Coming to Mumbai was inevitable. I just had to do it. After working in the Taj Holiday Village at summer jobs through college, I had a fair idea about career growth and salary scales in Goa, and really had no intention to slave it out at Rs 2,000 a month. So, after answering my graduation exams I went for a short holiday, and then started for the 'mad' metro with lots of dreams. I dreamt of watching a film on Star Movies every night, as back home we did not have Star on cable. I dreamt of visiting nightclubs without having to answer never-ending queries about who, what, where and when I would be returning. I dreamt of spending my savings recklessly on wardrobe and shoes. Of course I would also enjoy the luxury that most working women take for granted -- of wearing lipstick everyday. But most of all, I was excited about being busy every single minute. After living in a place where things can be really slow and boring, and where electricity can go off indefinitely for 12 hours unannounced, I looked forward to the constant barrage of sensory assault that Mumbai offered. Something happening everywhere all the time. People scurrying to and fro, lots of trains and buses to take you wherever you want to go, theatres galore, and five (sometimes more) different shops offering the same product, to offer you the luxury to pick and choose, and be fussed over as a 'customer'. I was just waiting to soak it all in. I looked forward to sleeping late and experiencing sleep deficit, sleep debts, and other such modern ailments that I had heard of. Back home, we slept after dinner, sometimes by 8.30 pm. Not out of laziness, mind you, but because we ran out of things to do by late evening. Of course, I was in college then, and must admit that I may not have been very creative in finding things to keep myself occupied... hence, I am only speaking for myself as a 'village' inhabitant. I wanted to be too busy to crochet, write letters, make handmade birthday cards and elaborate face packs. I wanted to behave like I thought people do when they are active participants in the 'rat race'. I received various kinds of advice before I came to Mumbai, about how people flick your wallets when you're not looking, and the usual tirade about not trusting strangers, etc. In one of these sessions, I was also taught how to raise my right knee in defence against those 'lecherous men with appendages that display their evil intentions'. I thought that was a good piece of knowledge and filed it for future reference. I now refer to it as kick.com But after coming to Mumbai I find a magazine much more handy. You see, these things usually happen at a longer distance than was originally conveyed to me. Coming to Mumbai has been quite an experience. I stayed at my uncle's place initially. He was a great friend, adviser and confidante. My ideas of enjoying the decadent and slightly hedonistic teenage lifestyle I had led back home were trashed out the window, and I abolished any plans of socialising after a heart-to-heart conversation with my uncle about life in the metro. The first seven days were spent slaving on my 'curriculum vitae'. The next seven days flew by, attending interviews anywhere and everywhere. I was elated and excited about my first 'real' job, but was absolutely disillusioned within two days. While my job profile was that of a 'management trainee', I was expected to be some kind of secretary to an ageing, stubborn, grumpy old man (around 75, I would say) who was completely in love with his own voice and ideas. He expected me to be the one to remember what he forgot, find things he misplaced, and the like. I have always been the 'absent-minded professor' type, and had an 'eh' attitude. So this job was shock treatment for me. I constantly received brutally honest feedback. I did learn a lot, though given a choice I would rather have not learnt it then. After six days of working with ever-elusive ideals of perfection, it got to me. The final straw was a huge speech of 'constructive criticism'. My tear glands actively participated in that enlightening session. The frighteningly clear message I deciphered was that life was going to be too stifling if I stuck around. And so came about my first job-jump. It was difficult at first, after being used to a constant support group of family and friends, to be thrust into a different environment, to adapt. Of course, I learnt many things I never expected to learn. How to jump into trains even when it looks like one would need a huge can-opener to get you out, and how to get into buses from the rear entrance only... How to appear disinterested in a conversation between two ladies, who yell inches away from your eardrums, and how to look through the scary eunuchs one encounters at traffic signals while travelling in autorickshaws. Moving into a hostel was another learning experience. It was comforting to see other girls who were also homesick, lonely, and cosmopolitan-ically challenged, if there is such a word. I also learnt that group depression can be devastating. Once one of my friends told us how she sat in a local train because she was feeling low and down, and travelled the Churchgate to Borivali route four times. That was one of those group depression days, but thankfully, I have left those behind. There are a few things you realise very fast when you have to fend for yourself. I realised that mature people create happy situations and react positively even when things go wrong. I realised how to be there for myself, how not to talk negatively to myself when things go wrong, and developed greater reservoirs of emotional intelligence. I also missed many things. Like, for instance, the pleasures of hitch-hiking and having a friendly conversation with a complete stranger. Most people in Mumbai look through you, and now I have resorted to the same technique to do away with 'stimulus overload'. But I really missed the constant friendly eye contact that I experienced in my small, friendly village. And I learnt to appreciate all the little things I always took for granted, like home-made food, mom's concern about a sneeze and cough, and my freedom to spend money provided by someone else. Surviving on a budget created by you is sometimes like walking a tightrope. You can run along gleefully and take the risk, if you like, but it's basically all about balance, and getting through to the other side safely. You have to pay bills and get through the month. Initially, I had to learn the art of denying myself even an occasional impulsive lunch at a restaurant. Of course, after a few months, you do get the hang of it, especially when your bank balance runs into five figures, and you can hence afford to be less thrifty. Living and working in Mumbai, thus, has been a fascinating experience. Both personally and professionally, I have learnt a lot. I now go home for a refreshing holiday and not to get over the withdrawal symptoms of being away from home. I know how to talk the 'pandu' talk, and walk the 'I have to get there yesterday' walk. It has been quite a transition from being a carefree, dependent teenager to being a self-sufficient adult, and I am glad that it has been a peaceful one. I still wonder why we call it a 'big, bad city' because all it does is help you grow... And now Cleona Lira has grown into a big, bad girl!
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