Back in Bandra West, I was amongst food-stalls serving unknown, untried delicacies and clothes stalls, their produce extending onto the street. This was Hill Road. Elco Market. I’d walked here from my new hostel (an unspeakably horrible place) – the furthest north I have stayed here in Mumbai, perhaps too far north. I shot up here after realising that staying in Colaba Market was a huge mistake. Whenever I stay in North Mumbai the south seems more appealing, but whenever I’m in the south I wish I was staying in the north. In a city so colossal and widespread, finding the perfect location is impossible. Though I’m quite certain now… Bandra is the ideal place to be in Mumbai.
It was at this teeming market that I met Mohsin. Mohsin introduced me to pani puri – a crispy bread nugget filled with shining green liquid. He told me I had to put the entire thing in my mouth all in one go. I wasn’t allowed to take a bite out of it; I had to cram it all in at once. I was a bit concerned. Swallowing a completely new Indian delicacy whole did not seem like a wise idea. But I did as he said. An explosion of alien flavour erupted in my mouth. Mohsin kept asking the stall owner for more pani puri, and he continued to hand them to me so that I barely had time to swallow the previous one, let alone comprehend the taste and formulate an opinion on it before swallowing yet another one. This curious procedure was finally brought to an end when Mohsin ordered a whole plateful of pani puri smothered in yogurt which we ate together. And after all that, I still don’t know what the hell I think of pani puri.
After vanquishing the pani puri, Mohsin and I waded out of the crowd and beyond to Bandra Bandstand – the rocky beach which stretches along the coast towards the Taj Lands End.
Mohsin is a massage therapist who’s won dozens of awards for his massage therapy, and been invited to European countries multiple times – only to have his visa rejected. He spoke with explicit anger about having his visa rejected from Italy. Such rejections were preventing him from gaining more opportunities abroad, he said.
In contrast, Mohsin talked with glowing pride about the awards he’s received and the many competitions where he has been among the finalists or came second.
I asked Mohsin about the many men here in Mumbai holding hands. They are all ages, from children to teenagers, to fully grown men old and young; not romantic couples but friends holding hands in the street. Mohsin told me that this is much more common in people from smaller towns and villages. People from the countryside are more carefree he said.
Mohsin lives with his mother, his sister-in-law and her children. Mohsin’s family is Muslim. Being a Muslim family, Mohsin’s brother was entered into an arranged marriage by their parents many years ago. But Mohsin’s brother is gay. And when their father tragically died, as was custom Mohsin’s elder brother inherited all his father’s wealth. Once this happened, Mohsin’s brother immediately sold his father’s property, abandoned his wife and children and ran off into the depths of India with a man, cutting himself off from the remainder of his family.
Mohsin and I laughed our heads off in the rickshaw back towards my hostel. We were laughing – or at least Mohsin was laughing – at my attempts to say ‘Bahut Dhanyawad.’ I thought my pronunciation was good, but Mohsin didn’t have a clue what I was trying to say. We figured it was a combination of my accent, plus the fact that as a Muslim, Mohsin doesn’t use the word ‘Dhanyawad’. This was news to me. I thought Hindi was his first language. While Mohsin does speak Hindi, he told me that expressions from other languages are sometimes better suited when speaking to people of certain religions. Using “shukriya” the Urdu word for thank you when speaking to a Muslim draws more attention and warmth than using “dhanyawad”. It would be better if I simply said thank you in English to a Muslim here, rather than ‘dhanyawad,’ he explained. I cringed at the thought of how many Muslims I have already been using ‘dhanyawad’ with and hoped they hadn’t been offended.
‘So how do I know whether to say ‘dhanyawad’ or ‘shukriya?’ I asked. ‘Is there a way I can tell?’
Mohsin thought I was being ridiculous. ‘Just say thank you.’ He said.
