A Moment in Time

chillibreeze writer — Simanti Talukdar

For as long as she could remember, Mahi had been selling gajras at the Haji Ali crossing, her earliest memories are of running around bare feet in her tattered frock borrowed from her sister, her unwashed hair, all tangled up in two untidy pigtails, trying to begin her morning on a good note by selling her first string of flowers to the well-heeled South Mumbai lady sitting in her air-conditioned car. Now, all of ten, she has seen it all: the glimpses of the sleepless city, with its towering buildings, its plush cars, its rich tapestry of contrasting images passing by her, as she stood still waiting for the light to turn green…

From her tiny one-roomed chawl at Mahalaxmi which she shares with her mother and three sisters, she is lost in a world of her own, untouched by her mother’s constant bickering, her sisters’ complaining and her landlord’s threats. Each morning is a new day for her; she saw the other children rowdily making their way to school, while she started off for her little corner by the subway, eager to experience yet another day of struggle, of running behind cars till her feet were sore, of trying to squeeze in her tiny hand through the window of a car in her attempt to lure a young lady into buying a gajra, of sharing her meagre lunch with the other children who also made a living at the crossroads…

The city of Mumbai unfolded before her young eyes: uninhibited and unpretentious, in all its glory…
She saw the long queue of vehicles, waiting impatiently for the traffic light to turn in their favour- it represented the city as it was: hungry, ambitious, ruthless, and ready to run down its neighbours for that extra minute
She saw the branded showrooms on the footpath – catering to the materialistic aspirations and the dollar dreams of the twenty-first century youth
She saw the big traffic banners warning the drivers against drunk driving or the importance of wearing a helmet – a constant reminder of the fleeting transience of life
She saw the Mahalaxmi temple and the Haji Ali mosque peacefully standing next to each other – a silent reminder of the futility of the religious hostility that raised its ugly head every now and again
She saw the sea that had a calming influence on the out-of-breath pedestrians rushing towards the subway, lest they miss the 8:04 local
She saw the Noorani café and the Haji Ali juice centre as she had her piece of hard bread
And she saw herself – rushing from one car to another, jostling against the other girls, all of them trying to sell their gajras in those two minutes as they held their breath for the lights to turn green…

The rich vivid kaleidoscope played itself each day as she discovered little nuances of this wonderful city, the city that gave her a reason to laugh, to hope, to look forward to something (she didn’t know what), the city that still kept her dreams alive, the city that made Mahi who she was…

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Simanti writes for chillibreeze.

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