(Devyani Khobragade is a diplomat and works for the Indian Foreign Service.)I run for my Mum.
Ever since my first half-marathon in Delhi last November, I very much looked forward to running my second one in my home city of Mumbai. And indeed, it was an experience to cherish. Not just because I improved my personal record despite sub-optimal physical and mental prep; not because I was running on streets and past landmarks that I have walked and driven past innumerable times in my previous life of a Bambaiya. But because of the people of Mumbai.
For me, a city is made, above all, of its people. And this city still remains exceptional in so many ways because of its people.
As I walked through a huge throng of Marathoners at the take-off point, I braced myself instinctively against assaults such as pinches and rubs, especially as I was wearing shorts, wary of running in the now unaccustomed Mumbai humidity. But by the absence of any unpleasant experience, I was pleasantly reminded that I was running in Mumbai. People tried to control themselves and not push ahead, and there was much more discipline and order under a situation that would have led to a borderline stampede in other cities. There were also many more women runners than in Delhi, and there seemed to be a general acceptance of them owning and inhabiting the public space, rather than being some object to be stared at.
Now that was a knowledge and feeling that I had grown up with as a teenager and young adult in Mumbai. But what really touched me and what I did not witness while running in Delhi was the spirit of Mumbaikars in helping their city folk. All through the race route, young, old, men, women and children were lined up, not just cheering but standing with sweets, candies, and home-made energy treats. Some were even standing with their medical and first-aid boxes open for the runners to help themselves. No one was staring or passing lewd comments, only smiling, clapping and encouraging. The only comment to which I could take exception was some young adult male saying " Run, aunty, run". But I tend to think he was being sincere and not facetious or demeaning - I'm 40 now, so he must be justified in thinking of me as an aunty!
The spirit of this city manifested through its respect for women and helping its fellow citizens is what makes Mumbai remarkable, and helps it survive and thrive despite catastrophes that it faces from time to time. I still remember how common citizens of Lower Parel turned up during the 1993 bomb blasts at the KEM Hospital where I was then studying to offer help - to clean the blood off the floors of the overflowing hospital wards, move dead bodies out of the hospital to the open area in front of the canteen as there was no place in the morgue.
I felt gratitude and pride as I ran in and for my Mumbai - for that Mumbai spirit had contributed to who and what I am today and I am proud to say "I'm a Mumbaikar. " I also felt gratitude towards someone who has perhaps made the biggest contribution towards me - my own mum. She woke up the morning of the marathon with me and opened up two fresh coconuts for me to drink before the run as I ate my toast. This reminded me of all the years of hard work that she put in, making my tiffin boxes early morning, waking me up at crazy morning hours to study, and the thankless menial household work which she spared us from so we could pursue our studies and hobbies. With small acts, she was encouraging me today on another quest to improve my physical and mental endurance.
I always think of and thank my father for being my hero - for inculcating values of fighting against injustice, simple living and high thinking, etc.; I thank my husband more often for his unstinting moral encouragement; I thank my male boss for his mentorship and advice. But how many times have I thanked the most important woman in my life - my mum? And so I ran for Mum and Mumbai, hoping I can give back to both.
But there were a few regrets in what was largely a wonderful morning. There was a lot of litter and too few garbage bins on the way. And as we took off and reached the Bandra Sea Link, many of the male marathoners lined up on the sides of the bridge to urinate, while most women must have like me decided to ration our water intake to prevent the need for a pit stop. My regret was that I did not protest and yell out at these fellow marathoners to stop making our city dirty. Yes, we need to talk dirty and make sanitation a part of the public discourse, especially now that the head of our government is leading the movement from the front. I know what my husband would say if I recalled this experience to him -that instead of yelling out, I should just join them by the sidewalk in their embarrassing activity! This would be the only way to the bring the needed change in attitude. Now that is too radical, even by my standards!
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