I chose to write about this nondescript article because it offended me. It showed an ugly side of the city I so proudly boast about hailing from.
I have been fond of Mumbai ever since I first moved here. But Calcutta (that’s right, no right-wing extremists object to it being Calcutta) has always been special to me.
Maybe I inherit this flexibility of being comfortable in any city from my father. He is an urban nomad, and takes to his current city of residence, like a chameleon. He felt very attached to Mumbai because of its pace and professionalism. I recall the following conversation with him once by the door of our apartment.
My mother had forgotten the only set of house keys inside, and so we were running pillar-to-post for half an hour. Eventually, a locksmith was put to work hard on the lock, when he said, “This is what I like about Mumbai. Neighbours come and go, exchange pleasantries and make smalltalk, but then they retreat into their houses and shut the door.” Had this been Calcutta, he continued, there would have been a hoard of dadas and boudis watching each move of his, shouting out instructions, while reprimanding my mother for getting locked out in the first place, discussing Jyoti Basu’s policies with my dad, a dozen people offering to keep a duplicate pair of keys in their apartments to avoid future mishaps like this.
(Yeah, right. We should install multi-lever locks for added security, then hand over the keys to strangers who live just down the hall. Sounds like genius.)
Anyway, I can completely identify with the locksmith’s picture of Calcutta. Even during quarrels with people on Calcutta public transport, they have addressed me as dada and referred to me as aap. I have seen bus conductors halt buses shouting “Baaccha ladies” (A call to stop the bus to a complete halt instead of it rolling along, so that women and children can board.) The hospitality or courtesy has always been reassuring.
Which is why the news story about the suicide shocked me. I know, I would have interfered. I have got myself into plenty of trouble in Mumbai without regret, because I felt that I had to intervene. (Yes, I fancy myself as a good samaritan). What I do regret is the life of this Calcutta woman, lost in vain.