Out of the box

May is the month of longing and patience, at least in Bombay

May is the month of longing and patience, at least in Bombay. In May, we sweat and we wait for rain -- not in the pragmatic way of farmers, despite our anxiety about the reservoir levels -- but with the clenched urgency of lovers. Clammy and listless, we flutter at the sight of small, dark clouds and the even gold pre-monsoon light: perhaps there will be a small telephone call of a drizzle even if the beloved does not bestow the full-bodied downpour of their presence. You begin to wonder if the hoopla about Radha and her cloud-dark Krishna was not really an elaborate metaphor for the stewing in our own juices and waiting for wild relief of the monsoon.

As with romance, once the agony and anticipation of waiting is over, we enjoy the monsoon headiness all too briefly before the problems of the relationship become obvious. It's as if the rains wash away the surface make-up to expose track marks and varicose veins galore, ragged inner seams that are giving way. Bombay is a pretty filthy city and never is that brought out in such relief as in the monsoon: wet litter covers station steps and paan stains are a deeper, moister red. Traffic jams take on Biblical proportions. Sodden with rain tears, houses that were holding onto loose hope collapse heavily.

In fact, the rains bring home the true state of this city -- and of our national system in general with a dull despair. Only the municipality and the media go through the desultory ritual of detailing the supposed preparedness for the monsoon. The rest are aware we must accept our fate stoically, too tired or too experienced to complain. This stoicism continuously gets heralded as the indomitable spirit of the city. But we all know nothing is as silently heartbreaking as having to be indomitable on a daily basis following constant disappointment. Think how nice it might be to use indomitability to build new things instead of just dealing with the disrepair of old ones.

This tragedy of low expectations radiated through a recent incident in Bangalore. A young woman was crushed under a collapsed wall following the first heavy rain. Sanjana had turned 17 just two weeks before and her birthday present had been a mobile phone. She used that phone to call for help. The sad thing is, the number she dialed was 911. This is the unified emergency number for the US, not India. Help did arrive eventually -- two hours later -- and she died en route to the hospital.

We can shake our heads and say -- oh how American popular culture permeates our consciousness and seems more real than our own. But it's not just that we hear this number being called repeatedly in cop shows and news programmes. It's that we hear this number being called and answered. We see that it works.

Would it have made a difference though if she had known the right number to call? We know that she would have been a very lucky girl to have that call attended to. What would have been the right number to call anyway? In India there is no unified emergency number. In a crisis, you would have to be a veritable directory: police, ambulance, blood bank, fire brigade -- it's all different. As always, you'd be better off if your daddy knows someone who knows someone's number.

A unified number is coming all right but it won't be for us to call on the administration. The much-celebrated UID will be for citizens. So someone can keep an eye on us, make sure we don't make any trouble and they can keep not doing anything about it.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer, teacher and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. She runs Devi Pictures production company. Reach her at www.parodevi.com

"Exciting news! Mid-day is now on WhatsApp Channels Subscribe today by clicking the link and stay updated with the latest news!" Click here!