Friday, October 22, 2004

What does Bombay say at night?

As I've mentioned before, I'm here in Bombay with four other volunteers from an organization called American Jewish World Service. As part of our program, we have the opportunity to do things as a group, something that can be a big advantage in a city like Bombay. Since we've arrived, we've all spoken with each other, both formally and informally, about how we're dealing with being in an environment that if not approached correctly could easily drive one crazy.

The other night, we gathered over an article about Bombay. The article was titled 'Maximum City', and was in fact an excerpt from a book of the same title. The excerpt was written by a native of Bombay who had travelled and lived around the world and had found himself somehow in Bombay. He wrote poetically about a city that at first glance would seem to lack any poetry within it. It was somewhat inspiring to see someone take solace in the very things that sometimes make Bombay difficult to deal with. The is a skill I have been working to hone, happily with some degree of success.

After we had discussed the article, Zach, who was facilitating the activity, asked us to take out a piece of paper. Our task was to listen, just listen, and try to hear what the city was saying to us. I thought that the results of this activity were quite nice, and most importantly, honest and heartfelt. When I asked a couple of people if they'd like to share their feelings about what Bombay says to them with the larger public, a couple of us agreed. Enjoy.


Yael wrote:

As I sit in my room that I have tried to make my sactuary, my safe haven, I cannot escape the calls from downstairs. All the horns, songs and chatter that linger below are the city's attempt to call me and lure me to take part in all that's being offered below. Bombay does not want me to ignore it and run to my security upstairs. Its loudness reminds me where I am and what this city has to offer. Perhaps it is a welcoming or an invitation to make me really feel where I am so I can one day believe that this city is mine also.

Zach wrote:

The horns, bells, slam, shout, cut, scrape, put put put beep horn... The city breathes and eats noise. Ever incessant into and on me. Shout, beep. It dares me to find its beauty and ignore its ugliness. It asks me why I'm here, why I care, why I don't.

Every once in a while it smiles in my ear, a child's cricket match. It tells me of irony and contrast, both of which I have to at least smile at.

A droning hum flows through the veins of the city. The street its cappilaries.

"Why do you wish to silence me?" It asks. "If that's the case, then you don't want me, any part of me. Embrace me. Open your eyes to my cries, shouts, horns, bells, crack of cricket bats, music and engines.

This is me. Take it or leave it."


I wrote what I heard the city telling me that night:

I'm here! Hello there! How are you? I don't really want to know, but maybe I do. If you have the time to talk to me face to face, to see me as I am not as how you might want me to be, think me to be, dream me to be, but see me as I am, I'll listen. I have 50 million ears, try one out, see what I say. I guarantee each time you ask the same question I'l have a different answer, but isn't that the fun of it?

I'm only congested if you are, there's all the space in the world here, if only you can allow yourself to find it. If you feel lost then simply try to find me, I'm everywhere, I'm everyone. Even you. Rejecting me you reject yourself, but if you want to be a part of me you don't even have to try. Just be yourself honestly and then you're me; Bombay.

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