Anecdote #12

 Bombay ( I prefer it over Mumbai), the city of dreams,drama and drudgery. A city I longed to explore which echoed dreams and passions. I landed on a Sunday and braced myself for half a day of exploration. I was accompanying my father on a business trip  and it felt great in getting to learn about the culture of a new city. I had heard a lot about Bombay but I was determined to make an opinion of my own.  I couldn't recall much about Bombay as I had visited it previously as a toddler  but I had always preferred my hometown, New Delhi over it. As soon as we landed we left our bags at the hotel and headed to Indigo in Colaba for lunch. I enjoyed a generous portion of the cheese fondue whereas my father went for a filet mignon. I devoured the plate by dipping in the bread crumbs and swirling them in the cheese for a nice and heavy coating. It tasted delicious and satiated me completely. My growling stomach was at peace and I was ready to take on the rest of the day. The plan was to hit the museums which were a few streets ahead and then to shop. The first stop was a museum cum art gallery which my father accidentally thought to be the Jehangir art gallery. It had some splendid paintings of Shri Almekar but we sped through them and moved ahead. The next stop was the Prince of Wales Museum now known as the Chattrapati Shivaji Museum( what isn't referred to as his royal highness in Bombay? ). This one felt more engaging as I am a history buff and the displays of the stone age, Mesopotamian and Harrapan civilisation  drew my attention. The richness of our history enraptured me and I couldn't help but observe everything keenly. My favourite were the  pots  they had retrieved and the whole methodology and story behind this art. Each and every kind of pot served a purpose and the process they followed was so interesting to study,  the interesting combinations of soil with feldspar or limestone or even ash which kept these artefacts in reasonable shape even today. The exhibit energised my mental faculty and we reached the Jehangir Museum of art. The moment we entered in my father turned towards the hall on our left as if he was captivated by something. I ran after him and realised that I was indeed as captivated as he seemed to be. The artwork there was phenomenal but placed very modestly. A man right in the middle of the room who was chatting with a group of people who seemed to be completely mesmerised by him caught our attention and my father identified him to be the artist. He was simple man who did not receive as much recognition as he deserved.In this transitory world so much gets left behind, people don't end up with the greatest of things or even with that much they deserved. It left me with an ache in my heart and I wished well for him. I tried to look forward to our next stop but for the next few moments I could only think of how unjust life could be and of those who have the talent and passion but don't make it there.

We need to all that we can, try to lend some help , not just material help but maybe only share our numbers for a heart to heart and to try and perceive the hardships one faces. To not just pity but empathize, to not just comment but form firm opinions and not write away diplomatically but power fully. Do what you can and do with your heart and maybe just maybe , you can make a difference.