What people think I do in Mumbai

Almost every other week, someone calls me up and says, “Wow, you stay near the national park! So, cool.” What? What do they think I do here? It seems many of my friends assume that the only thing I do besides ‘visiting’ office is to roam around and watch the latest Bollywood films.

Last week when I told an old friend who was in the city that I was visiting the Elephanta Caves for the first time, with him, he refused to believe. He said, “Then, what do you do on off days?”

For me, off days and holidays are strictly no-train days. At least once a week, I deserve to stay at home, away from the rush crowd — just the opposite of what my friends think I do. Never one to believe me, my Chennai friends argue: ‘Even writers have talked about reading novels in the train, so don't dare say anything against Mumbai local trains.’

Even I tried that, but reading in the train remains a big challenge to me. I carry novels in my hand — the books getting thinner and thinner now — but holding it and turning the pages in a crowded compartment is a delicate affair.

Common people might see journalists as voracious readers, carrying a book everywhere. But what do you do after finishing a page? If you lift a hand to turn the pages too often, the man standing nearby could think you are deliberately prodding him.

And that is worse than a woman giving a dirty look for such an act. I end up reading little and spending more time overhearing phone conversations in different languages.

Reading in rickshaw? You must be joking. In the Western Express Highway, you are more worried for your life than concentrate on words, when the three-wheeler is zooming fast on a potholed road.

Tell this to my friends here, and they will come up with the age-old high-school boys' logic: “You carry books only to impress girls.” For them, every action of mine is guided by only one objective: Wooing girls. And when I say no to any party, they suspect a girl to be behind my refusal. And the worst part: The girls think I am always drinking — new to Mumbai, enjoying the city's bars to the fullest extent, sitting there till we are thrown out, they feel.

The sad truth: I escape from both to catch some sleep or watch TV or browse the Internet after a long day and journey. And no, I am not writing a novel at that hour, unlike what a few people think. At that hour, I am not even reading anything useful, though I would imagine myself doing so. They ask whether I am blogging or reading something important: And lo! What am I reading, onion.com or its likes.

It's all just the opposite of what my friends back home and my family thinks I am doing: Reading, writing or taking photos at scenic locations in and around the city. What use is such beautiful and heritage locations to me, if I don't visit them?

Only my editors' idea of what I am doing comes close to what I think am doing. They think I am whiling away my time staring at the computer screen. And I think, am basically philosophising — the empirical act being the same, sitting idle most of the time. And what do I really do? Daydream!