socks and the latest Nike shoes. They walk and then sit down on the cement ledge and share home cooked savouries in steel tiffin carriers. Appearances can be deceptive and you would not believe that the networth of each person runs into millions of rupees in stocks and shares. A simple discussion or a heated argument on Marine Drive on a gusty morning at 7.30 am can change the stock market index for the day!

Another group of regulars: the ladies. A motley group that exercises togther. Their place is predetermined, their program fixed: 7.30 - 8.00, walk. 8 - 8:05: touch toes, bend forward, bend sideways. 8:05 to 8:20: laugh. To a count of 3. The only rule now is to laugh loudly and emphatically for 15 continuous moments while moving shoulders up and down . ‘Courage in numbers’ is the motto of this raucous and unpopular group, because who among them would dare laugh loudly alone? They try to lure all passers by to join them, shouting, “Laughter is the best medicine!”
Not to forget the health freaks wearing stretch pants and t-shirts. The highlight of the 7.30 am morning slot is to see Mr. Anil Ambani run. He is the third richest man in India and is also a marathon runner . Accompanied by discrete bodyguards who run behind him and a slow moving Mercedes SUV following discretely from the road . A lot of people don’t know who he is because he looks very different on TV in his designer suits . On Marine Drive he wears weird sport sunglasses and colourful mismatching T shirts and shorts and looks like all of us, sweaty and hot. Other features one comes across are that as you are not allowed to have stalls or sell anything on Marine Drive there are special vans that park on the curbside and open their back doors to exhibit stainless steel jars with various herb and ayurvedic medicinal concoctions . The most popular being juice from fresh wheat germ grass . Business is brisk in the mornings and customers are rewarded with a fistful of ‘extra healthy’ free sprouts to munch on for the remaining walk

My group of three meet regularly at 7.30 am in the centre of Marine Drive and we walk towards Nariman point. We pass the business area and continue to the very end where a ledge 7 feet wide juts into the sea for at least half a mile. Surrounded by sea on both sides you get a breathtaking view of the Arabian sea. We go to the very end passing various people in different postures and yogic positions some doing their breathing exercises others saluting the rising sun. We climb down a few steps leading down to the sea to enjoy the breeze and stretch out our hands like Rose and Jack Dawson did atop the Titanic and hum

“Every night in my dreams I see you….
Near, far, wherever you are I believe that the heart does go on
Once more you open the door and you’re here in my heart and
My heart will go on and on”

I know Kate Winslet would love Nariman Point .. almost as we do !

The wind had picked up momentum, the trees swayed violently in the overcast skies. It was the start of the monsoon, all the elements of nature allowed themselves to submit to an entity larger than themselves. In this case to the onslaught of the first monsoon shower. Like a bottled genii let loose after centuries the monsoon wind rushed in every direction – trying to be everywhere at the same time. Rain fell and the sky was charged with the interplay of thunder and lightening that marked this June afternoon.

It was as if the whole world bowed done to the fury of the elements. Along with rain there were inch long hail stones that fell from the sky. Hail , thunder reverberating and occasional flashes of lightening reached a crescendo just as the heat had got to its highest peak.

Unbearable heat and then relief – a hail storm –it was the beasts of burden - those that were closest to nature that were not sure what was happening to ‘their’ world. They scattered helter skelter in panic, as golf ball sized hail stones started hitting the ground around them. The bulls pulling heavy loads in the bullock carts started running off the roads confused, seeking shelter from the onslaught of the skies. Hail followed by a heavy downpour giving life to a thousand rivulets simultaneously , brown and grey serpents appearing from no where - having a life of their own. It was over as suddenly as it began.

Then there was silence. The wind stopped and suddenly the sky cleared - brighter then ever before. The ground radiated and glistened in its clean avatar. Not only had it been washed and drained but the down pour had given the red laterite soil a sense of freshness and renewal. The smell of rain on the parched hot earth pervaded the whole area.

The villagers were happy. The monsoon had come in time. The prayers had been answered, this hot parched land had been blessed once more, the miracle of millions of tons of water coming from the faraway Indian Ocean had repeated once more. Now life was assured for one more cycle….There had been many pujas performed and prayers made to the Lord Ganesha. The benevolent God would ensure a good monsoon and bestowed a bountiful crop on all those who prayed in the temple and gave large offerings to the village priests. They prayed to Ganesha, the god of fortune and good tidings to bless their homes, livelihood and their existence.

 Tendulkar had spent many years in Europe. World War 2 was eminent and he no longer wanted to stay in Germany. He had lived in Germany almost 17 years . But never for a single moment did he forget his country or his people. He was able to adapt easily to the European life style. The year was 1938, very few Indians traveled or lived abroad . It was his intention to study in Germany for a few years and return to India one day and to set up an industry. He had come back home to India with the dream of starting a business venture. Either the start of a factory be it cement or aluminum. The creation of something which was going to have an impact on hundreds of lives here after . The creation of something from just an idea to reality.

Tendulkar visited his village after many years. He had been away too long! The villagers were not sure whether he had been in the nearby town, although they were told that he had visited countries across the seas. Both equally inaccessible to the villager. The villagers first looked at him with suspicion and thawed considerably after his warm interaction and affectionate demeanor.

