Our sutradhaars, Sir PM and Lady Flora emerge after last week’s downpour, to throw light on how the city, and most importantly its civic gods, fared when it came to checking their report cards
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Pheroze, that’s a lot of rain gear that you’ve lugged around just for a simple walk around the neighbourhood,” Lady Flora commented at the unusually large haversack that her friend had brought along for their usual midnight walk. Sir PM had also realised by now that it was a lot of rain wear. “You’re right, my Lady. I shouldn’t have…perhaps, I’ll request the kind Reverend at the Cathedral if I could keep back some of it, and carry along just the essentials, like the umbrella and poncho. We cannot take risks, after what we experienced not so long ago,” Sir PM warned his friend, clearly scarred after the heavy downpour that the city witnessed, bringing it to a standstill on most of those days.
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“You are right, Pheroze. In fact, I should be wise and carry an umbrella at least. We cannot say with this fickle weather. It’s beginning to resemble London, but a lot less romantic and picturesque. Over here, it’s a battlefield to get even from the Cathedral to my pedestal, as I realised the other day. Silly of me to decide to have my cuppa at the nearby Irani café; I had to retreat midway when things got out of control, and standing under the awning wasn’t really helping me or my pure white attire. Never again; tea can wait,” she smiled. “But this isn’t about me; so, tell all, Pheroze. What did your sources report back on those very rainy days?”
Sir PM in his full rain gear looked up to the skies, and began, “Well, as usual the weather folks got it wrong with the warnings. I’m done keeping track of the red, yellow, green and whatnot colour alerts that I keep hearing about! Just get the data right and in good time with all your scientific tracking machines, so people don’t venture out and save themselves from this trauma. Most people were stranded en route to their workplaces, and schoolchildren were also inconvenienced by the time the civic gods decided to call it a holiday. This was repeated on several occasions during this recent wet spell. My heart went out to all those who had to wrestle their way on delayed, and thus, overcrowded trains. This is a baffling annual scenario that gets played out year after year. As soon as the trains begin to crawl or halt on flooded tracks, the city is brought to its knees. Why, you might ask. That’s because a majority rely on “this lifeline” for their daily commute.”
Lady Flora had to say her two-bit, “While our dedicated bus services don’t have the required numbers to ply to every corner of the city and its suburbs, there is no Plan B. Commuters are at the mercy of other means of transport, like autorickshaws and taxis, or hope they have colleagues and friends who can ferry them from one point to another. It’s such a hardworking middle-class city that continues to get a raw deal every monsoon. The great Metro projects are behind schedule, and once again, have skipped a monsoon, thereby denying citizens the chance to avail of it when they need it the most. And, don’t get me started about the craters and potholes. Who needs to head to the moon and Mars? So much for the assurance that our roads and highways are rain-ready. Ha!” she smirked, adding, “Now I get why you’re wearing Himalayan boots. But of course, to negotiate these ‘silky-smooth’ roads and avoid a ligament tear.”
“We have to also factor in the city’s newest, biggest challenge—climate change—and study how it has been affecting our city in unimaginable ways. We are forgetting how thankful we must be for natural safeguards like the mangroves and the national park. Instead, we treat our natural heritage so casually. Surely, you must have heard about the crocodile sighting,” Sir PM, smiled. “I hope it hasn’t been displaced too far from its habitat.” Lady Flora enquired in a flash, “I am oh-so-curious to know what that measures the newly formed committee have planned for these rains. We would like to see some solid work being executed at the ground level. As citizens, we must feel secure in our fragile city.”
“Cousin Zubin, who lives in Bandra, often gets a sight of the Mithi River. It shouldn’t be called a river, he says. More a rivulet or a trash-filled stream that collects rubbish from all sides and whose banks continue to be encroached upon without a care by builders, industrial lobbies and other perpetrators. On a lighter note, did you see images of the mayor of Paris taking a dip in the Seine to quell protesters and activists’ demands that the river was unclean and hence unfit to host some of the events at the ongoing Olympics? Turns out the water quality is substandard despite spending 1.4 billion Euros to clean it!” Sir PM laughed, quickly adding, “Forget about funding to clean the poor Mithi. Tell me, who do you think should try the same in the Mithi?” Lady Flora did an eye roll, “I have a long list!”
mid-day’s Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city’s sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her.
She tweets @bombayana
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