Space invasion in Maximum City

In India, the concept of private space has not really taken off. When people surround you all the time, space becomes something of a luxury. This is truer in a place like Mumbai.

Before I moved to Mumbai from New York, I was amply warned: “The city stinks”, “too much traffic”, “too much noise”! Figures I am down for that. I like places that have energy and are buzzing; strangely, they inspire me to do better in my life, to be more energetic and inquisitive.

Luckily, the people in Bombay made the transition easy. They talk to you in the elevators, they smile, they seem so grateful when you ask for directions, as if their life’s purpose had been fulfilled by sending you the right way.

All in all, I was having a good time in Bombay till the ‘night of the taxi’.

One day, as usual, I finished work at about 11pm and was waiting for a black-and-yellow. After 15 minutes of anxiously waiting, I was still taxiless.

Then, suddenly, I saw a light of hope. Do I see a taxi? I was just going to break into my happy dance when, to my horror, I saw three more people standing in front of me, whom I had gladly missed, busy BBMing as I was.

Having seen these people at work, I knew they left before me, so did this mean this taxi was theirs?

I was contemplating using my ‘female alone at night’ card when my ethical side took over and I suddenly turned into this overly courteous person, eager to uphold society’s unspoken rules.

The taxi pulled over, but before I could open my mouth to say, “Would you”, two of them had dived into the car while the third pushed me in, got in after me, and quickly told the driver to go.
Petrified! Blistering barnacles! Hanumanji, save me! Where are these lustful men taking me!

I was still in shock, reciting all the prayers I had ever learnt, when the guy in front turned around and said, “All to Parel station?”
Suddenly, enlightenment! My muscles relaxed. Taxi pooling! Phew!

In NY and Toronto there exists a silent social contract: even if people envelop you all the time, they never intervene in your space bubble. This was different; not only did these people intervene in my space, they literally pushed me to share theirs. Reminded me of the book Shantaram in which the author says that only in India people can invade one another’s space and not resent it as the country revolves on love.

I was pondering over these thoughts when the driver pulled up in front of my apartment and I realised that the other three had probably alighted much earlier. I asked the guy how much and he said 20 bucks.

A ride back home and at one-third the price? Space intervention, I’m sold.