He told them “I have traveled across the seven seas but my heart has longed to be back where I belong. I have never stopped being one of you ! “ . They were fascinated with the black automobile he had brought back. He allowed the villagers to touch it and feel it. No one had seen an automobile before and when it entered the village the young children ran after it enveloped in a trail of red dust. Some were lucky …….they even get to ride in it.

Tendulkar introduced the farmers in the village to scientific farming encouraging them to use the latest cropping patterns. An agricultural scientist had been summoned to advise and guide the villagers on how they could improve their crops by using fertilizer along with the manure. The villagers trusted Tendulkar and therefore listened with childlike simplicity to what the agricultural scientist had to say.

“Tendulkar is one of us isn’t he?” …..

“………also born in the village?”

“Did n’t his Father and Mother live here? “

“He even went to school for a few years here in the village before he left and went away.”

“Now he has come back and he wants to help us.”

The leaders of the village would assemble at his house and listen to him. They trusted him and he had showed them how to coax mother earth to share her bounty with them. Now there was success and the farmers had a bumper crop of groundnuts and sugarcane – more bountiful then anything they had ever seen. They come to his house with baskets of fresh ground nuts and pails of fresh sugarcane juice and fresh vegetables, to thank him for his support! 

I am a jamun fruit tree and I live in a forest where the local tribals love nature! They used to call us trees their friends and they used to sing and dance around us. They were known as the Bishnoi tribe and this tribe were scattered over several parts of north India. But their livelihood came from our produce, they would sell or eat the fruit, they would use our branches for shade and if they had to build a hut they would cut only the branches that they needed and use our dry bark for firewood. But I have heard that there are others who don’t care about their trees and they are willing to cut them down. These people don’t realize that it is our roots that keep the nutrients in the ground and it is because of our roots that land erosion during the floods do not happen.

I remember the story of brave Amrita. She was a young Bishnoi girl and she was walking in the forest with her friends when she saw some guards from a distant kingdom enter the forest. The guards told the young girls that they had come to the forest to cut down a few trunks of trees because the king wanted the wood to build a summer palace . The girls panicked and immediately went and circled the trunks of the trees with their arms. The guards got angry and told the girls to stop hugging the trees and go back home.

Amrita said “ No , we are Bishnois and we love our trees and nature and we cannot let you cut down the tree. You will have to cut us down first.” Another young girl said “ We are Bishnois and we believe in doing “Chipko” to the tree. Chipko in our language means to hug the tree.

The guards furiously retorted “Please don’t do this, please don’t obstruct us from cutting down the tree - because the king has given his orders and we will be compelled to hurt you against our wishes !”

The next night the king heard the unfortunate story of these brave girls and passed through the forest. He had been shocked to hear about the merciless behavior of his guards. Expecting the little hamlet to be in gloom he was surprised to see the village celebrating.

“ We believe in preserving our forests Your Majesty , for us our forests are our life and our means to a livelihood. Our daughters have gone to a noble death but if they had not done what they had done yesterday they would not have been able to stop your men from cutting our most prized possession – our trees. The death of the trees is the death of mankind ! ”

“It is when I hear this story again and again” said the jamun tree “that I feel that my life has well been worth it !”
 

The house was silent late in the night and she lay on her back, frail and tired in her room which had been made into a small hospital room for her. She looked up to see the fan rotating constantly the purr of the blades moving the air. Who said “air made no noise “? “ Cant you hear the dull grey sound the fan makes – like the insipid taste of yoghurt ?” she asked herself . She lay on her back, it was the end of the ‘diwali’ season, the day that is supposed to be a day of celebration in India , the day when the whole country was lit up with decorative lights . She had celebrated Diwali for 94 years she thought to herself “and this would be the 95th “

The only other sound she could hear was the sound of the lift go up and down, up and down…… all five floors. “They called a ‘lift’ an elevator in America”, she thought to herself “ that’s where I had studied in the 40’s in Michigan Ann Arbor” . Her memories were rambling - the years in between had no chronology, no value ! Every time the lift came up she could feel her weakened intestines constrict supporting the ascent of the lift and the weight of the passengers and every time the lift went down she felt her guts relax. This constant contraction and release reminded her of so many things in her life which she had faced .
She imagined the wizened lift man Aziz going up and down in the lift. She had seen him for the first time almost 40 years ago, when he was a young man fresh from his distant village. Through the years she saw a young man metamorphise kafka-esque into an old man with a stoop and a toothless grin! . Did he also have to bear the load of each passenger that he transported up ? She smiled knowingly that he would shortly tell everyone, that, he was finally going to retire and go back to his village and therefore collect money from all the residents as a baksheesh for good service and as his “goodwill pension”. Over the last ten years he had done this thrice before and everyone humored him because he knew the comings and goings and the deep secrets into each of the tenants families. She knew he would return again ! She always associated him with the colour of brown , his dark tanned skin , his brown teeth , his brown uniform.

Lying down in bed bored, restless with the tubes of the life support machine entering her emaciated body she was strangely at peace. The crescendo of the lift as it went up and the waning sound at its descent and the constant purring of the fan gave her the answer. Life would still go on …”up and down, ….up and down” . She knew that she had only a few more days to live …. It was a relief, soon the silence that would surround her would have no purring and no up and down ……only silence !