Am I? Each time I write something serious about the city, I’m reminded of a friend bitching about the ultra-intellectual types who eat at McDonalds and come out and talk about the poor people in the country. Am I one of them? Does the city give you a choice, surrounded as you are with surreal constrasts?

Here’s something I spotted a couple of weeks ago in the wee hours of the morning. Presumably the store is one of the many designer boutiques that dot the fashionable area of Juhu. Do they know that at night, their porch turns into a bedroom? Perhaps they do, considering our man has a pseudo-four-poster bed with a mosquito net tied into corners. And the faithful guard lies in waiting, a few feet away.

In the middle of this melancholic week, I don’t find cheer even in my favorite streetside philosophers. Today’s autorickshaw spotting reminds me that this city runs on money, money, money.

Maal hain to mohabbat hain (If you’ve got money, you’ve got love)

If you’re wondering what the word ’surreal’ means outside of a Dali painting, you know where to look it up, now. What’s left for me to say?

And there’s the inevitable romance embedded in the decor of course. Except of course the ‘Love is Life’ philosophy etched right where a lot of people are apt to put up their feet. Unless this guy is following the common Indian ploy of putting up socially sacrosanct images (usually religious symbols) to prevent people from dirtying the place. Smart.

Mera Road Bheyender

Escelworld

I always wondered what the names stuck on the back of taxis meant. Would he be offended if I asked him to go elsewhere? Now we see our autorickshaws have abandoned social awareness (Mulgi shikli, pragati zhali) in favour of more practical (if not indecipherable) engravings.

Speaking of which, the Mumbai autorickshawallas and taxiwallas must be the most amourous of all Indian men. I’m thrown to one side while he negotiates a pothole but I land on a poster of a pouty Urmila Matondker. From the other corner Amisha Patel stares balefully at me, as if asking me why I favour her colleague. From the side-mirror dangles a beaded heart with tassles. And Himmesss implores me to show a glimpse of my face. Anybody remember Altaf Raja of Tum to thehere pardesi fame? Alas, a decade later, he has finally been dethroned as the king of rickshawalla gaana!!!

And finally, my piece de resistance:

I rest my case. No one understands my dil ka haal better than this man!!