Every time, when someone I know, moves to Canada or Australia, I evaluate if I could live here anymore.If I have the strength to breath stench-ridden air here. Or if I can still travel in overpopulated trains and not worry about being looted or molested.
It's a difficult decision.
In 2011, My sister invited me to visit her in Dubai. A fine place. Shopping Paradise. Abundantly comfortable lifestyle. I enjoyed my stay there, but one day, my sister asked me a pertinent question, when I grow old, where would I want to spend my life! She answered her own question, probably somewhere with peace and tranquillity, closer to mother nature.
After a week, when I returned, I had a hearty fight with a taxi driver and it was May, Mumbai was high on humidity, and the drizzling sweat that poured all over my body soothed me to a great extent. I can't tell you how better it felt to be back in my own city.
*
Last week we were at Mahur, a known shakti-peeth, it was an annual visit. We made small donations to the temple. The typist who prepared the receipt asked my husband - Gaav? Now, the translation of Gaav is a village, a place where you stay or a place which is your native, or a place you identify with.
This typist isn't going to verify what we say, we even had the option to say 'Timbuktu' and he would probably raise an eyebrow, ask how it is spelled, and move on.
On the other hand, my husband fumbled a bit, before saying Mumbai. I pointed out to him, technically Aurangabad where his father was born. He replied, "What difference does it make? We are Nomads!"
Nomad. Nomadic Tribe. The caste we belong to. If you ask me, I know nothing about our history. We have been farming for more than a hundred years. The evidence of it is a stone statue, on which our ancestors were carved and placed in our farms. Last April, we resurrected the shrine.
My uncle came to the city with his siblings, after he graduated from Nasik. He stayed in Kalyan and moved to Bandra and later to Andheri. He lived in Kalyan until his brothers moved out for jobs and his sisters got married.
My dad worked, lived, and died in Uran. I was born in Uran. I spent twenty-two years in Uran and now, seventeen years in this city, Mumbai, four of which were for education.
After Dad's death, Mom moved to Andheri, and we bought a house there. Now she lives in Chembur, near one of my sister's house.
On my anniversary, which was last month, Mom and I made the trip to the naval dockyard for some work. I travelled via free-way witnessing a burst of under-construction multistoried towers and wondering if I would buy these houses just for the sake of some status and raise a humongous debt.
Presently, I stay at Navi Mumbai, overlooking Yeoor Hills and a public garden. It's a small place, but I feel it's enough.
On the map, if I have to ever pinpoint a place where I belong, I might not be able to say one -Uran, Nasik, Andheri, or Mumbai, but Maharashtra will win hands down.
Probably, that is why I won't move anytime soon.
It's a difficult decision.
In 2011, My sister invited me to visit her in Dubai. A fine place. Shopping Paradise. Abundantly comfortable lifestyle. I enjoyed my stay there, but one day, my sister asked me a pertinent question, when I grow old, where would I want to spend my life! She answered her own question, probably somewhere with peace and tranquillity, closer to mother nature.
 |
| In the backdrop, is Dubai Marina, a palatial skyline. |
After a week, when I returned, I had a hearty fight with a taxi driver and it was May, Mumbai was high on humidity, and the drizzling sweat that poured all over my body soothed me to a great extent. I can't tell you how better it felt to be back in my own city.
*
Last week we were at Mahur, a known shakti-peeth, it was an annual visit. We made small donations to the temple. The typist who prepared the receipt asked my husband - Gaav? Now, the translation of Gaav is a village, a place where you stay or a place which is your native, or a place you identify with.
 |
| The idyllic city of Mahur |
This typist isn't going to verify what we say, we even had the option to say 'Timbuktu' and he would probably raise an eyebrow, ask how it is spelled, and move on.
On the other hand, my husband fumbled a bit, before saying Mumbai. I pointed out to him, technically Aurangabad where his father was born. He replied, "What difference does it make? We are Nomads!"
Nomad. Nomadic Tribe. The caste we belong to. If you ask me, I know nothing about our history. We have been farming for more than a hundred years. The evidence of it is a stone statue, on which our ancestors were carved and placed in our farms. Last April, we resurrected the shrine.
 |
| The Shrine, A hundred-year-old village house, and the kitchen in it. |
My uncle came to the city with his siblings, after he graduated from Nasik. He stayed in Kalyan and moved to Bandra and later to Andheri. He lived in Kalyan until his brothers moved out for jobs and his sisters got married.
My dad worked, lived, and died in Uran. I was born in Uran. I spent twenty-two years in Uran and now, seventeen years in this city, Mumbai, four of which were for education.
After Dad's death, Mom moved to Andheri, and we bought a house there. Now she lives in Chembur, near one of my sister's house.
On my anniversary, which was last month, Mom and I made the trip to the naval dockyard for some work. I travelled via free-way witnessing a burst of under-construction multistoried towers and wondering if I would buy these houses just for the sake of some status and raise a humongous debt.
Presently, I stay at Navi Mumbai, overlooking Yeoor Hills and a public garden. It's a small place, but I feel it's enough.
On the map, if I have to ever pinpoint a place where I belong, I might not be able to say one -Uran, Nasik, Andheri, or Mumbai, but Maharashtra will win hands down.
Probably, that is why I won't move anytime soon.
