From ‘Oh my goodness, this garden, if you can call it a garden, it’s… it’s so… small’ to ‘Well, a garden is a garden even if it is only as big as the store room at home was’ – this succinctly puts across what has transpired in the past couple of weeks, as yet another drop (yours truly) has begun its saga in the human ocean that is Mumbai. Indeed, I am beginning to realise how lucky I am to watch kids playing in the crowded comfort of the garden, instead of being obliged to watch serials through the window every time my neighbours turn their TV on. Small things really count.

Small kindnesses shine upon you like twinkling stars and stand out amidst the waves of hurrying people. In a shared taxi, a co-passenger (and I know no more of her than that she had a kind face) offered to pay my ten rupees as well when the driver denied having any change with him. Thankfully, I was saved from an obligation to an unknown good Samaritan because the driver changed his mind at the end and like a benevolent magician, produced hitherto non-existent change! I prefer to believe that the lady inspired him towards helpful behavior.

It also helps to have a sense of humour. How else can you stomach it when you see an unnatural kind of crowd in CST and on asking a passerby, get the nonchalant reply ‘shooting chal raha hai.’ Before recollections of unpleasant news assailed me, I realised from the overall lack of panic that in spite of the urgently hurrying crowd which simply did not allow you to stand and stare in search of the ticket stamping machine, CST had space to allow movies to be shot there. The shock of that one instant took time to ebb away, but it was probably worth it – how else could the movie ‘A Wednesday’ have been made? You may spend all the money you have, white or black, but it would be simply impossible to re-create CST for a movie scene. And I am not talking only about the millions of rupees you would have to spend on bringing in extras just to create the ubiquitous crowd.

But then, since when has Mumbai been about serious movies only? It is the land (and sea) that can undoubtedly lay first claim upon the romance genre of movies in India. So it was a surprise to read a statement on a board in Mahim: ‘A life without love is like a year without summer.’ A year without summer, of all seasons? I would love that! Clearly, the message is a legacy from the colonial days, harking back to the nostalgia for the much-longed-for English summer. Given how fervently admiring many Mumbaikars are of the rain, the quote would be much more apt if it said ‘A life without love is like a year in Mumbai without the monsoon.’

Oh, but how I would love that as well! Not for me the rain in Mumbai – it is incessant, windy, pours down exactly when and where you wish it wouldn’t, and makes the roads muddy, stinking and no less crowded anyway. And this is only the prelude to the monsoon, apparently. But it gives you lessons in industriousness that you don’t get anywhere else – instead of running for cover, people just go about life as usual. And not just any people, workers on the roads unfazedly going about collecting garbage make you wonder why you even thought of complaining about the rain.

All in all, this is one city you could dislike less and less every day!