SNAILS
We stayed in the posh southernmost locality of Mumbai called ‘Colaba’ for two years. The view of the sea from my 13th floor flat was absolutely breathtaking. We took great pride in telling all visitors that we had Ratan Tata and Mukesh Ambani for neighbours. Although I never saw either of them, I did, however, sometimes get a glimpse of some of Ratan Tata’s 26 dogs when they were being taken by the staff for a drive; and occasionally saw from afar the parties hosted by Mukesh Ambani in his terrace garden.
The best part of the stay was the morning walks we took in the BPT (Bombay Port Trust) garden behind our building. Named “Sagar Upvan”, it was a paradise for walkers/joggers on the seashore. Well maintained walkway, with lots of neatly tagged shady trees, with detours going up and down, it also had two grassy knolls in the middle for yoga enthusiasts. There were some covered areas with benches for taking shelter if it rained and some benches on the seafront where you could sit and enjoy the view if there was no low tide and there were no crappings/crappers nearby. The park was devoid of the ubiquitous obnoxious bunch of noisy urchins who are usually found at such places making a total nuisance of themselves.
The walkers were a curious bunch. Most of them were nattily clad in the latest sports attire and expensive sneakers. One gentleman had a funny way of swinging his arms as if he was trying to elbow his way through a milling crowd at VT station. One chap greeted everybody coming from the other side with a loud Hari Om! And one lady scurried about like a frightened mouse. There was a group of three desperate housewives who insisted on walking together side by side on the narrow walkway and walked so furiously with elbows flying around and gossiped so loudly that everyone got out of their way when they approached. That was their “power walk”. I found it mildly irritating and soon learned the trick of getting the better of them by looking sideways at a distant object when they approached, which forced them to check the offending elbow from swinging out when I crossed them. Some workaholics kept vigorously yelling away in their hands free cell phone devices all along. There was an occasional young mother with baby and Ayah in tow. There also were the love birds without whom no Mumbai public space is complete. I used to marvel at their devotion. You have to be really in love to get up in the wee hours of the morning, put on your Sunday best, slap on some make up and head for the nearest park for a lover’s tryst. Not to forget the occasional Adonis with a perfectly toned body, armed with the latest ipod, clad in the trendiest running gear and trainers and loping effortlessly through the melee of the morning walkers with a bottle of energy drink in hand, smelling of sweat mixed with expensive perfume.
In rainy season, many trees were in bloom, the grassy knolls became wet, and the sea became much more majestic. Some walkers gave up, other diehard ones persisted. With the help of an umbrella, one could negotiate the stray showers, till Mumbai settled into serious rain. We normally continued our walks, with some other faithfuls, till the walkways became too slippery/ water logged.
The snails and leeches came out in large numbers and were at times found crawling around on the walkway also. The most heart rending sound I ever heard was the loud crunching sound of a careless walker stepping on a snail. I always flinched on hearing it but the careless share broker/businessman went on babbling on his cell phone as if nothing happened. Whenever I saw a snail crawling across the path, I wanted to pick it up and keep it in a safer place, but was too busy/lazy to do it. Then, inevitably, would come the next crunching sound and I would feel terrible again.
One day I saw an old gentleman carefully picking up fallen leaves, fruits and flowers from the track. I could easily understand the feeling behind it. He was trying to avoid these beautiful specimens of nature getting crushed on the walkway (which would have made it all squishy and slippery). I felt like kissing this guy who was quietly practising what I was not even thinking. Then I realised, it is not enough to have good, pious and noble thoughts unless/until you decide to do something about it. Grieving for crushed snails does not absolve me from the guilt of tacit complicity in their demise
