Page 1 of Made in Mumbai

A Tale of G

— GAUTAM —

PAST, 15 YEARS AGO

June, 2009

Gautam stuck his head out of the truck window and took a deep whiff. Was this how Mumbai smelled early in the morning? He couldn’t tell from this far.

They were driving at 70 km/hour down the NH 48, about to touch the Ghodbunder Road bypass that would lead straight to the maximum city. He had read about it properly in a book by Suketu Mehta, but his first introduction to Mumbai had been through films. So many films. He had seen them all through his time living and working at Thakur Saab’s home. Bombay, Satya, Don, Guru, Munna Bhai M.B.B.S, Dil Chahta Hai.Those were the days…he inhaled, enjoying the heady monsoon winds blowing right into his face.

“Oye, khotte, andar baith!” Kumar bhai’s stern command startled him. Gautam took one last whiff and pulled his body back inside the truck, facing the angry Sardar. The deck played his favourite ghazals on loud.Unko bhi humse mohabbat ho, zaroori toh nahi.

“At least some time play something else, Kumar bhai,” he whined, reaching into the side pocket and pulling out a small, old walkman. A whack on the back of his head — “English na faada kar mere naal.”

Gautam snorted, setting up the walkman. He had saved it from his days serving at Thakur Saab’s mansion, when they had finished their Diwali cleaning and discarded a lot of old things. He had been the recipient of this ancient hand-me-down walkman along with a whole bag of cassettes. Some were Hindi songs, most others were English. He listened to the English ones on loop, learning to pronounce words better.

He began to unwind the earphones wire as their truck ate up the bumpy road. It meant they were crossing into city territory.

Clue number one was when you knocked on my door. Clue number two was the look that you wore…

Their truck veered from the national highway onto the state highway, hurtling through minor traffic. They had a massive delivery to make here, in a godown near Ghodbunder. Gautam sat back and listened to Cloud Number 9, his boss and driver doing all the hard work of driving, even after 15 hours. What could he do? He had offered. But the stubborn Sardar wouldn’t ever give up unless he was dying or was on the verge of.

“Oye teri!”

Their truck began to stutter. Then lurched. Gautam paused his music. Kumar bhai pushed on the emergency indicator and slowly pulled the vehicle on the shoulder of the road, the lurches and jerks too heavy now.

The truck sputtered to a stop on the curb, the sun just rising over their heads. They jumped out and immediately got to work — opening the engine and checking oils, electricals, coolants. Gautam had learned the basics in his two years of being the cleaner for Kumar bhai.

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” He exclaimed in his best imitation of American accent. He thought it was terrific.Wham!Kumar bhai’s palm landed again on the back of his head.

“Oye khotteya, aise time pe toh angrezi na faada kar. Chal, phone laga!”

Rubbing the back of his head, he climbed up into the cabin and grabbed the small Nokia phone. The year was 2009, people were using fancy mobiles which took clear photographs, even in small cities. And Kumar bhai was stuck on this box that could be hurled at somebody to break their heads. Gautam refrained from commenting and got to work.

“Agar transmission kharab hua toh pura din lag jaayega,” Kumar bhai muttered to himself, irritated and tired. Gautam’s ears stood to attention.If there was a transmission issue in the engine, it would be a day’s work.The whole day. One whole day. Close to Mumbai. What if he could go into the city and quickly see it and come back?

A plan began to churn.

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“Kal subah 8 baje idhar hi,” the tempo driver signalled as Gautam jumped out of the back and onto solid, paved road. He had been nice enough to drop Gautam into the city from the outskirts, where their truck had been opened up for repairs.

“Yeh Marine Drive hai na?” Gautam pointed a thumb behind him. The old tempo driver raised his thumb and drove away, leaving a poof of smoke behind him. When Gautam turned, the street led uphill. Big cars zoomed up and down the road, tall fancy buildings fringing it. Pretty trees curved over each other, creating a tunnel-like walkway. Why had the films not shown these pretty places?

He settled his hair up and over his head, ran a hand down his cheek which he had shaved just yesterday after their stop at a dhaba on the Gujarat State Highway, and tucked in the loose T-shirt he had swapped with his tight white cleaner-ganji. This loose brown T-shirt once belonged to Thakur Saab. It was his night-time wear, with a fancy print that read VYOMING U.S.A. in white. It was imported, another discard from the mansion, and a hand-me-down to him. Gautam had saved it, and his only jeans, to wear on an important day. Now as he walked up the hilly street and went about putting his appearance in place, he couldn’t stop grinning.

Agreed, he had snuck out of their resting place behind a dhaba as Kumar bhai had gone to sleep for the day. Agreed, he had emptied all his own savings of 596 rupees. Agreed, he had taken a spare hundred rupee note lying in the truck’s cabin as an emergency backup. But he knew that the truck would be repaired and delivered only tomorrow afternoon. And Kumar bhai, after a 15-hour driving session, wouldn’t wake up before tomorrow morning.

By that time, he would be back after exploring all of Mumbai — Gateway of India, Taj Hotel, Nariman Point, Marine Drive… he couldn’t wait! He had never seen the sea in his life. He had driven by the sea all the time, sometimes even parallel to it. But never had Kumar bhai’s truck touched a shoreline. As a Himachali boy, all he had known were mountains and streams. Here would be a whole big waterbody. Would he be able to see the other side? Where maybe another country would start?

Of course he couldn’t. He wasn’t naive. Or illiterate. But it was fun imagining all sorts of scenarios of what the end of the sea would look like from the shore. It was still mid-morning, which meant he wouldn’t be able to see the sunset. Maybe he would explore Mumbai and come back here by this evening?

Cars honked, rickshaw drivers sped past, the sky turned heavy above him. He glanced up. It was just 10.30 am but the overcast sky looked dark enough to burst upon him. His climb reached its peak and Gautam gaped around amazed. Shops. So many fancy-looking shops. Just like he had seen in foreign movies. Hotels.What did they call them? Yes, cafes.Hakim Alim… some hair parlour. His feet slowed, his head in a whirl.

He went downhill then, seeing kids walking towards a garden on the slope, a small shop selling ice cream. That would be expensive now, wouldn’t it? He peeped through the window at the menu. Baskin Robbins. French Vanilla was 45 rupees. He could have one, but then he would have to ration for the whole day. No. If by night he had money left, he would come back here and buy one. For now though, the sight of food made his stomach grumble. Their last meal had been the aloo palak and dal tadka at last night’s dhaba halt.

Gautam stopped, looking for cheaper options. Everything was big and fancy here, the people going in and out were rich too. He glanced at himself in one of the many shiny doors. He looked good for a 19-year old Himachali truck cleaner. Thanks to the expensive-looking T-shirt on his back and the loose jeans he had not worn much. He played with his wavy hair, spiking it up to look more like the Mumbai boys. It didn’t stay up fully, but got that messed-up look that seemed to be everywhere with Bollywood heroes.

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