nunu

Bombay/Mumbai: A city in the midst of renaissance and cultural revolution. To actually see that happening in one’s lifetime…this is quite rare. It makes one feel less jaded and cynical about the world, life…good conversation with people living here, talking to them about their city and witnessing the way the old mixes with the new and it all clashes and comes together in a way that’s totally Indian. It’s Bombay Electric.

Dualties, construction, deconstruction…Bombay is in a sense is the urban equivalent of a dualist theory, a push and pull with tension and a sense of chaos. It’s a dirty, polluted city. Smelly, full of poverty, and absolutely no silence. Except for right now, the point in the wee hours that I refer to as “low horn” when the incessant honking of horns that is this city’s soundtrack has finally died out…for a few hours at least. I suppose it’s just a manifestation of all these millions of people fighting for space, and for acknowledgement of their physical presence. I am in awe of people who can call this place their home. For the majority, its 1000 times more difficult than my life. 100,000 times more.

A woman told me today that there are woman who spend their entire days working, from early morning train commutes to their jobs in the city, from far outlying suburbs, to the evening hours where they are actually already at work on their housework, cutting and chopping vegetables and practically cooking the evening meal on the train. Maybe they’re also doing their family’s laundry.

And yet on the other hand, what brings me to Bombay is their fashion week -  a strange reason, yes. This evening I went to a socialite’s house and there were pictures scattered throughout of her meeting Bill Clinton, or perfectly posed like some kind of kept woman with her perfect-looking children. She makes diamond and emerald jewelry as a hobby and hosts charity events for Save the Children.