I grew up between Bombay and Calcutta and worked mainly in Bombay and Mumbai. Therefore, the big city was in fact my actual place, not just an idea in my head
Big city, wilderness or small town? For years now, I considered myself a big city person. I’ve extolled the virtues, in person and in writing. The buzz, the excitement, the things to do and see and experience, the freedom, the anonymity, the fun… what was life without all those? The traffic, the congestion, the pollution, the negotiation, the daily grind, these were small prices to pay for what you got in return.
I was 19 the first and only time I went to New York and it lived up to every cliché. It was large and sizzling. This was before it was “cleaned up” so there was that extra dimension of danger, which only makes a big city a big city.
From movies, romantic notions swirled around in my head of living in a highrise in a big city full of highrises, alone, listening to sad saxophone jazz. This encapsulated to me the very essence of big city life. To be solitary amidst lights, music and other people. As it happened, it took me about 30 years from the first longing to bring this schmaltzy dream to fruition, by which time, dare I say, it had lost its lustre.
I grew up between Bombay and Calcutta and worked mainly in Bombay and Mumbai. Therefore, the big city was in fact my actual place, not just an idea in my head. Both were very different; one more go-getting, the other more old-school. My visits to small town India were annual holidays in Vizag and Hyderabad and wherever else our parents took us. The contrasts were always strong. You cannot compare today’s experience with what these towns were like in the 1960s, 70s, 80s, 90s. They were still quaint and charming. Not faceless, featureless growth stories.
It was in this century that I actually encountered living in small towns. The first was when my parents retired in Dehradun. And then when I went to work in Ahmedabad. Don’t get offended by my lumping the two in one category. They were very different in size and ethos. Dehradun was a quiet town, full of schools, retirees and important institutions. It was green, full of litchi orchards and basmati fields.
Ahmedabad was on the verge of becoming a city. It was of manageable size but its strongly conservative society did not allow it to reach the status which it carved. Communal divisions played their own role in holding it back. The residents themselves often looked south for their inspiration and goods. Where do I buy shoes, I asked. We go to Mumbai they said. Where do I get my haircut? Mumbai, they said. Since I could not make the journey quite that often, I did a little detective work only to discover that Ahmedabad did in fact offer all those things. But to the residents, what was on offer was not enough. And perhaps they knew what they were talking about. Because Ahmedabad just did not have the buzz. It had art and culture, all in impregnable conclaves. It had a lot of dust. And a slower pace of life. The extreme heat did not help either. Even today, with all its growth and the money that has been poured into it, the vibe is not quite there.
What did happen though is something I did not expect. These small towns for which I had no great inclination ruined big city life for me. When I went back to the big city, it never was the same again. The bustle became inconvenience. The commute became tiresome. A sad saxophone is just a sad saxophone. The atmospheric romance is in your head. Now how sad do I sound?
Now I live in a small town with city aspirations. We have our avocadoes on toast, our lattes and our boba teas. We have traffic jams and night clubs. But at night, if I’m lucky, I can still see stars, as well as laser lights and loud music from a wedding party. Last week, they began with the theme tune from the Game of Thrones TV series. An intriguing choice if you’ve seen it or read it because there’s a famous wedding massacre. Someone in the family had a weird sense of humour perhaps. Or it was just aspirational. As for the basmati fields and litchi orchards, those are more or less gone. City aspirations mean buildings and nature gets in the way. No public transportation system and no drainage system but we do have sourdough bread and giant malls. Get with the programme, people. And plenty of time to rant and rave about tourist invasions.
Meanwhile, I hear people muttering around me. O, how about other cities in India and elsewhere? Why has she left out Bengaluru, Chennai (to name just a couple of contenders) and of course the great National Capital? Well, from what I’ve seen and heard, they’re all tottering on similar edges of space and comfort fighting with infrastructure and degradation. Choose whichever one you want to discuss. You don’t need me. As for New Delhi, I was never certain what it is and was. The first time I visited I was nine and it was so hot that we never left our hosts’ home. It still evokes that same need to stay in, for me. And with the pollution, it’s probably wiser.
I recently visited Bangkok. Was not impressed, but the fault lies in myself and my stars. Paris is beautiful, rude, arty, baguette-filled and but does not have that big city vibe. London is great. For a few days, until it all gets too much.’
This season, I indulge myself by watching nonsensical formulaic holiday romances where snooty big city woman or man goes back to small town and finds love with small town man or woman. They all present the same cliches, but the snow and Christmas decorations and lack of application of mind make them very watchable.
And so here I am. In this rapidly expanding town, with its aspirations and contradictions. Where Nature is slowly — and sometimes very quickly — being sacrificed for more and more growth. How fast can I run away at my age is what I want to know now. Saxophones are optional.
