If you have read “Nature via Nurture” by Matt Ridley, you will know what I am going to talk about. Just as a child’s personality is shaped by nature as well as nurture, both working through each other dynamically to manifest certain traits, so does the character of this metropolis reflect both Mumbai and Bombay, a duality like the particle-wave nature of light that it keeps alternating between.
When the name of Bombay was changed to Mumbai, I told myself it wouldn’t matter because people who are used to calling it Bombay would continue calling it the same, and people who weren’t used to it would not need to refer to it too often in any case. But I was wrong. It turns out that many people did actually take the change of name pretty seriously. I had my first experience of this when I graduated from University and started working in Motorola.
There were many Indian women there and naturally I felt comfortable joining them for lunch than anybody else. On my first day, the very first question, very understandably, was where I was from. I have noticed that people have difficulty starting a conversation without knowing the background and history of the other person, because no baseline has been established about mutual stereotypes and subjects of interest. In fact, what people need to know is how you identify yourself to be, not your physical origins. You may have been born in India but if you consider yourself an American because of your upbringing, you need to let others know that, because otherwise they will assume certain aspects of you that are not necessarily true and may cause needless frustration if misunderstood.
Anyway, so to answer the question about where I was from, it just took me a split second to have all the following thoughts run in my mind before replying. “I am from Mumbai (thinking in Marathi), but these ladies are not Maharashtrian and they probably relate to the name ‘Bombay’ better. But then the name was officially changed to Mumbai recently, so that everyone should refer to it as Mumbai, Maharashtrian or otherwise. But what really matters is not what the formal name is, but how I really see it. So I guess Bombay it is!” And immediately, one of them responded with a surprised, somewhat condescending “Don’t you mean Mumbai now?”
Even though I didn’t say anything then, I instantly found myself going on the defensive “No! I mean Bombay, now and forever!”, questioning her right to correct me, considering I was the one coming from that city, and if I wanted to call it Bombay, then that’s what it should be! If I had the time then, or the audience to hear me out, I would have loved to explain to her why I had referred to it as Bombay. To be sure, it was a very well-deliberated reply, certainly not a slip of tongue.
A group of Maharashtrians talking among each other would invariably refer to the place as Mumbai; because that is the name it has in the Marathi language. When people correct me, I wish they would realize that I know the real name is Mumbai, but if I still say Bombay, surely there’s a substantial reasoning behind it? The fact remains that neither Mumbai nor Bombay can fully express what that city is all about, and only both together, complementing each other, would really paint the complete picture.
When I say Mumbai, I am reminded of all my small-town cousins who would proudly introduce me to their friends as “Mumbai chi baheen” (sister from Mumbai), intended to evoke all the opulence and luxury of the senses that it has to offer. In Marathi language, Mumbai is not just a place; it is a state of existence, a way of life. “Jivachi Mumbai karne” is an oft-used phrase in Marathi, literally translated as “to ‘Mumbai’ yourself”, but more metaphorically meaning “pampering yourself to the utmost levels”.
Another stereotype about Mumbai is that people living there are spoilt, arrogant and insensible to the simple joys of life. Naturally therefore, one of the memories I will always cherish from my childhood is when I visited my cousin’s friend at her house in a village and inadvertently served to dispel this notion, to the benefit of all my fellow Mumbaiites. When we reached, everyone was sitting on the floor, but when I was introduced to them as “Mumbai chi baheen”, they offered me a seat on the diwan (a bed in the living room to seat guests) thinking I would not be comfortable squatting down, what with my “urban lifestyle and sophisticated tastes”. Of course I declined saying that I would be more than happy to join them where they already were seated. The mother, who was extremely touched to see “a girl from Mumbai, but just like us”, made me feel like I had given them the best gift I could have ever hoped for, the gift of not making them feel inferior to me!
On the other hand, when a Maharashtrian speaks to a non-Maharashtrian Indian, he would refer to the city as Bombay and not Mumbai. The purpose is not to intimidate the other person with an Anglicized name; rather it is meant to bring its implicit multi-lingual nature to mind through a neutral disyllabic word that does not lean towards any particular Indian language. Historically Bombay was never really a part of the Maratha Empire as they believed in guerilla warfare and fortification to build their strength, and naval conquests were unanimously dismissed as a waste of time and money. Consequently, Bombay was always controlled by foreign rulers and traders. Thus an anglicized name is the very essence and identity of this island, and does not carry the usual derogatory connotations of a wannabe westernized city.
Bombay is not just a Marathi Mumbai; it is an extraordinarily cosmopolitan city where, without leaving the comfort of your neighbourhood, you can experience the immense diversity of the country, from Punjabi Chhole to Madrasi Dosas. It’s a place where you are equally likely to see Marathi children relishing Gujarati Dhoklas as you are likely to see Malyali kids enjoying the typical Marathi Puranpoli, and proud of it too. Where, if you walk into a restaurant, you will find Bisibele Bhaat sharing menu space with Sabudana Wada. Here you won’t be made to feel out of place if you don’t speak Marathi, nor would you be looked down upon for your unique sense of dressing. People mind their business and expect you to do the same. Freedom of choice is an everyday reality, not just an idealistic dream. Tolerance and acceptance of other cultures is not just a political propaganda, it is what we grow up taking for granted. Not until someone points it out that you even realize such a concept exists and can be delineated from daily life.
I once heard my Mama (maternal uncle) asking his son, my cousin, why he couldn’t make friends with some nice Brahmin boys instead of playing with non-vegetarians. I was shocked beyond belief, utterly speechless to imagine a world where, let alone race or religion, but even food preferences were determinants in making friendships. I despaired at their lack of social awareness, their aversion towards other fellow Indians different than themselves in even miniscule and mostly irrelevant aspects. When some other cousins of mine went to a Tamil Nadu tour with me (along with a few elders of course), I was once again appalled by their blatant ignorance of the people outside Maharashtra, as they derided the “weird tongue-rolling language that people in the south seem to speak, that doesn’t even make any sense!”
In Bombay, if a kid came home being judgmental about his “dark playmate who smells like coconut” he would be reprimanded for being culturally insensitive and made to be friends with that very child until they both accepted each other’s differences and learned to appreciate them. In school, kids might very well mock a stuttering or obese counterpart, but never is one shunned for linguistic or religious reasons.
Bombay is all this and more; more than I can ever hope to put down in words. And it is “Aamchi Mumbai” too. I love and take pride in both names, although where I am from depends on who I am talking to. Which is why, “Bombay: Maximum City”, a book by Suketu Mehta, a self-professed ‘Bombay’ite, instantly endeared him to me. It showed me one more soul who shared my belief that there’s more to a name than Shakespeare could have ever imagined.
