From my scribble Think Oblique 2018

8/07/2018
On the streets of Mumbai - a memoir.

These streets are too many, treaded too often. Connected to each other and yet in a maze-like manner, it probably takes a lifetime to realize that they all lie in continuity. I use to walk the trail from Chatrapati Shivaji terminus to Jahangir art gallery with intent to CONTEMPLATE art thought to be an aggregate impression of the contemporary youth. As soon as I would exit the railway station, I would experience a qualm amongst the dense crowd unique to Mumbai. The streets would at once widen into the crossroads and then converge into a constricted pedestrian pathway. It was the dubious life on the narrow gangway which possibly attracted me the most. It used to be a showcase of virtue and vices. It was from such insensitive, moot, unscrupulous and reprehensible vendors that I bought books like the biography of Einstein and novels by Hermann Hesse and at the same time peeked at the cover packs of imported condoms and pheromones. Neither was the ear spared with incendiary invectives being deposited every now and then. Since they followed so frequently, none appeared to last long to parse and contemplate. It became imperative to quicken my steps in such situations, suspecting subterfuge with every pair of eyes fixed on me. I was taught that such shall betoken incendiary outcome too fictitious for the kind of politeness inculcated in me by my family. With such thoughts above and painful feet due to the dilapidated pebbled path beneath was an experience which would create exhaustion and exaltation. On reaching the street gallery, I would quickly glance at the many oil and water coloured paintings with a certain hubris or confidence about the contextual association with efforts at intellectualization. I still remember my prefatory enthusiasm experience an acerbic disappointment at the soporific and uninflected themes. The pain in my feet would revolt and sunder my intentions to enter the gallery. I have often spent time sitting on the stairs leading to the main display and rarely the exhibition inside. Or maybe my mind was more interested in leaving the gallery and walking on the streets of Mumbai, in its derelict and seemingly endless curiosity.

Pratyush