Finding God In The Incompletion Of Love, Nature & City

What does friendship mean when you have never seen each other, may never do so either? How does love taste when it shows up with someone of a different gender from what you had assumed? What happens to your sense of belonging when the place you’ve lived in your whole life, changes but doesn’t take you with it? It feels like seeking god but god has left the building. And instead there is ritual, curation, religion and artifice.

Today Gopal said to me,

“Point. Shoot. Meditate and Write.”

So here I am.

My nephew sighed, “What a beautiful city Mumbai is!”. He was watching a helicopter shot of the Bandra-Worli sealink in some Bollywood film. I scoffed. “The city is in the business of entertainment. That is not the real Mumbai.”

Later, I felt bad. In the 90s, I remember watching the place in the photograph on the left, in a song from Akele Hum Akele Tum. A young Manisha Koirala waits impatiently, seated next to a man playing a saxophone. Then an exuberant Aamir Khan appears on the horizon, riding a bicycle up the bridge, wind in his hair and a spanking new high rise in the background. (1:30 onwards here). At that time, I thought it was beautiful too. It was not familiar, it was framed beautifully.

This is the same bridge 30 years later. It doesn’t look that different from the 90s. People still stroll up and down as they do in the song. It’s not a very steep or long bridge. And it is a bridge because, we keep forgetting it but Mumbai is an island. Meethi river’s many tributaries line every suburb of the city.

There’s green! Who knew?

I remember one of the magical revelations of my first metro ride ever in Mumbai. I didn’t realise Andheri had so many trees! The height gives you perspective.

Today, the entire city is growing towers, flyovers and metro lines like weeds. The sky may not belong to everybody for long. It’s barely visible at street level in many of the crowded areas, including where I live. So, when I can find a moment, I try and grasp it.

Even with the powerlines, even with the defunct chimney, even with trees that may not live to the end of this decade. This city once had a sky. At least the moon is for everyone right now.

It really is hard to hold onto god in the big city life.

I remember an ex telling me, “My life is more interesting on my blog.” I think of him when I think of romance because he really tried, in his way. Carefully crafted, curated experiences that only fell short because of the lack of sentiment. Romance is a little like that, is it?

I am proud of this photograph. The signboard says, “Feeding of groceries or any food to pigeon on the road is prohibited. Action will be taken by police and BMC.” And all around, the pigeons peck away at grains strewn lovingly by people who couldn’t care less. Or maybe they can’t read. It’s a curious snapshot of a city that is too busy to stop and read the instructions but still functions somehow.

And look at that bird take wing towards the camera, right at me! You know, pigeons are only pleasant to experience in photographs. They really stink and make an awful ruckus in real life, complaining all the time. Just like the above bridge that stinks IRL.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know how much my plants mean to me via my #GreenParent Stories. But yes, I don’t blog about them as frequently. I don’t rue that much. Plants taught me so much, including the lesson of loving quietly and peacefully without trying to put a net of words or snapshots around life.

This shot was practice after my Sassoon Docks photo walk. I was trying the ‘Portrait’ mode on my camera for the first time on something other than selfies.

What is to say about this plant? It’s a lot more expensive than the others I own (and still way cheaper than pots and planters, would you believe). It’s called a Cheese plant because of the holes that the leaves have. It doesn’t flower or have fruits but it throws out these long trailing creepers and somehow retains its unique shapes despite dust, heat and rain. It’s like a rose but without the dramatic attention-seeking. Yes, I speak of my green babies like they have personalities because they do.

Okay, this is nostalgia and fun all in one! Who remembers riding in an Ambassador car? I do! My grandfather had one and I remember when he used to drive it. It was such a status symbol in his generation.

And in yellow! I only remember Premier Padminis being every shade in your digital palatte. Not the prim Ambassadors. And this one looked pretty well maintained, all things considered.

It would be in a Bandra bylane. Bandra, despite my loathing, now has these perfect mysteries to find, almost like they have been artfully curated for the experience. It’s not real but nothing about Tinsel town is. And this is the suburb that’s home to all three Khans of Bollywood.

Curated romance, well-appointed designs and celluloid gods – is this how we find our inspiration?

This is from my Sassoon Docks photo walk. The other person in the frame was not one of my group but one of the people hard at work in the fish market at dawn.

You notice he’s facing away from me. But ah, look closer at his reflection and he’s sneaking a peek at me over his shoulder. 🙂

I do like that Mumbai men retain their curiosity, their interest in women and more without being predatory about it. At least some of them. Enough for this city to have its reputation as the safest one for women.

Safety for women doesn’t mean that men have to stop being men. It just means, don’t be a predator.

So mundane, but I feel the stirrings of something like a warm laugh inside me. God can feel like that.

Have you noticed how much rarer double doors have become? I remember some old buildings whose individual apartments had not just double doors but quadruple doors! You could open just the top on one side to see who had knocked (the lock would serve as a knocker). Or both to have a chat with a neighbor. I think the lower ones were kept closed to ensure no dogs, cats or children went in or out. The upper ones would be kept open through the day. I think these would have been chawls, the early residential structures of Bombay.

I am not sure what lies behind this door but it’s wood and the latch is high up the way latches used to be (not at crotch level as they tend to be now). Might that have been so only the men (usually taller) could dictate who went in and out of the doors? So many stories and all behind an old wooden door.

The signboard above says, “Cooverji Ookerji Painting Building Contractors”. While shooting, I filed it away in my mind as a Parsee name. But now in typing it out, as I mumbled the name, I realised it was probably the British Raj spelling for ‘Kunwarji Ukherji’. Ah, the stories of signboards too.

Just a picture I’m quite proud of. A counterpoint to the second photo of this post (and this one is the second-last). This is sunrise as that was sunset. That was the suburbs, grabbing a shot from between high-rises. This is South Bombay, just raising the eyes a little higher to look over the decript one-storey shed in a fishing village to see the birds around a satellite dish. As long as the city is full of contrasts, it will be full of stories. And I’ll keep seeking them out.

I enjoyed writing this post. Back in the late 90s, I was assigned the family camera, a gorgeous Nikon. I remember loading a brand new film roll at the start of each family trip or major occasion. And weeks later, collecting the developed photographs from the shop. I would sit down and write out date, location and description at the back of every single one. I do that with the books I buy now. These are love notes to the self. But also trails of breadcrumbs for anyone seeking romance or god.

If you liked this photo-post, check out my others on Roving I.