Mumbai Diaries - Part 1(Seeking Mr Ho)

It was not fear, nor, was it exasperation at the realization that Singapore Airlines changes its movie menu only once a month – it was rather extreme relief for being 30,000 feet in the air and heading towards Mumbai.

6:15 AM(Jan 31,2010) and I was extremely glad to see façade of Changi Airport(and I know its façade pretty well!!) till the point I touched my butt. Oh no I am fine – my butt was fine, but a layer of leather that would otherwise have felt my touch was missing. I pirouette not as gracefully as a ballet dancer I would imagine – for my countenance would have expressed an unusually contorted look. Perhaps the back pocket of my Levi’s Jeans was not yet awakened from slumber when I dropped my wallet to its rightful place after having disbursed the fare for the cab ride.

I pour sweat over my immaculately white HTC Magic as I scramble for ideas, and eventually manage to contact Comfort Cab call center. After uttering gibberish for perhaps an extended period – my mind hears the voice at the other end beseech ‘ What was the name of the cab driver?’ At this point I realized that in our daily humdrum we overlook some basic civilities – but fortunately I remembered having glanced at the driving license and recalled ‘Ho’ written somewhere. I conveyed this very vague description with utmost clarity.

The time that followed was spent, incessantly, tiring my legs as my parents watched on worried. My immediate aim was Mumbai and SQ422 but the hurdle was my missing wallet which held the key – my Singapore Identity. The façade was not pleasing anymore, the butterflies of happiness were not fluttering anymore and the horizon was not bright anymore (with the benefit of thorough reflection I now realize that the sun had not risen yet).

At this moment of despair, the silence of gloom is suddenly broken by ABBA in full throttle ‘Mama Mia’, which I realize after a few moments of hopelessness to be my ring tone. And lo it was Mama Mia indeed for my key would be delivered. My heart and my being reverberated, in unison, ‘Thank You Mr Ho’.
But relief at 30,000 feet in the air did not mean that I had let my mind to rest. I split my lenses from camera (in to separate bags – mine & dads) to avoid the customs bribery net as soon as I landed, but this was not necessary owing to a Japanese girl who had learned to say ‘Namaste’ and in the process hogged the limelight amongst drooling custom officials.

The next few days I sunk my soul in to the breath of Mumbai. My first social interaction was enabled through Sameer aka Garfield’s wedding – which entailed winding down the Ghodbunder Road at 1000 bumps per second. Garfield seemed to have remained faithful to his version of lasagnas while Rachno was chirpy as ever. Jigar and Nidhi would have assured Garfield or any jittery dulha of the possibility of bliss afterwards. The economics prof aka Ritesh just about managed to congratulate Garfield & Arlene as family and friends were almost convinced that no one else would turn up.

Breath of Mumbai warm & fragrant and it had just about begun. More in next.