A Sunday Adventure

Parel blazing under the scorching sun.
It was a Sunday. Sundays were always very special to me. A day of relaxation and entertainment, after seven days of monotonous working hours in the office and hectic commuting by the local trains to the office and then to my den in the interiors of Parel. Sundays were special not only to me but also for my kind of working young men and women in the city. Now that I am free after opting out of my job, thanks to the voluntary separation scheme announced by my institution, all days are in a sense special or dearer to me. No tension. No headaches. No nerve-wracking excercises, plenty of time left for reading, writing, observation and if mood willing, TV watching. Thank God! Not at all any reason for boredom.
I was alone in the flat. The landlord was away in his native land of Satara with his family for a month long vacation. My one and only room-mate and friend Ajith was on a pleasure trip to Mount Abu in Rajasthan. He always loved travels and even after marriage, he still undertakes travels to the interiors of India, alone. I got a picture card from him the day before the picture of Dilwara temple and on one side he had written- writing to you from the top of the world. An escape from the monotony of daily existence.
A precious chance missed! He had invited me several times to give him a company for his pleasure trip to Mount Abu. I could have gone with him. I should have gone with him. I would not have felt like an orphan in Parel, as I had no other friends there, atleast one SouthIndian either a Tamilian or a Malayalee. All “Marathi Manoos” , - the intimate words of Shiv Sena leader- Bal Thackeray, all of them strange to me. Even that language was so alien to me, and still alien to me.
“I don’t feel like traveling a long distance this time, Ajith somewhat lethargic. Bear with me this time. We shall make it the next time. Have a nice journey. Write to me or give me a ring, if possible. Sorry my dear friend”.- Ajith might have been amazed to find my apathy which I had never displayed before.
I woke up as usual at about 6AM and went inside, washed my face and came back. Even in the morning, I felt like sweating under the fan which was working at its peak. Through the open window I could see outside, the atmosphere in Parel, still hazy with “Marathi Manoos” moving in various directions doing their daily chores. Came out of the room, bolted the room from outside and went down the stairs to the nearest coffee shop just infront of the Bombay Dyeing colony. My daily bed-coffee was from that shop, the owner, a 50year old man in his kurtas and pyjamas was a stranger to me. I didn’t ask him anything and he didn’t ask me anything. We wanted to be strangers, so I felt. Bombay Dyeing colony is a huge housing complex with approximately three hundred small flats, all packed to capacity, the prime occupants being Bombay Dyeing mill workers, the mill adjacent to it.
I drank the coffee. Came back to the room and lighted a cigar. A device for tension-releasing, so I believed in those days. The day’s newspapers arrived and slumping into the chair with the cigar in between my two fingers, my eyes went through the day’s news, occasionally blowing out smoke through my mouth and nostrils. The reading went on for about two hours and after that I woke up from the chair, again went inside and routine activities began.
After having a bath, I went to the kitchen and preparations for the cooking began and ignited the stove. Two boiled bananas, two slices of bread and one glass of black tea, the process took about only fifteen to twenty minutes. Somewhat sumptuous breakfast in the city of Mumbai, for an average office-goer.
Breakfast over, I came to the front and pondered over the next step. Even after ten minutes of nerve-wracking, couldn’t find one and hence I thought about having some more sleep on the mattress spread on the cot. A nice sleep forgetting all worries, tensions and existential agonies of a typical city-man. After all I was alone there. If Ajith was there, the story would have been different. We would have gone out to Victoria Terminus or Churchgate, might have spent time watching one or two movies at the New Excelsior,Eros or Metro. Or simple sightseeing trip Gateway, Elephanta Caves, Malabar Hills or Marine Drive. But he was away in Mount Abu in a festive spirit.
Parel still blazing under the scorching sun.
I was in deep sleep oblivious of the happenings around the surroundings. I didn’t know, I was sweating under the ever dutiful ceiling fan. My moments of ‘Kumbhakarna Sleep’…. Somebody shook me violently. With shock and rage brewing within me I opened my eyes and woke up. A group of young and middle-aged men standing before me with arrogant faces. I felt bewildered. Simply coming inside, violently shaking me up, with arrogant looks, I felt like slapping the audacious creatures. All of them strangers, one among them extended a receipt book towards me and demanded-“Donation”. He was growling, so I felt.
“What for”- I blurted out.
“Shivaji Jayanti Celebration”- the fellow growled again.
“Who gave you the permission to come inside?- I was roaring with anger.
He might have been taken aback for a second. There was no response except his impudent looks. I could notice the impudent looks on the faces of each and everyone among the group.
“Forcing a man out of his sleep, then demanding donation from him- too much. Don’t play with fire. Take it from me. Yeah I say, I won’t give you a single paisa”. –I was shivering with rage. My heart was pounding fast. I could hear my heart beating, like drum beats. If provoked further I would have gone to do something extreme on the spur of the moment. There was not much response from the group except a “See you”, “See you again”- an arrogant tone.
“Get lost”- I responded in an angry tone.
Parel still blazing under the scorching sun.

They were about to wreak vengeance upon me, of which I was unaware of.
The next day as usual, after a day’s boring job and tormenting journey, I reached the room at about 7PM. Immediately after unlocking the door and entering the room I was about to switch on the light and fan. No, there was no power supply. I came out and looked around and saw lights everywhere. Each and every flat of the colony was flooding with light. Whole Parel was bathed in light except my room. I was alarmed and was wondering whom to lodge a complaint. Everyone there was a stranger to me. Unfortunately Ajith was out of the station, the landlord also not at home. I bolted the room again and went out. Bought a packet of candles and came back. Lighted it- some relief after all. Sunday’s incident came to mind and I was coming to grip with the situation- they have struck back. Okay then, let them proceed and satiate their thirst for blood. Let them enjoy and laugh to their heart’s content. But I had decided to not to be cowed down by such nasty tricks.
Ajith came back after one week and was flabbergasted on hearing the whole story.

“These narrow minded ones don’t care for other people’s feelings. They think the whole of Maharashtra is their monopoly, their family property. Don’t be upset. The cosmopolitan character of Mumbai is here to stay. They can’t wipe it out anymore”- Ajith’s words of consolation calmed my nerves for the moment.
I recall this sordid story after about 28 years now because of the recent unfortunate happenings involving the youths of Bihar and U.P who came all the way from their native States to attend a Railway Recruitment Board Exam and their ordeal at the hands of MNS hoodlums.
Even then the cosmopolitan character of Mumbai is here to stay, the vibrant hustling,bustling city is here to stay for ever….