Page 7 of Made in Mumbai

“Madhubala.”

“Yes! Yes. Madhubala. This is so good…”

“There’s more, come on.”

He walked behind her, but his head was turned back, refusing to leave that wall. They walked some more and again his eyes bulged. Amitabh Bachhan from Deewar in his blue uniform. This one also tall. Gautam’s eyes remained bulged as they kept walking, big paintings after big paintings on walls, some going as high as three floors. All Bollywood actors or singers.

“Who makes these paintings?”

“They are murals. We call it our Mumbai street art. Some, the BMC commissioned, some were made sneakily in the middle of the night by nameless artists. This is the Bollywood Project.”

“I wish I could take a photo of these…”

“Take it from your phone naa!”

He stilled.

“Umm…” he patted his pocket. “I don’t have my phone,” he looked down. “Yet.”

“I’ll take it on mine and send you. Stand there.”

“No, no, just take the wall.”

M stepped back and clicked the wall of murals on her BlackBerry phone. He had been begging Kumar bhai to buy something like this for himself. BlackBerry was too expensive, but something more like it, where you could take photographs. But Kumar bhai was Kumar bhai.Kanjoos.

“Where next, M?”

“Pav Bhaji!”

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They took the red bus. It was called the BEST, and thankfully the ticket was 4 rupees. Gautam caught a window seat like a child, then glanced at M and sheepishly offered to let her have it. She just laughed and plopped down beside him, bag and all.

As the bus zoomed down the wet dark grey roads of Mumbai, he stuck his nose to the steel bars, just soaking in all the honks and oil smells and petrol rainbows on the way. Traffic, signals, beggars, eunuchs, flower sellers… the sights were so many and the bus quite fast. He was a little disappointed when they had to get down.

“Where is this?” He looked around, a line of tall Hindi movie hoardings in front of him. Love Aaj Kal, New York, Luck, Kumbakht Ishq.

“O, hero? This way,” she tapped his shoulder, pulling him by the collar until he followed her. Only a few feet away the road curved. And again the sea rose. This time, on the beach. He jumped — “This is Chowpatty?!”

“Juhu Beach,” she knocked his forehead. “And it is better than Chowpatty. Don’t ask me why now.”

He didn’t. He just ran down the pavement and into the bed of sand, the sea again in front of him. The rain had stopped, bringing the sun out in the sky. It shone like gold on the water.

“You want to eat Pav Bhaji or no?” Her holler made him turn back.

“What’s that?”

“Magic with butter and a side of onions,” she grinned mysteriously.

Praying under his breath that it wasn’t too costly, he followed her to the stalls on the edge of the beach. The sand coated his feet, and he vowed to never wash them because that’s how good it felt to walk in it.

“Do Pav Bhaji, Bhaiya…” M began to order but he stopped her.

“I think…” his eyes searched the top of the stall, looking for the menu. 35 rupees per plate. “Yes, I will have that Pav Bhaji only.”

It was delicious. He couldn’t stop smelling it. Butter on a round plate full of red bhaji. Chopped onions on the side. And two big buttery buns. Gautam had to slow down or he would look like a starved dog.

They sat cross-legged on a mat on the sand, turned towards each other, and ate their lunch.

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