DAD, I'M LOSING THE SKY

It was 1979 when we set foot in Mumbai with bag and baggage. I was six and dad had to fly for a commercial airline. Mumbai or Bombay, as it was called back then was perceived as a city that offered a better life. The fact that this was an illusion, was missed by us. Dad found a place on rent in the chemical and industrial sector of the central suburbs. Mom was down with asthma almost every night. That was enough to burst the bubble for all of us. Yet we put our heads down and ploughed through. After all, we had the opportunity to live in Bombay. How dare we say no to that? Our ground floor flat was a haven for everyone who walked past it into the apartment building in the sweltering heat of the summers! Mom always had water ready for anyone walking across. Even at the age of six, I couldn’t help but feel that she seemed like a saviour of sorts for people trudging along, on their way to make a living in this megacity.

                Weekends brought on exciting trips on the 'double-decker' bus to Juhu beach. This was my favourite part of the week! A joy ride on the double-decker bus with my brothers, right on top of the bus and way ahead in front. The sky was the limit, literally! Open roads, the cool ocean breeze caressing our faces and bringing with it the rich smell of the ocean and sun-baked fish. Everywhere we turned, the blue sky beckoned. We hadn’t experienced anything like it!

                One of the trips led us into exploring the small suburban town near the beach. Of course, my parents were eager to set up a place and Juhu instantly felt like home. The sea-breeze, the open skies, the breath-taking sunsets; yes, this was Juhu in the 1980s. But as is the case now and will always be, affordable housing in this city was a dream back then.  God was kind and two years later, we found a place in Juhu which we still call home. Growing up here was pure delight. Sitting by the windows, watching aeroplanes pierce the open skies soaring over the Arabian Sea until they were just a blip on the horizon. Summers warmed our home in the afternoons and cast beautiful shadows of palm trees swaying in the breeze, all over our walls. Living with nature came easy back then. Evenings were serene, in the balcony, watching the sky turn into different hues of orange, pink and purple; sunsets which were deep-rooted in our consciousness. This little space in our flat, facing the open skies and wonderous sunsets was the place where life’s problems always felt easy to solve.

Life was a vacation viewed from the balcony. Dad shared his life lessons with me here and mom and I had numerous cups of tea here in later years.

                Soon, life as we knew it, changed. Dad passed and along with him, my open skies. Bombay became Mumbai, land became scarce and air space ruled the city. This year will mark twenty years since my dad left. I look out from my flat and all I see are cement monstrosities, metal scaffoldings on grey buildings which lack beauty or design and cranes marking the skyline of this once open city. The sky seems to be a small blue spot that I crane my neck to find, between the gaps in the chunks of cement that block the sun. As I look around the mess and the suffocating surroundings,  I can’t help but think about my childhood with dad and say to him, ‘I am glad you carried better memories of this city with you……because Dad, I am losing the sky.’