Mumbai's Hustling Corporate Clutter - Marol Naka and Saki Naka

Mumbai's Naka's - the Saki Naka and the Marol Naka areas, are an amalgamation of the urban hustle and power-packed lessons for life. Don't believe me? Try taking a train to one of Mumbai's most populated corporate official areas, one where dreams thrive and people survive. 

As per ideal body language etiquettes, it is suggested that we walk with our head high. I try. I try really hard but on the bustling Andheri East roads, every step is a gamble of space. One step forward, I cross a pile of orange peels thrown by the street juice vendor flocked by office goers in expensive ties and formal shoes. Another step, I cross over a stuff toy fallen from the gunny bag of an old man selling cushiony teddies at throwaway prices, flocked by women with laptop bags on their shoulders. I walk, rather I tread my way through the bustling roads of Saki Naka and Marol Naka, and I realize, all those body language etiquettes are probably meant for the elites who transcend in space; for those who have space to walk, strut and stride on the good roads. 

I hop down at a Mumbai Metro station, which is nothing but the lo-fi version of Mumbai local, just with the sweat trapped in air-conditioned cavities. Two autowalas, audition me for taking their next trip - one looks me up, listens to me explain all the lefts and rights with hand gestures, and then, slams me with a 'Nahi chalega', whizzing past me for a better trip. Then begins the golden moment where the essence of urban 'gaali's begin. It is for experiences like these that cuss words were built. When an autowala whizzes past you, after wasting your time, and you need to simply vent out the helplessness, there comes a word like a 'bhendi' or a 'yeda saala' that gives your soul the satisfaction of having a comeback for the jerk who messed with you. 

After a series of autos trampling on my pride, I finally manage to board an auto, being driven by an old man, taking full advantage of his hearing disability. After a series of 'sidha jaake left' and a 'madam, pehle batana chahiye tha na' debates, I finally reach my destination and pay him the money in exact change - not one rupee more, not one rupee less. 

The Cash Flow Evenings for Mumbai Vendors

Evening sets in. The street lamps blink on. The panipuri wala is all set for the cash inflow with tired office goers looking for some spice in their life. Shoulders plonked with laptop bags, I see women, some who are actually pregnant, and still working through their maternity leave, all of them, smiling with a satisfying chatter of 'mc bc manager saala, aj bhi late kaam diya'. I watch them with my side eye, as I tread past them, stepping over the panipuri wala's organic waste bin - small silver foiled paper plates, sev puri crumbles and dhaniya tamatar sprinkles, all toppling over an already full dustbin. 

I walk past a few steps, side stepping an actor playing a limping man with a bowl, and quietly glancing at his android phone under the bowl. The smell of vada's being plunged in hot oil fills the air with a loud crackling sound, in the midst of honking cars, crazy city buses and a screaming autowala yelling at a biker at a distance. This idli vada stall is a rage. White collar employees, contractual vendors, the local watchmen and the makeup didi, all of them unite at this stall that laps up medu vada's at the speed of light. Mumbaikars love the medu vada and idlis. Of course, not more than vada pav for sure. 

Preparing for the Platform

After all of this treading, I hope I get some space to walk, but no. There was a pile of people to cross now. Walking, raging towards you, away from you, walking diagonally, bumping into you, striding past you and what not. No sorry, no apology - only rush hour madness. Where are they heading? I wonder. I remove my ear pods and focus on the noise. As I enter the lift, I see tired faces, glued to their phones, a man madly pressing the lift buttons, a woman glaring at how she couldn't fit in the last batch of people who took the lift. 'Save the lift for those who are needy', screams the big yellow board on top of the Metro lift. The board is royally ignored, rather, followed judiciously, because, "come on! who here is not needy? (of space and some time-saving!) 

The lift comes in, the two uncles pop out of the lift like popcorn discarded by the machine.  And we fill it in like a swarm of bees, every corner used to the maximum. A fat woman, almost stuck on the door, is pushed away after we try hard to accomodate her until the lift door says "I am not closing until she hops off". Finally, I reach the platform after the usual ticklish frisking of the metro security ladies. I wonder sometimes, do they actually scan for gold in the process? Coz we ain't carrying them to work lady!

I have no clue what they scan for. For me, it feels like being touched by yet another stranger in the crowd. 

Enter the platform - the final destination? Rather the beginning of war - a battlefield we all prep for every single day. We swarm the platform and fall into lines, that overpour into geometrical asymmetry and wait for the train to arrive. The high-pitched nasal announcement at the Mumbai train station fills the air and we hold our breath. Two hands cupping our handbag, ladies pulling their laptop bags to their bosoms like holding a baby, arms angled perfectly for territory marking and side fisting. 'Kohni maarna' is the key to making space in this battlefield. Enter the train and the battle for the hand support begins. A man's belly rubs onto my back and a lady, dressed in yellow for Sankranthi celebrations in office, looks at me with a crease on her forehead. I instead, start ogling at the jhumka design she was wearing. It's unbelievable how people choose to deck up, being very well aware of the chaos in trains - gajra, jhumka, choodi, lehenga, and all the jazz, cluttered up by the bustling swarm of bees, who may even strangle your hair apart if needed! Hats off to the sheer audacity. 

Well, after inhaling sweat-loaded, air-conditioned air, and sneaking into the 'bigg boss' show streaming on a co-passengers' phone, my mind is a mix of exhausted, concerned and entertained! 

The Swarm That Survives

Inside Mumbai's corporate offices, the same swarm of people walk confidently, with pride, doing their work between infinite chai breaks, probably jolting high-end revenues for big brands who earn in crores, leasing out peanuts for the swarm that works so hard. The irony is that, this swarm is the one that keeps the city running, businesses flourishing, so that, at the end of the day, they are all well-settled into the life they dream of - a happy girlfriend who marries you for being socially acceptable, a content family man who never forgets his daughters' dance class fee, a daughter-in-law who retains her identity even with condescending in-laws, a single mother who manages to give her son a good school, a bachelor finding his wings in the crowd. Breathe in chaos, breathe out survival - this corporate jungle of the Naka's is much more than concrete offices and hustles - it is a training ground for life. It teaches you that everyone is fighting a battle in their lives - to stay sane, everyone chooses to go insane- for that one moment of peace, that one morsel of respect, that one essence of a life lived on one's own terms with dignity. So, which train are you boarding today? Let me know, I might bump into you today!

- Snehal Shrivastava