On looking back....

It's a year now since I've moved out of Mumbai and how time flies!! As I look back on the year gone by I can't help but think about the many changes it has brought in my life. I look back and find myself nostalgic about the many things I miss about being away from my hometown.

• Needless to say I miss my family. (Skype's a boon and I can see them when I want to. Sometimes though, I wish they were just a drive away)
• I miss my budgies. (They live with my parents now and although I get to see them when I visit Mumbai I miss their constant, mindless chirping. I miss watching them tend to their fledglings and I miss watching the baby birds grow.)
• I miss the stray dogs on the Mumbai streets and I miss feeding them. I actually miss them barking into the night; sometimes it was comforting to know that they patrolled the streets and would raise an alarm at the slightest suspicion.At the same time, here I love watching people walk their dogs. And I love how well behaved their pets are on the road and in the park, in restaurants and in trains & buses. I'm amused by the little chihuahuas being carried around in purses as much by the huge and gentle newfoundland's friendly demeanor.  
• I miss Kelly, my baby turtle. (I had to give her away and it hurts that I'll probably never see her again or even know how she's doing.) 
• I miss my friends and sometimes I feel like I'm losing touch with them. (Sometimes it's the distance and sometimes it's just the pace of life. Sometimes we're just too lazy to drop a line or send a text message.My trips back home seem too short to meet everybody...some friends understand and others don't. I wish there weren't misunderstandings and that good friends wouldn't drift apart.)
• I miss the Mumbai monsoon and walking in the rain (it rains all the time here but it's too cold to walk in the rain). Nothing beats the good 'ol vada pav and rastewali cutting chai in the rain. And, I miss the spicy Manchow soup and the garam, roasted butta (corn). I miss the mochi who repairs my umbrella each year when the monsoon wind puts it to the rest. (We have a few broken umbrellas at home now and they lie in the junk section of the basement as there's no one here to fix them.) I miss the puddles of water ( I know you're going to say it's dirty!) and the school children sailing little paper boats in it. I miss the day off work in the middle of the week because the city turns into one big river on a few days every monsoon.
• I miss the warm weather and the summer clothes. It rains incessantly in The Netherlands. It is perpetually cold, windy and the sunshine is a fortnightly affair.Summer seems all of ten days long.  
•  I miss work! I'm learning the local language and hope to find a job again someday soon. Never thought I'd miss the client meetings, the travel, the assignments, the deadlines, painful feet after 9 long hours of standing in a classroom training, last minute stationery requests and printing........Well...looks like I do. 
• I miss the entertaining strangers' conversations that you hear by chance as you travel in local trains and buses or when you sit at a restaurant or walk through a busy market. Here, most conversations around me seem like Greek and Latin....errrr....well..Dutch. A fews words here and there make sense but nothing engages me. I'd rather walk quietly with my own thoughts and with either my camera or my music for company. 

I sound like I'm complaining and I probably am. But nostalgia clears away like clouds on a sunny day. I still do wish that friends would keep in touch and that the Dutch would hire an English speaking professional(who is trying hard to learn their language). And for all the fuss about the weather and how I miss the deadlines at work, I still love my life here. 

My metamorphosis

It's official....I've undergone a metamorphosis of sorts!! I've gone from Miss to Missus and from Corporate trainer to Housewife!! And, I've flown half way across the globe to live in Holland with my better half.

I've transitioned from my trainer checklists to a Saturday market vegetable list, and client meetings and conference calls are now a thing of the past. I now find myself scheduling video chat sessions with my family on Skype instead.

I don't trek into the Sahyadris every weekend and what's more...I live in a country that's as flat as a pancake and mostly under sea level.

I don't hail an auto rickshaw every time I need to go to either the market or to shop, to the movies or for a drink...I hop on to my bicycle instead. Bicycles aren't those silly two-wheelers that wouldn't get a second glance from me anymore....a lot of them get a second glance and some even a stare!! Bicycles with baskets, bags, baby strollers and seats carry people, their friends, their children, their pets, their shopping. You see bicycles in all colours, shapes and sizes!!! Bicycles for the midget, the seven-footer, the eighty-year-old, the six-year-old, the quirky, the insane...you see them here.

I don't have a maid to cook, clean and make my bed. And there's no dhobi to iron my clothes. I've learnt to enjoy food I've cooked myself and to preferably wear clothes that don't need ironing( yes.....i'm super lazy and I actually do that!!).

Moving has made a big difference gastronomically too. My love for food has ensured that I miss my chatwala bhaiya and my vada pav corner, my tapri chai and chinese dosa, but it has also opened a whole new food window for me from the Turkish doner to the Dutch erwtensoep, from the Greek mousakas to the Indonesian rijsttafel.


My life's undergone a metamorphosis and it would be fair that my blog undergoes a metamorphosis of its own.
I spent some time thinking about possibility of starting a new blog with a new name but realised that somewhere deep down I'll always be a 'Mumbai Chi Mulgi'. So, despite all the change in my life and possibly newer arenas to explore with my blog, I have decided to continue to write right here!!!

Found my Joie De Vivre

Do you think it’ll rain tomorrow and I’ll get the day off?” I asked her the same question two decades ago as a school girl as I do now. My grandmother shakes her weary head and responds, “You, will never grow up!!!”
I prayed for rain; the Gods almost never complied and I dragged my reluctant feet to school. Today I dragged them to work. The BMC announcement on SMS, the weather bureau, the 9pm news all promise heavy rain in the city coupled with high tide and water logging. The sun had other plans and out he popped forcing me to brace myself for another long journey to Malad.

