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HEAVY RAINS LASH MUMBAI - I found myself staring at this byline scrolling across the bottom of most TV news channels on Sunday evening, 27th July.

This news had me distraught for a few minutes.

 I was scheduled to leave for Mumbai early next morning on a three day trip, which included amongst other things submission of scripts for the Sankalan script lab. I had it all neatly planned out. Arrival in Mumbai at 8.30 am, a visit to the Film writers association office at 2 pm, followed by a trip to the Biascope office, return in time to browse the shops at Hill road and then catch up with an old school friend over drinks and dinner.

Would these plan materialise? Would it stop raining? Or were we going to have a near repeat of the floods that happened a few years ago? The latter seemed improbable, I’d read somewhere that the administration had worked on preventing this.

I had a deadline to meet. The last date for submission was 29th July, still a couple of days away. I had my scripts and concepts ready weeks ago, but still scheduled a trip to Mumbai very close to the last date. I guess there’s something fascinating about chasing deadlines. Maybe it’s got something to do with the work I do. A lot of people love chasing deadlines, either out of necessity or habit or maybe a combination of both.

We landed in Mumbai after what seemed to be an unending journey through a maze of darkened whiteness. Light rain greeted us, wetting our clothes, a pattern that was to be repeated many times during the course of the day.

Not bad, I told myself and my fellow travellers. A few of them nodded in agreement, one person amongst them looked on skeptically. He was a Mumbaiker, I presumed. This was confirmed a moment later when he whisked out an umbrella, opened it with a flourish and sauntered out into the now pouring rain.

AN UMBRELLA ! That had to be my first purchase. I asked the auto rickshaw (hereafter referred to as Rick) driver to halt at a shop selling this most-useful-carry-along accessory in Mumbai during the monsoons. The shopkeeper had run out of folding umbrella’s and I had no choice but to settle for a long handled one. I was soon to regret this.

I rang up the FWA office intending to enquire if the registration process would begin at 2 pm as was everyday. The guy at the other end asked me to come ASAP, he warned me that there was a lot of water on the roads outside the building. I left immediately, Started looking for a Rick. As soon as I mentioned Andheri, they murmered  Pani and jam and drove away. I decided to head for Bandra station to take a train to Andheri. I assumed that being such a terrible day most Mumbaikers would stay at home. How wrong I was, the station was chakachak full of people. You can’t keep a Mumbaiker indoors, I ruefully concluded.

As I ascended the stairs leading to the over bridge the umbrella kept poking into the lower limbs of people a step ahead of me. I apologised to those who glanced backwards and downwards. The umbrella continued with it’s Jab and poke action. I lifted up the errant umbrella and marched up the remainder of the stairs holding it close to my chest, much like a sawed off flag pole.

The train journey was thankfully uneventful. Stepping out of Andheri station I spotted an Umbrella shop where after a bout of brief negotiations I exchanged my umbrella for a folding one. I promptly opened it up, only to see that the gusty wind force the outer cloth rim of the umbrella skywards. For a moment it seemed it would slip out of my hand and sail away with the breeze blowing in from the Arabian sea.

“Jor se pakadne ka” advised the wizened shopkeeper. I nodded in agreement and walked away looking for a Rick to take me to the FWA office. The Rick was soon speeding over the wet roads. But the wind persisted. I swear I saw a few rain drops enter my Rick from one side and exit from the other. This would look so good in a movie with CGI. Anyway, the roads were clean, there was no water logging at all. Where’s the water that the guy at the FWA had said? 

The rick screeched to a halt. The driver looked back at me and then pointed ahead. There was no road to be seen, only a stream of muddy water. He refused to go ahead. I got off and stepped onto a pair of bricks, the only island of refuge available. I reckoned I had to walk for a 100 odd metres. I took one regretful look at my shiny leather shoes, knowing once they’d be under water the shine would never be the same again.

 SPLASH, splash, splash the shoes waded through the water. The FWA building was surrounded by at least a foot of water. I walked up the stairs, the damp shoes making a creaky sound. Before entering the office I took off the shoes and poured out the water. Inside the office I noticed most people were sitting around bare feet. There were quite a few writers waiting to get their scripts registered. I suppose Film writers are a brave lot, what’s a foot of water compared to the amount of trouble that they have to put up with?

A writer entered, dressed appropriately in shorts. I made a mental note to carry along my shorts on my next visit during the monsoon season. Sandals too. I stuffed my wet socks into my bag and slipped my feet into the still very damp pair of shoes. The water level had risen outside the building. Any writer visiting the FWA after an hour from now would have to come in his swimming trunks. My imagination was now going wild. Maybe a female writer would emerge out of the muddy waters in a one piece swimming costume like Kareena Kapoor in Tashan, holding onto a water proof bag carrying her scripts!

SHIT ! I stumbled on a large submerged stone,  just about managing to grab a passersby arm. Serves you right for daydreaming, I told myself. I splashed my way out of the industrial estate and reached the high ground of link road bang opposite Fame Ad labs. I needed to go to Goregaon station, get my script photocopied, hop across the overhead bridge and take a Rick to the Biascope office. Seemed like a stroll in the park. OR WAS IT ?

