are told, has gone ahead by plane. Mustafa and Punnoose wear lungis, smoke beedis and sleep most of the time. They tell us very little about Sethji. They say his real name is Babu Pillai, but everybody calls him Maman, meaning 'Uncle' in the Malayalam language. He is originally from Kollam in Kerala, but has been settled in Mumbai for a long time. He is a very kind man, who runs a school for disabled kids, helping them rebuild their lives. Maman believes that disabled children are closer to God.
He rescues children from juvenile homes, which he believes are nothing but jails under another name. If Maman had not saved us, we would have ended up cleaning car windscreens at traffic lights or sweeping floors in private houses. Now we would be taught useful skills and groomed for success. Mustafa and Punnoose are excellent salesmen. By the end of the trip, even I am convinced that being picked by Maman is the best thing that has ever happened to me and that my life will now be transformed.
From time to time, the train passes through slum colonies, lining the edges of the railway tracks like a ribbon of dirt. We see half-naked children with distended bellies waving at us, while their mothers wash utensils in sewer water. We wave back.
* * *
The sights and sounds of Mumbai overwhelm us. Churchgate station looks exactly as it did in
Love in Bombay. Salim half expects to bump into Govinda singing a song near the church.
Mustafa points out the beach at Marine Drive. I am fascinated by my first sight of the ocean, where giant waves crash and roll against the rocks. Salim doesn't see the majestic ocean. He looks at the stalls selling soft drinks and snacks. 'That is where Govinda and Raveena had bhel puri,' he points out excitedly. We pass through Haji Ali's dargah. Salim raises his hands to Allah when he sees the shrine, exactly like he saw Amitabh Bachchan do in the film Coolie. We pass through the districts of Worli, Dadar and Mahim, Mustafa and Punnoose pointing out major
landmarks to us. At Mahim Fort, Salim gestures the taxi driver to stop.
'What's the matter?' Mustafa asks.
'Nothing. I just wanted to see the place where the smugglers offload their consignment in the film Mafia!'
As we approach Bandra, Juhu and Andheri, dotted with the sparkling residences of film stars, with their high boundary walls and platoons of uniformed guards, Salim becomes maudlin.
Through the taxi's tinted windows, we gape at the sprawling bungalows and high-rise apartment blocks like villagers on a first trip to the city. It is as if we are seeing Mumbai through a chromatic lens. The sun seems brighter, the air feels cooler, the people appear more prosperous, the city throbs with the happiness of sharing space with the megastars of Bollywood.
* * *
We reach our destination in Goregaon. Maman's house is not the palatial bungalow we had come to expect. It is a large decrepit building set in a courtyard with a small garden and two palm trees. It is ringed by a high boundary wall topped with barbed wire. Two dark, well-built men sit in the porch smoking beedis and wearing thin, coloured lungis. They are holding thick bamboo sticks in their hands. They cross their legs and we catch a glimpse of their striped underwear. A strong smell of arrack radiates from them. Punnoose speaks to them in quick-fire Malayalam.
The only word I can catch is 'Maman'. They are obviously guards employed by Mr Babu Pillai.
As we enter the house, Mustafa points out a set of corrugated-iron structures beyond the
courtyard, like huge sheds. 'That is the school Maman runs for crippled children. The children live there as well.'
'How come I don't see any children?' I ask.
'They have all gone out for vocational training. Don't worry, you will meet them in the evening.
Come, let me show you to your room.'
Our room is small and compact, with two bunk beds and a long mirror built into the wall. Salim takes the top bed. There is a bathroom in the basement which we can
He rescues children from juvenile homes, which he believes are nothing but jails under another name. If Maman had not saved us, we would have ended up cleaning car windscreens at traffic lights or sweeping floors in private houses. Now we would be taught useful skills and groomed for success. Mustafa and Punnoose are excellent salesmen. By the end of the trip, even I am convinced that being picked by Maman is the best thing that has ever happened to me and that my life will now be transformed.
From time to time, the train passes through slum colonies, lining the edges of the railway tracks like a ribbon of dirt. We see half-naked children with distended bellies waving at us, while their mothers wash utensils in sewer water. We wave back.
* * *
The sights and sounds of Mumbai overwhelm us. Churchgate station looks exactly as it did in
Love in Bombay. Salim half expects to bump into Govinda singing a song near the church.
Mustafa points out the beach at Marine Drive. I am fascinated by my first sight of the ocean, where giant waves crash and roll against the rocks. Salim doesn't see the majestic ocean. He looks at the stalls selling soft drinks and snacks. 'That is where Govinda and Raveena had bhel puri,' he points out excitedly. We pass through Haji Ali's dargah. Salim raises his hands to Allah when he sees the shrine, exactly like he saw Amitabh Bachchan do in the film Coolie. We pass through the districts of Worli, Dadar and Mahim, Mustafa and Punnoose pointing out major
landmarks to us. At Mahim Fort, Salim gestures the taxi driver to stop.
'What's the matter?' Mustafa asks.
'Nothing. I just wanted to see the place where the smugglers offload their consignment in the film Mafia!'
As we approach Bandra, Juhu and Andheri, dotted with the sparkling residences of film stars, with their high boundary walls and platoons of uniformed guards, Salim becomes maudlin.
Through the taxi's tinted windows, we gape at the sprawling bungalows and high-rise apartment blocks like villagers on a first trip to the city. It is as if we are seeing Mumbai through a chromatic lens. The sun seems brighter, the air feels cooler, the people appear more prosperous, the city throbs with the happiness of sharing space with the megastars of Bollywood.
* * *
We reach our destination in Goregaon. Maman's house is not the palatial bungalow we had come to expect. It is a large decrepit building set in a courtyard with a small garden and two palm trees. It is ringed by a high boundary wall topped with barbed wire. Two dark, well-built men sit in the porch smoking beedis and wearing thin, coloured lungis. They are holding thick bamboo sticks in their hands. They cross their legs and we catch a glimpse of their striped underwear. A strong smell of arrack radiates from them. Punnoose speaks to them in quick-fire Malayalam.
The only word I can catch is 'Maman'. They are obviously guards employed by Mr Babu Pillai.
As we enter the house, Mustafa points out a set of corrugated-iron structures beyond the
courtyard, like huge sheds. 'That is the school Maman runs for crippled children. The children live there as well.'
'How come I don't see any children?' I ask.
'They have all gone out for vocational training. Don't worry, you will meet them in the evening.
Come, let me show you to your room.'
Our room is small and compact, with two bunk beds and a long mirror built into the wall. Salim takes the top bed. There is a bathroom in the basement which we can
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