Just another 5 days to go before my last day at work. I’ve decided to let go of a lucrative job to pursue a dream. My constant search for 'Work-Life Balance' is hopefully over. A friend commented, " You love life too much Lax to ever balance it with work.'

I have a dream and I plan to dedicate the rest of this year to make it a reality.

I've found my Joie De Vivre

Deesh happens whonly in India!!!!!

We read so often in the newspapers about shootouts in american schools and lately of similar instances in India as well. What happens minutes before the killer starts shooting innocent, unassuming victims? Is it just another day in their lives? And how do they react to gun wielding strangers? Panic? Or is it their 'Chalta hai' attitude that gets the better of them. I'm lucky I didn't find out....


The Monday blues spilled over to Tuesday. I resorted to my numbaar one stress buster...food ofcourse!!! A colleague had Jumbo Vada Pav cravings and off we went after work to my favourite tapri at Mindspace.

A Vada Pav in hand, exchanging pleasantries with ex-colleagues along the tapri, I missed watching my colleague bump into a really drunk or doped(maybe both) guy. As she glared at him our other colleague happened to notice that the guy wasn't just drunk or stoned, he also possessed a gun!!!! As he swayed and his two friends attempted to help him keep his balance. He held on to his gun and moved it around casually like it was a book or a cigarette he was holding. We panicked and moved away quickly into the car to watch what was happening from a safe distance.

Was this really happening? And why weren't all the people around reacting!!!! My heart skipped a beat...what if he just hit the trigger.....what if he shot somebody.... I looked around...everything seemed normal!!!

'Yaha sab kuch chalta hai!!!'

Somebody dialled the cops.Must be a toy gun, they said. And where is Mahim space?? After 5 minutes of explaining and after taking another 15 minutes to get there, the cops finally arrived. The gun wielding man managed to coax a rickshaw wala to drive him away just seconds before their arrival.

So filmi, I must say!!! The cops arrive when it's all over!!! Whereas for me...that was an interesting end to a blue tuesday :)

The craters, brun maska, a cuppa tea

I opted for another hour of my beauty sleep.I didn't have to spend 2 hours travelling to fort for my meeting. My sister had already promised to get me there in 45 minutes if I agreed to drive faster than I usually do. The roads are clear and there's only a small bad patch(with a few potholes) she added.
The Bombay Port Trust road doesn't have a small bad patch. It has only bad patches of huge crater-like potholes, so my 45 minute drive was more like a trip to the moon's surface. We dodged potholes and bullock carts, and more potholes and trucks and lo and behold....it was a scene straight out of Die Hard 4. A trailer truck had almost overturned and then changed its mind before turning turtle by precariously balancing itself on all its right wheels while the left wheels were up in the air like a dog spraying a lamppost.

The eventful drive did however prove to be much shorter, with no traffic signals and lesser cars.
What does one do at 9:15 am when you're 45 minutes early for a meeting!! Yasdani bakery beckoned, and we sunk out teeth into a warm brun pav with oodles of maska spread on it. A piping hot cuppa followed. Life's little pleasures are sometimes experienced in the most unlikely places...the old, rustic parsi bakery is just one of them.

Satiated and happy with both, the crater laden BPT road(for saving my travel time) and the brun maska(food always makes me happy) I started yet another day on a happy note.

Traffic Police Encounter in Sion!!!

I grew up on large helpings of 'values' dished out by my grandmother. So, yesterday when a pot bellied, bribe-crazy traffic policeman stopped me at Sion for alleged lane cutting I arrogantly refused to slip a fifty rupee note in my licence. When I opened my wallet to hand over my licence he eyed the fifty rupee note right next to it, expecting me to subtly offer it to him in exchange for my 'freedom' and my time. We all know how painfully time consuming it is to follow-up with the traffic police to claim your confiscated licence.
Infact, along with my even fiery sibling I put up a fight. The cop had let a few BEST buses cut right across my little sunshine car, almost crushing me against the divider in the middle of the road. 'You don't argue with a Traffic Policeman' my Mom scolded me later. Common sense refused to prevail and 'Values' took over instead. 'You are your values. Stand for what you think is right.' Grandmom would be proud of me.

The next day, after having to give up on my beauty sleep, which is a weekend ritual I drove to the Police Chowki to get my licence.
The receipt the Mamu had given me mentioned something about appearing in court after 15 days for 'guidance'. Also something about the 'offence being compounded...'. Failing to understand what it meant I imagined myself standing in court defending my grave crime-lane cutting!!! "Mein yeh Gita pe haat rakh ke kehti hu ki saach ke sivah aur kuch nahi bolungi'. And maybe if they decided not to arrest me after all I would swear again." Mein yeh Gita pe haat rakh ke kehti hu ki kabhi, kabhi lane cut nahi karungi.'

At the police chowky it was a different story. Another pot-bellied mamu sat at a dusty, grilled window collecting money, tearing receipts and returning people's licences. It didn't get any eventful than that. His peon spent forever looking though dusty drawers for my licence which was no where to be found. A paan chewing cabbie yelled on his mobile phone while paan stained spit dribbled down his chin. He was just one of the many errant commuters who drove on Mumbai's roads and every now and then ended up breaking signals, lanes or sometimes just falling prey to a greedy hawaldar who hadn't made enough pocket money that day.

They finally retrieved my licence, charged me a hundred rupees, gave me another receipt and I was off....free to drive away hoping my next encounter(which is inevitable on the Mumbai streets) with a Traffic Police was decades away. And if by chance I encounter one soon I still know ' I am my values'