I joined a group of people standing on the roadside presumably waiting for Rickshaws. There were very few of them plying around. As soon as an empty Rick approached everyone would wave their umbrella’s excitedly at it. The driver would slow down, listen to the various destinations, shake his head and scoot off.

A half an hour went by. The time was 4 pm. I made the first of my three phone calls to the Biascope office. A very patient Anupama Bose assured me that they would remain open till 8 pm and told me to take bus no 327 from Goregaon station whose last stop was next to their office. I learnt from fellow Rick hunters that the Ricks were going neither to Goregaon nor to Andheri stations. Those areas were waterlogged. WHAT NEXT ?

I managed to flag down a Rick. The driver offered to drop me at Jogeshwari station and advised me to take a train to Goregaon from there. But there was a hitch, he quoted a very high tariff for doing me this favour. A small crowd of rickshaw hunters had gathered behind me, eager to ensnare the prized catch. I closed my umbrella and jumped in. 

This was the beginning of an hour long obstacle course. The first ten minutes sped by. Then, a loud thump. The Rick’s nose was in a ditch. The driver jumped out, so did I and we pushed it out. We whirred off, cautiously this time. The next obstacle was a meandering stream of water. The Rick spluttered and coughed and came to a standstill. We were marooned. Shall we push, I asked the driver. He nodded affirmatively. It was time to wet the shoes again. We pushed the Rick for a few minutes and reached a dry patch. After a few false starts, its engine roared to life. We zipped past huts and high rises set amongst lush green vegetation. Very picturesque, I told my self. Wish I had the time to stop and admire the settings.

 STOP, we did. The Rick was refusing to climb up a steep hill. I volunteered to get off and walk. The Rick, relieved of my 70 Kgs took off. I then realised my bag was in the Rick. Shit Man, What if. . . .?  The walk turned into a jog uphill and I arrived panting at the top of the hill to see the driver give me a bemused look. A few minutes later the obstacle course ended outside Jogehwari station.

I bought a ticket for Goregaon. The platform was crowded. It seemed offices had shut down early and commuters were anxious to get home. The train arrived. The platform emptied out, the coaches filled up. I found myself standing outside the last coach. I hopped in. The train sped off. That’s when I noticed I was in the luggage compartment. I was surrounded by  Baskets, vegetable sacks, and a fishy aroma.

It was close to 6 pm, I searched for a Photocopy shop. Another call to Anupama. You’ll make it, she reassured me. She offered me the option of coming the next day. No, I replied it had to be today. It was that deadline chasing thing again.

The photocopy guy handed me the script. He had done a shoddy job. The page numbers were missing and the paper had crumpled in most sheets. I wasn’t going to accept this, I told him. He shrugged his shoulders and ask me to go elsewhere as his machine was faulty.  And so I began hunting for another photocopy guy. I located one, he had a better machine. While he did his job, I searched for a place where I’d get a hot cup of tea. No tea, Saar, only coffee hai. Chalega I replied. I drunk what seemed like milk sprinkled with cocoa powder. Never mind, it was at least hot.

7 pm. The final call to the Biascope office. Ab manzil door nahin.

I crossed the over bridge across the station into Goregaon East. Near the stairs I noticed three rows of people ( all men) queuing up. Ah, that’s the ticket counter, let me purchase my return ticket to Bandra. As I approached  I discovered it was a QUEUE TO USE THE PUBLIC URINAL!

I then realised that I needed to join the queue too, but I didn’t have ten minutes to spare. As I walked away I remarked to myself that it’s a blessing in disguise that Mumbai is so crowded. There are no lonely stretches of walls waiting to be turned into urinals and to have theYahan peshaab karna mana hai graffiti pasted on them as seen in most North Indian towns.

Bus No 327 wasn’t scheduled to leave soon. I hailed a Rick. There were now dozens of them around. They’d appeared just as those winged insects do in the evenings after the rains. We had to search around a bit but finally reached the last bus stop next to which the Biascope office was located. This incidentally was the end of the road too, beyond which I assumed lay the Sanjay Gandhi National park. Yes, I’d read about the leopards that sometimes wander outside the park periphery.

The watchman directed me to the Biascope office which apparently was the most visited flat that day and as it was almost 8 pm, I might have been the last visitor. The office was on the 6th floor and you’ve guessed it. . . . . THE LIFT WAS NOT WORKING!  Manzil ke paas they, lekin manzil ab bhi chattey male par thee!

Before entering the office I removed my shoes, the water stored in them trickled down the stairs. Submissions over, I sat for a few minutes and chatted with Anupama about the script lab, PFC and of course the weather. In retrospect, I felt I should have asked for a hot cup of tea!

As I exited the main gate I noticed Bus no 327 ready to depart for the station. I hopped on to it. The mobile networks which had been down for the past hour started working again. My mobile beeped. It was an SMS from my friend apologising and saying that he wouldn’t be able to drive down to Bandra tonight because of the traffic jams.

Anyway, I’d successfully chased my deadline. It was finally MISSION POSSIBLE.

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