Shahvaar Ali Khan
“Haan boss. Mere ko Bandra jaane ka hai’Carter Road,” (Hey boss, I need to go to Bandra’Carter Road) I nonchalantly told our driver, Aslam, as we left the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport in Mumbai.
My Lahori advertising colleagues accompanying me for an ad film shoot were amazed. “Dude, you sound like a local Bombay guy!”
This was almost two years ago. Today as I again wait for my favorite Banarsi Paan from the legendary ‘Mishra Paan Bhandar’ on Juhu Beach (Bombay) far from my home in Lahore, I try to grasp the significance of that phrase: “Local Bombay guy!”
What made me switch from my usual Punjabized Urdu to Bambaya Hindi? Was it because, in the years since returning from college in America, I have spent more time (outside of Lahore) in Bombay in any other place?
Or because some of my closest pals during those four unforgettable years at Trinity College, USA were Mumbaikars? They were the bulk of our relatively small, yet diverse South Asian community, where we were enemies, friends and neighbors all at once. Despite maintaining our distinctive national and political ethos as Pakistanis, Indians, Nepalis and Bangladeshis, we were a tightly knit ‘Desi gang.’ Our camaraderie was so solid that we shared anything and everything under the sun (almost). And yet we had heated debates and fights on issues ranging from Kashmir to majoritarianism to communalism. My last memory of Trinity is an Indian friend wiping his tears, exchanging Punjabi expletives with another Pakistani friend.
Or was the root of my Bombay accent an excessive diet of Bollywood? When most kids watched Mickey Mouse cartoons, I was more engrossed in a Deewar or Sholay. Perhaps all of the above, but something more!
“So, my sweetheart back home writes to me and wants to know what this gal in Bombay’s got that she hasn’t got. So I just write back to her and say, Nothin’, honey. Only she’s got it here!” Alvah Cecil Bessie
I am a born and bred proud Pakistani Lahori, unapologetically and madly in love with Bombay with no qualms in saying that again and again! Unlike my parents’ generation that was born with the partition hangover, my Pakistaniat (identity as a Pakistani) is beyond being ‘anti-India’. After Lahore, Mumbai is my second home, where some of my Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian and Parsi friends live; where I have been welcomed unconditionally, in fact often causing a rift between different aunts and uncles!
“Ali, you have to come straight to our place from the airport,” says a friend’s father. “Okay, then you must stay with us later and leave for the airport from our place,” rebuts an aunt.
Sitting amongst them, in their living rooms or sports bars, I have watched and openly supported my Pakistani cricket heroes during the closest of India-Pakistan cricket matches.
By the way, it’s the best feeling in the world watching Pakistan beat India when you are surrounded by Indian fans on Indian soil! After all the heated sloganeering and patriotic chanting, we would make up instantly and go out to party at some bustling hangout spot at Pali Hill, Bandra. The characteristic Bombay drizzle brought the temperatures further down!
This is what I admire most about Bombay. Its charm permeates even through my “Pakistani” reality, but without overcoming it. Right-wing engineered riots and innate nationalistic biases aside, the avant-garde cosmopolitan Mumbaikar, is, in essence, a relativist, culturally, ethnically and religiously accommodating, sometimes despite being very devout in his personal life. He could even be living in his Marathi, Gujrati, or Muslim (it’s interesting how even in Indian discourse an Indian “Muslim” identity often overshadows ethno-linguistic belonging) neighbourhood, but works, eats and hangs out in a diverse gang with relative ease. Multi-cultural and secular, at least in spirit, and increasingly testing his threshold to become one in practice too. Most young Bombayites I have come across are also not in constant denial of the idea and reality of ‘Pakistan’, in contrast to their predecessors.
“Mere jaise ban jaoge , Jab ishq tumhein ho jayega” — Jagjit Singh (You will become like me, when you fall in love) Bombay is also the city of my dreams, due to my occupation (advertising) and passions (entertainment, film, music). Undeniably, Mumbai is for the egoistically ambitious – city of the successful, for the successful. Only two types of people live there: strugglers and stars. It’s the desi New York, where competition is ruthless and opportunities abound. Only aptitude and performance matter in the end — as I have personally experienced on numerous occasions working there. Once we rejected the daughter of a famous producer after a screen test; no pressure was applied. Another time, when I thanked a famous music director for his feedback on my music after a session, he responded bluntly: “Ali mian! Remember one thing bro. In this city, no one does any favour for anyone. It’s all business.”
I am not trying to imply that Bombay is a utopian paradise free of bias, nepotism and corruption. It indeed has all these vices of a typical South Asian city. But Bombay also values genuine talent and perseverance. In a nutshell, the place doesn’t discourage dreamers – it challenges the extent of their madness. Perhaps that is also why “Bollywood” (I hate the term due to its unnecessary Hollywood-centric lens, but…!) has wholeheartedly, and without prejudice, embraced a Nusrat/Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, Ghulam Ali, Atif Aslam, Shafqat Amanat Ali, Ali Zafar, Xulfi and recently, Humayun Saeed; all Pakistanis, but gifted.
Mumbai is also the stage where many of my mentors from Guru Dutt to Sahir to Rafi to Javed Akhtar to Mahesh Bhatt to Prasoon Joshi have realized their dreams. I emulate them as a self-obsessed quixotic. Therefore, I have always felt a sense of spiritual belonging and affinity with Bombay, despite my Pakistani nationality. It has been as much mine as any Indian’s and in that sense, I feel, I am a “local Bombay guy”!
“Sir Jee…O Badshaho’Paan te laa daiyo!” – I found myself asking for a paan in in Lahori-Punjabi, before realizing that I was standing in front of Mishra Paan Bhandar in Bombay. After all, the box shape, the exterior, the ornate interior d’cor and ambience of a Paan joint is pretty generic from Karachi to Bombay to Lahore, to Delhi to Jackson Heights, New York City.
The Pakistani Punjabi Lahori in me feels at ‘home’ in Bombay, strolling towards PVR Cinemas to watch “My Name is Khan” amidst Shiv Sena’s Talibanized hooliganism. Imperialists and establishments around the world discuss the “good” and “bad” Taliban, while I increasingly feel like Manto’s Toba Tek Singh. Insane!
The writer is an ad man, currently working on his music album and two feature film scripts.
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