When the Reader's Digest earlier this month published a survey ranking cities in order of the politeness and courtesy of their people, Bombay, the city where I grew up (and which nationalists have renamed Mumbai) came last. The surveyors obviously understood neither the city nor its citizens.
For if you want to get a flavour of what Bombay's people are really like, witness the astonishing humanity and generosity with which they have poured out their hearts and supported those among them who were maimed by synchronised bomb blasts. People flocked to hospitals to donate blood, and thousands offered strangers bed to sleep in. The state will respond slowly, trying to figure out the extent of the blasts and organise its emergency services; but the city's enterprising people will not wait for that helping hand.
Recall the fury of the monsoon on July 26 last year, when Bombay experienced 37 inches of rain within 24 hours. While the urban administration could barely cope with the crisis, individual citizens ensured that the city did not collapse into anarchy, offering guidance to public policy advocates on how to manage a crisis. Bloggers were at it then, and they are at it now, disseminating information, connecting individuals and families, and offering resources.
For enterprise, not rudeness, is the other name of Bombay, a city where few want to depend on someone else for help. But there is always a helping hand for those who need, as Suketu Mehta points out in his book Maximum City, which was shortlisted for the Guardian First Book Award.
In that book, Mr. Mehta writes:
In the crowded suburban trains, you can run up to the packed compartments and find many hands stretching out to grab you on board, unfolding outwards from the train like petals ... And at the moment of contact, they do not know if the hand that is reaching for theirs belongs to a Hindu or Muslim or Christian or Brahmin or untouchable, or whether you were born in this city or arrived only this morning. All they know is that you're trying to get to the city of gold, and that's enough. Come on board, they say. We'll adjust.
And adjust they do, always, all the time. The roads of Bombay today are filled with people walking home, offered water and food by people living in the neighbourhood. Slum dwellers have jumped into the fray, offering help to the stranded people walking home. Rides are offered and accepted, and nobody asks anyone what their faith, language or caste may be. Only the blood group matters, and there are queues of people at hospitals waiting to donate. And according to some blogs, the Western Railway will resume service tonight, running trains through the night. The show goes on in Bombay, always.
The people of Bombay don't want you to get in their way as they try to cross the road, cling to railway compartments or hang out of double-decker buses as they try to make that appointment, secure that deal and attain that reward that would take them one step closer to realising their Bombay dream (No, not that one!)
There is pluck and resilience in Bombay. Salman Rushdie, the city's finest chronicler, wrote in The Moor's Last Sigh: "Those who hated India, those who sought to ruin it, would need to ruin Bombay."
Bombay is a city without a dominant regional culture, language or religion, and it is quintessentially modern. There are few ancient monuments, and the Taj Mahal is a five-star hotel. This practical, no-nonsense efficiency makes Bombay the preferred choice of multinationals setting up their Indian headquarters, in spite of obscenely expensive real estate.
Bombay is also the home of the sassy and cheeky Bollywood, whose hundreds of forgettable films may not win awards at international film festivals but do make lots of money. Strike at Bombay's bindaas (cocky) nature, and you rock India's confidence.
Consider this sentiment: "It takes more than Semtex to shake Sensex, stockbrokers in Bombay said after those blasts, which killed nearly 300 people and which targeted Bombay's premier buildings, the stock exchange tower, the Air India Building, the passport office and a Sheraton hotel, as well as buses, in what many think was a dress rehearsal for the kind of simultaneous attacks that hit London, New York Washington, Madrid and London nearly a decade later.
Bombay is India's face to the world; the star of the east with her face to the west; an energetic port where people come from all over to seek their fortune. It is India's Manhattan: if you can make it in Bombay, you can make it anywhere. It has been bruised and battered, but it has the strength of being the only truly cosmopolitan city in south Asia.
Such cities live on trust. Bombay is used to welcoming outsiders and strangers. Tourists travel in its motor launches to the Elephanta islands; traders deal in shares, bonds, gold, diamonds and commodities; tycoons set up businesses; shoeshine boys work hard and strike it rich; and starry-eyed girls come from the hinterland to make it in its tinseltown.
But despite the blow, Bombay will not tear apart. Great trading cities cannot be exclusionary; they mix everything. Bombay is the tawa (a flat iron wok) where pao bhaji (a popular dish of buttered fried bread and curried vegetables) is cooked, the ingredients blending together to create a sizzling, spicy meal.
Mr Rushdie went on to write:
Bombay, a relatively new city in an immense, ancient land is not interested in yesterdays. In Bombay, all Indias met and merged. Bombay was central; all rivers flowed into its human sea. It was an ocean of stories, we were all its narrators, and everybody talked at once. What magic was stirred into that insaan-soup (the soup of humanity), what harmony emerged from that cacophony!"
This absence of a majority and the celebration of plurality, are what make Bombay unique: the city belongs to nobody and to everyone. In 1993, Bombay erupted in riots - a blot on the city's fair name; in 2003, people marched in silence; in 2006, they are offering their blood.
It takes a lot more than a few bombs to break the city's spirit. Salaam, Bombay!
