Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan

Five thirty local, ready to leave from platform number nine,
Throngs descending ... to travel VT central line.
'The nonchalant Mumbai junta', clinging to their seat or standing,
In a typical Bombay rush hour, 26th Nov, early evening.
Everyone with reasons to rush back 'ghar' ...
Be it the cricket match, odd family chores or simply 'timepass with dost & yaar'.
Middle class people with BIG BIG dreams,
Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan, the city of of aspiring kings and queens!




Among those boarding the train, like any other day
An old bespectacled 'Parsibaba', his usual self ... all jovial and gay.
Working at the Churchgate bakery for last twenty years and nine,
His day starts sharp at eight, and by five he usually calls it time.
That day, 26th of November was no exception,
As he trudged along, through the crowded platform.



But that evening WAS special, his marriage anniversary
Back home, his 'bawi' waiting with Parsi delights culinary!
He remembered her face and how they eloped twenty five years back
Started chuckling at the memories of his late dad in law going mad!
But fret and fume, as much ‘pappa’ wud,
He finally got em married, Parsi style with roses and loads of food.
Everyone settles here, everyone survives
Yeh city hain ‘Mumbai, meri jaan’, with and without the high rise!




Today again .. 'bawa' was carrying home roses and wine,
‘Arre babba’ … Spend a romantic evening with 'Bawi' to dine.
The roses were expensive, fifteeeeen bucks per stick,
A kings ransom, but he had carefully taken the best twenty five pick!!
For the evening WAS special, it ought to be …
Twenty five years!! ... a journey of an eternity.
‘Marriage’ the Bawa thought … ‘was a like a properly baked Mawa cake,
Kadak outside, lil jam on the top and difficult to bake.
But done properly, taste everlasting .. soft like a bun,
Like Bawa, like Mawa… yeh hain Mumbai Meri Jaan.




His only wish that autumn evening … ‘Only If Adi was around’,
To be with them, on this special day bound.
A major in the army, they lost him to Kargil few years earlier,
But Oh proud were they parents ... their son A martyr.
The valour recognized … He fondly remembered Adi’s last march,
‘Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan’ .. the entire city came to the streets with the mayor giving the final funeral torch.




He stepped in the compartment, only to remember,
Had forgotten to buy the evening paper.
Stepping out, he was about to leave,
When he felt a familiar tug at his sleeve.
Looking down, he recognized the BIIIIIIIGGGGG smile,
It was Ashraf, complete with his boot polish set, face covered with guile.
One of those nameless urchins that symbolized the city
His life's story, like many .. of constant strife and adversity.
He & his five year old brother, abandoned early,,
Further, an accident amputing his right leg severely.
But a typical Mumbaikar ... spirit undaunted,
Working hard, polishing grease with hands getting tainted.
Supporting both … his thin frame on a crutch & his brother with an education that he never got
And hoping for days when they would be a better lot.
Always a polish in his hand and a smile on his face,
Regular commuters loved him for his hard work, dignity and grace.
'Bawa' was no exception, a kind soul himself given to charity
Often getting his shoe polished, out of sympathy.




But that evening, Bawa was in a rush,
And as such had no need to give his shoe a brush.
But kind soul, he didn't want to deny Ashraf some penny
'Its a special day for me' , he thought ... "So I might as well give him some money"
He fished some coins and gave it to the child,
But Ashraf would have none of it, as accepting charity is never on his mind.
So Bawa had to think of an alternative in quick time
"I am going to buy a paper, so guard these precious roses of mine"
“Uncle, kiske liye?’ .. Ashraf winked, wanting to have fun,
Bawa winked back … Chota, bada … “Yeh hain Mymbai meri jaan”,




Bawa laughed and walked, and was just near the newsstand,
When that 26th evening, the devil himself visited VT and the strand.
Hell broke loose as sentinels of death sprayed bullets asunder
Bodies he saw fall left right and centre.
Bawa ran as he had never before,
And dived u'neath the rain of bullets, and out from the main door.
Only when he found a police car did he feel safe,
Protected yet paralyzed at the mayhem that just took place.
There he stayed put for the night … eight hours and more,
And came onto the platform, only when dawn struck four.




What he saw turned him numb and cold,
For around him were bodies strewn ... of young and of old.
He struggled to walk among the injured and the dead,
Trying to spot any survivor … from all he surveyed.
Chances of survival … few and far between,
He gave up all hope … it was a massacre by the trained ‘fidayen’
And suddenly, when almost all hope was gone, from the corner of his eye,
He saw something that made him cry.
For there on the ground, was a familiar face,
Holding dearly onto the roses ... not a single one ruffled or out of place.
What had transpired was crystal clear,
With a crutch, Ashraf could not run afar.
He tried, desperately, walking up towards the ferret
But soon found himself, embracing a garland of bullet.




Bawa rushed to him, but all in vain,
Multiple bullet had pierced him time and again.
Tears mixed with blood and sweat on the platform floor,
As Bawa tried to revive Ashraf galore
All his efforts were soon left unsaid,
As the medics soon pronounced Ashraf dead.
Yeh hua keya, ‘Mumbai meri jaan’??
A rape .. a scar .. that now can’t be undone!




But in all that chaos, mayhem and gloom,
A young five year old came and stood silently by the paling moon.
Ali looked at his brother, then Bawa and again his brother …
Wiping his tears, picked the roses and held them for Bawa to gather.
“It was a miracle that Ali had survived”, the police said so and so did Bawa realize
Soon it was morning , came the medics as the place needed sterilize.
“Another missing number” …. the police gestured Ali towards the orphanage van,
And that’s when Bawa stepped in … “He is mine” … ‘Yeh hain Mumbai meri Jaan’!!

Hesitant faces, on looking crowd …
Till … Lil fingers reached out and caught Bawa’s hand, safe and sound …
In that morning, amidst all the gloom,
A family found a son, and the son … a family and a room,




Tum jitna bhi hum e maroge, mar lo, kiuke tum honge hairan!
To the spirit OF Bombay … To the spirit CALLED Bombay … “Yeh hain Mumbai meri Jaan”