A pile of rubble, dirt and broken bricks came into view
as we were walking the streets of Bandra at night. During the day the tiled roads are so crowded
that the only thing one does is to hop, skip and jump the various obstacles on
the path and reach the destination as soon as possible. Parking is a nightmare so I prefer walking
everywhere within a radius of three kilometers. But night time walking is rare,
specially the really late night ones!
Amidst all the noise and crowd of the day one can find
the beauty of life on the streets. The tiny pictures that dot the travel path
is like a frame in a motion picture. We have the poverty- ridden beggars with
their pathetic expressions knocking on the car windows at the traffic signals
(they are happily laughing and joking with each other the moment the light
turns green); we have the vegetable sellers and the fruiters on the side walk painting
a colourful picture; we also have the young men handing out leaflets to entice
you into their clothes outlets, the piles of handbags, the racks of colourful
shawls, the trollies filled with bangles, clips, rubber bands, hair bands of
all possible colours; the delicious smell of all the eateries around; the happy
chattering of all the people who are indulging themselves……..
At night it is more beautiful- All the dirt and grime is
hidden, the bright lights are on and all the wares on display take on a new
life under the glitter of neon lights. The crowds are there, the noise and
bustle is there and if you are looking for peace and tranquility then its
better you do not come out of the house! If you have the time and are feeling
good and have no shopping to do then venture into the side lanes and take in
the gaily decorated houses during Diwali and specially now, for Christmas is
near. The old derelict buildings deck themselves up with bright twinkling
lights which add to the glow and hide the faded paintwork and broken wood work!
(During the day they wouldn't merit a second glance!)
After a gap, a major part of the family was together and
we were walking back home after a lovely dinner out. It was late, maybe almost
twelve at night. The maximum city was still awake and alive but the shops were
closed though the fairy lights still twinkled. We were taking a leisurely walk
savoring the almost empty- of- auto roads and taking some unknown roads in
search of ice cream …… when we came across the pile of rubble. It was an
irritant. For a change we were not hopping skipping or jumping and here was
something we would have to avoid…..
I looked at why it was there. The city is a growing
organism, it is at all times dying and being born like all living organisms. If you
look at the city as a macrocosm of a cell you will notice that at any given
time on any road there will be at least one building being pulled down and at
least one building under construction! So here the piece of land was encircled
with ugly tin sheets (supposedly to shield our eyes from the ugly signs of
construction!) The old boundary wall was still intact; it would most probably
be taken down later. There were a few guards inside and outside. The faint
street light fell on the yellow- brown bricks and lit up a small square of
white marble and I looked curiously at it. In black was etched “Hamara Ghar”
(Our Home) - I felt a lump rise in my throat as I resolutely pushed it down and
I pointed it out to my small family.
This little symbol of happiness brought my feeling of
satisfaction with life on its knees! My imagination went on a riot- who built
this? For whom was this built for? Was it filled with love and laughter? Did
happiness and joy resound within its walls? If all this was true, then why does
it have to give way to destruction and then the rise of a multi-story building?
Why does the old phoenix have to burn to give birth to a new one?
I just felt in my bones that here had lived happiness. Whether
the new building would have its share of joy is something I will never know (As
I don’t know whether the old one had it or not!) But that is the rule of existence
……
“The old order changeth yielding place to new And God
fulfills himself in many ways Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort
thyself: what comfort is in me I have lived my life and that which I have done
May he within himself make pure but thou If thou shouldst never see my face
again Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world
dreams of.”- Alfred Tennyson
