BAMBAI MAIN KA BA
“Dhobi
ka kutta na ghar ka, na ghaat ka.”
Old proverb
When
my dad, his brothers and sisters wanted to migrate to a big city for a ‘better
life’, their obvious choice was Bombay. Back in the village, life was confined
to the little paddy fields, one-or-two cows, dogs, cats, chicken… for some, a
couple of buffalos… Schooling was mostly limited to primary or higher primary.
Rarely someone managed to complete high school (up to 11th grade in
those days.). So, invariably, one of my uncles or aunts, who first migrated to
Bombay – and lived in some crowded chawls or basties – began to
take others to the city, one by one… till all siblings – nine of them - were
uprooted from the village.
My dad, somehow,
made it back to the village before he got married to my mom. There on, he made
our village as his permanent dwelling and working place.
For those uncles
and aunts, who had chosen to stay back in this big city, slowly and steadily,
the progress in Bombay meant upgrading their basties and chawls to
one-room-all-contained tenements… Where children would be born, raised,
schooled and even married off… It’s only the children of my aunts and uncles –
my first cousins – when they became family’s first generation of graduates – as
we became so, back in our village – that, progress meant a IBHK. By now, the
Middle East was where the key to progress seemed to rest. With that, came a 2BHK…
Meanwhile, young graduates like me, were restless to move to Bombay or Middle East. Yes, invariably, one of our aunts or uncles – despite a life inside their own ‘match boxes’ – never failed to patronize their young nephews and nieces. I was fortunate to be sheltered by one of my dad’s brothers, who along with his wife, despite their hand-to-mouth existence, made me feel that I was their own son. I spent my seven initial-years of life in this city living with them…
To me, everything
happened from that launching pad!
Today,
after more than four decades, I wonder, if I belong to this mega city, which
has now become Mumbai, or still belong to the village where I was born and
educated.
In the bargain
of trying to ‘settle’ in this city, I slowly uprooted myself from the place of
my birth. Yes, my mom and two of my brothers live there along with their
families. But, migration has already started with the next generation, too…
Some have moved to cities like Bangaluru or Dubai…
When the
lockdown was announced, some of my nephews and nieces, who had just moved to
those cities, managed to return home. My family had ‘settled’ here – with a permanent
house and a business. So, we did not feel the pressure to walk back home…
But, where was
the ‘home’, by the way? What would we walk back to?
The heart-breaking
scenes of migrant workers walking back to their villages – hundreds and
thousands of miles, through hunger and dehydration – would have been my plight
too, had I migrated to this city recently and had no roof over my head or job
in my hand. Perhaps, I would have panicked and walked back to the place I
hailed from… hundreds and thousands of miles away from this city. Who knows, if
I would have ever made it, alive?
Trying to
dramatize?
Well, Elbert Hubbard said: “Never explain… Your friends do not need it, and your enemies do not believe you, anyway.”
I rest my case with this hart-hitting rap song…
GERALD D’CUNHA
Pic's: 1. www.mynation.com 2. www.irishtimes.com
Video: T-Series
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