Column

Rains threw a feeble warm-up delivery on Mumbai and the city collapsed dramatically. It was equivalent to a batsman being bowled, caught, and stumped - all at once.

On Friday, fifteen minutes of rain created a gridlock from Borivili to Santa Cruz airport on the Western Express highway. It took scores of commuters, three-and-a half hours to complete the journey from those two points. What is new about a traffic jam on that highway, you might ask.

It’s news to me that folks in the government and the general public can become so benumbed by the almost ritualistic occurrences that they all go back home and forget about it. Worse, few people - I mean the civilian types, not the civic officials - seem to care that they will have to endure longer fume-drenched stints on the road as rains gather momentum.

Where is the conviction-filled shout of protest that is brought on by caste- or tribe-associated problems? Why can’t people speak out about the humiliation of suffering the same torment year after year? Lot many young studs seem exercised by the question of who is driving taxis on Mumbai roads. However, the state of the roads and the torture of driving on the roads does not seem to exercise them at all.

We have, all been paralysed by what I will call ‘acceptance syndrome’. It is the fatalistic notion that what cannot be cured must be endured - and that will suit the government, won’t it?

But why criticise the government…how many Mumbaikars have bothered to join a car pool to consciously cut vehicular surge? Well, I have not, and shame on me. I know I am in good company. On the other hand, the government has done nothing to make train travel comfortable or safe. But then unruly commuters who rule over trains, for example the many gangs from Virar or Kalyan, who illegally shortlist passengers, have transformed what is just uncomfortable travel into a dangerous expedition.

And please, let us not talk about resilience of the average Mumbaikar. The worn idea is simply untrue. The truth is that Mumbaikar feels no ownership over the city. For an average Mumbaikar - me, for instance - Mumbai is my home, my workplace, and the watering hole that I spend my Saturday evenings. Once again, I am in a fairly common category. It is peopled by those who swig mid-range whiskey; denounce shoddy civic infrastructure; and wish that the DJ plays Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to be wild’ rather than some new-fangled youth anthem that they can’t hum.

Unless we change, Mumbai won’t. Just last evening while driving to Powai from Park Hotel in Belapur, I saw no fewer than 23 accidents. Yes, 23. Life just whizzed past the wrecks. It is time Mumbai realised that ruthless velocity of our corporate obsessions will not travel farther than the traffic jam that is holding us.
raghu@dnaindia.net