For Mumbaikars, the world is divided into two types of people, those who stay in South Bombay and those who stay elsewhere. There's no third variety. This is true of almost all proud peoples, a Bengali thinks this way, so does a Tamilian. But what makes Mumbai unique that its being special is constantly reiterated by our films. The city seems to have no means, there are the super rich or the super poor (in reality, Mumbai's middle class probably constitutes the same number as the middle class in the rest of the country).
In those golden-hued days that took over from sepia hues, Mumbai was a city with a heart, and tremendous power of counting money.
When Johnny Walker expressively warbled 'Ai Dil Hai Mushkil Jeena Yahan… yeh hai Bombay Meri Jaan', with his lady love Kum Kum who counter-warbled 'Ai Dil Hai Aasan jeena yahan' in CID, it became Bombay's theme song. The decisive divide between the rich and the poor seemed to be the mantra of life there. The fact that if your pocket has been picked, you've arrived, is another matter altogether.
The first glances of 'city' for an average simpleton from a UP or Bihar village, is the towering VT station. For all lost and found widows with young children, VT ( Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus for the johnny-come-latelys), it is. Huddled together at the sight of this sea of humanity, the poor, innocent village bumpkins are instantly relieved of their belongings. More so, if they hail any passerby with a friendly pat and a proud introduction of their picturesque village (that might be on the Heritage list but not known in Mumbai). A street smarty like Johnny Walker or Mehmood or later, a red scarfed Sudhir or Ranjeet or one of his sidekicks would look the new item up and down and inform him of his arrival in Heaven 'yeh shahar hai, yahan aisa nahin hota hai' - enough to make anyone feel like a complete fool.
Perhaps Amitabh wasn't too far off the mark when he completely muddled over the names of well-known places in his Don song, there's no monkey around but the place is Bandra, this church gate has no church. It's a strange world. Coming to destitute mothers that arrive in the city with baby Amitabh and baby Shashi, to bring up their children well, they find ample employment, though exploitative. Sons learnt to sleep and survive on the footpath. They grow up successful in life. Perhaps this is what she meant when she thought about bringing them up well!
The word Mumbai has had different connotations at different times. In the fifties and sixties, it was a slick, westernized city, populated with frocked and coiffeured Parsi ladies and suited, booted gentlemen with pipes. There were drives on the Queen's Necklace (as empty as the Thar) and of course, the quintessential fishermen's village in the suburbs (that has become the most populated area now). Changes happened in the seventies - it was red sports cars and drainpipe pants, jazz and English music and slacks-clad young damsels. Parsi and Anglo influence had visibly decreased. It was also about golden-wigged villains atop glass Xanadus, sporting gold medallions. The poor also had changed from 'woh subha kabhi to aayegi' to the grab-it attitude that made up the angry young men of the world's largest slum, Dharavi. The Mumbai police could never get around this crowd. In the eighties and nineties the name stood for westernization, this time American culture - there were scantily clad college girls abounding in the city and the boys were motorbike monsters in leather. The image is slick, smart, lean and mean. The problem of housing was highlighted by the young Amol-Zareena's agony in Gharonda. The middle class too, existed in Mumbai, said Griha Pravesh and Khubsoorat, among others.
If Sathya peeped into the dingy underbelly of the glitzy town, Dil Chahta Hai changed the image to South Mumbai, posh and westernized, something that the overgrown village that Delhi is can never be. Bombay Boys showed another facet of Mumbai but not the everyday one, it was a different level. Salaam Bombay was another international look at the squalid Mumbai's red-light area, salaam Grant Road.
Mumbai will always be the city of dreams, dreams of wealth and crime, dreams of success and frustration, dreams of beauty and squalid disgust, the city of Ganapati Bappa (who has even smuggled narcotics in his belly), of the crime lords who revel in their seaside bungalows, ditto film stars, of Chowpati where the average Bihari takes his newly married bride for an evening out, of the Versova beach where fishermen sing 'Me Dolkara dolkara…' of the swanky cars and champiwala, a city where Amitabh Bachchan might be shopping for a watch in the same store as you at Crossroads… truly a city of dreams.
