COGITO ERGO RUM: I drink, therefore I am!

What better way to deal a whole new city, an empty bank account and four cats sharing the couch you sleep on? Mumbai seems cleaner, more exciting and even less humid on nights you spend meeting friends and ‘experiencing the city’ – somewhat like that time we learned that my puppy dog loves a good swig off Golkonda Wine once in a while.

The Mumbai I know is very different from the one I read about in books, or watch in movies made by the Shiv Sena’s puppet toys. I’ll be dammed if this point-of-view is not considered legit enough for those whiny bastards who would prefer if non-Maharastrians would rather drag their langhotees out this city and leave them a limp and placid dick of a place where the only ways in which one makes money is by dancing around statues of some long-gone warrior.

My experiences, nevertheless, are vivid, colourful and more often than not, dizzy in happy drunkenness, like Mike Myers on Toddy. It’s been almost a month since I quit a skidmark of a job back in Bangalore, packed all my belongings in three bags and bought a one-way ticket to this city. And so far, its been somewhat of a ‘if you can read this, pick me up and put me back on the bar stool’ kind of experience.

But there’s always been a reason to celebrate. Either its ‘Ohmygoddd, you’re finally here – let’s drink’, or its, ‘You got a jobbbb – let’s drink’, or ‘Hello? What?? I can’t hear you… let’s drink!!!!’ Now it really helps if you are living in a particularly fancy part of the city where are the bars are close-by, the people all fashionable and dimwit-like, and the Shiv Sena’s ‘sweeping the city clean’ ideologies don’t yet apply.

A day in my shoes in Mumbai is somewhat like this: I live with a dear-dear girlfriend that I know from way back in school, who stays in a fancy little Bandra West apartment that she shares with her oh-so-smart German boyfriend, three cats and one paraplegic kitten. Such clutter of living organisms is common in this city – the seven of us stick it out because our size-to-space ratio isn’t too bad and the cats usually keep more people out. So apart from frequent trips to the vet, understanding the power of sunscreen (Yes, she is a model) and reading books all day, I now have a job that involves faffing on the internet and at times coming up with one-liners to put the Cannes to shame. (Yes, I am a Copywriter)

So after a hard day’s work involving stalking people on facebook, freezing to death in an office air-conditioned to make you feel like you are in Alaska, and skipping lunch because the closest restaurant passes off a thin piece of cloth as Dosa – for fifty whole bucks, thankyouverymuch – I drink!

Most days end after chugging copious amounts of alcohol and convincing an autorickshaw driver to let you toss your way around the road like a slinky on glucose. Sometimes they even let us drive.

But I’ve learned a few things from this city and what better way to feed my OCD than to list it out eh?

In Mumbai, you will always find help. Not from the Christian Working Womens’ Hostel owners who disregard your application because you are a Muslim girl, but from friends and youngsters who have struggled themselves to make ends meet and know what its like to desperately need a place to crash after getting mind-fuckingly drunk.

In Mumbai, you will always find work. Provided that you are either intelligent or have a criminal background.

In Mumbai, there is no place for people who are not street-smart. Whether it is to deal with bum-humpers on the local trains, or to convince old women who run PGs to let you live with them or to fight bar owners into letting you drink some more although it’s three in the morning and you hair looks like you’re auditioning for a Center Shock chewing gum commercial.

In Mumbai, you will never have privacy. Forget renting a studio apartment or buying land here unless you bank account is the size of my ego. Here, each living space (no, I refuse to call it a house) stick to each other so inappropriately that it would make Rakhi Sawant blush. So don’t worry about it if you are in your bra and there are people passing by your window. Really.

In Mumbai, you are safe. Especially if you are a woman. This city sucks you up before you know it and sometimes even makes you walk back home past midnight. But you will always have the protection of your guy friends – who during times of acute platonic pleasure can make you feel like you are Bal Thackeray on the way to the courtrooms.

In Mumbai, the cops are particularly enthusiastic. Especially while stalking the streets for youngsters jaywalking with large Heineken Beer cans or friends sitting by the beach with ready-mix bottles of Old Monk.

When in Mumbai, you will eventually speak like a Mumbaikar – even if this means that you will trail your local lingo to fit in with that of this city. Then what da, Bhenchod.

And finally; In Mumbai, you will always help the struggling. Because you were once helped. Because it is the rule of the road. Because after you’re that drunk, you really don’t know what you are doing.