The coming of the Mumbai Messiah

Mumbai.

An architectural vacuum of monotony which Indophiles and eternal optimists ambitiously hail as a World City.

With a population double that of London what is to there be contested in such a claim?

This is the engine room of sub-continental expansion.

Is it not true that the hazy perma-pollution which hugs leechlike to a narrow strip of lowland between the Western Ghats and the vastness of the Arabian Sea has been both bellowed from the lungs of it’s industry and financed by this beating financial heart of Indian business?

Indeed, upon first glance there is much to be said for this claim to a lofty perch in the worlds pecking order.

This argument has great validity in so far as the sprawling coastal wedge of humanity (or inhumanity if you prefer) has comfortably the highest air traffic volume on the sub-continent, represents the greatest concentration of film industry output anywhere on the globe, boasts malls of haute fashion retail space together with the exclusive presence of a Rolls Royce dealership.

Mumbai also acts as an increasingly powerful magnet to those rural disposed, sucked like so many iron filings towards the attractive core of the rapidly expanding megalopolis in the vain hope of sharing a part in this exclusive dream.

But having said that, despite it’s obvious lure this city sure has its downsides.

Outside of the CBD environs of Colaba, Mumbai’s pavement free streets are unparalleled in their filth.

A demonstrable lack of civic pride whose importance escapes the local populace ensures a continued yet unfulfilled requirement of maintenance. Green areas are few and far between, play areas for children non-existent, with a basic awareness of community action being thus far missing from my observations..

The city also has horrendous pockets of poverty and striking inefficiencies.

Then to cap it all there is the traffic problem.

Smoking, choking, crawling, stalling, horns beating, overheating, endless snakes of engined transportation defiling the dwellings of Mumbaikers from pre-sunrise to post-sunset.

But wait you doomsayers, look there…...
What is that ribbon of concrete spreading southward from the headland of Bandra to its Southern counterpoint at Worli?

See as it skips in wide steps across that infected, lifeless bay.

True believers, gather round and listen. For this strange structure is the Worli-Bandra sea link. The John the Baptist of Maharashtran infrastructure, here to path the way for a yet greater shift in the city’s transport system.

Somewhere in ancient Sanskrit writing it is rumoured that a chariot of iron shall ride through the clouds and dance between the great man made trees of the urban jungle.

Yes my friends, prepare the arrival of the Messiah. The one who brings hope to the traveling masses and delivers them from misery of the daily commute.

Prepare your salutations and ready yourselves with chargeable smart cards, for soon is the coming of the Mumbai Sky Train.
Yes, you heard it, the city authority are also building a Metro system.

Balanced upon a belt of track several metres above the current commuter level, these initial three lines of transit offer hope to those who have faith.

If only this city wasn’t so corrupt, it might even get finished. Or perhaps the reason that it will get finished is that this city is so corrupt?

Confused by that contrary concept?

Tune in soon to hear my tale of Bob the Builder and Jim’ll fix it.

Maybe then it will all start to make sense.

Superman and Muslims

When I was a wee lad I had a bedroom decorated in superman themes.

My walls were plastered in Superman paper, my duvet cover had the last son of Krypton emblazoned all across, hell, even my alarm clock involved Superman making a daily effort to wake me from my dreams.

"Superman is here to say
It's time to wake up and start a new day
Waking up can be fun
When you wake up, my mission is done"

Now, such a concept may be acceptable when at Primary School, but at the age of 36 I think I am done with the wacky morning alarms.

If I had wanted a novelty yodeling wake up call I would have kept an issue of the Innovations Catalogue that came free each weekend with my parents copy of The Mail on Sunday.

So on that note why must i be rudely awaken by the local Imam who finds it perfectly acceptable to shout praise to a non-existent deity through a loud hailer at 5.15 each morning?

You can believe whatever wacky superstitious nonsense you want, but please, please don't inflict it upon me at the crack of dawn.