Prior to coming to Mumbai, I happened to read James C. Scott's Seeing like a State. As a result, I can't help but looking at Mumbai through the lens of his chapters on the difference between top-down planning that makes a place more legible and quantifiable to outsiders versus the pragmatic, organic development of a city actively built to suit the needs of its residents. Paradoxically, it feels like Mumbai disproves his arguments in some ways and proves them in others. I've discussed aspects of this in a previous post, so I won't retread the same ground here. Needless to say, though, it's still on my mind.
Rather than unpack whether or not a niche anthropological book published back in the 90s is relevant to the city I currently live in, I wanted to take a moment to share some more impressions now that we've been here for more than a month. Readers familiar with Scott's work, please feel free to connect these observations to Scott's thesis at your leisure.
Living in Washington, DC for the past decade spoiled me as a pedestrian and a bicyclist. For the few years that I worked a fully remote job, whenever I felt cooped up I would often just grab my keys and wallet, pick a destination that I knew had free WiFi, and walk out my front door. This lifestyle simply doesn't exist in the same recognizable form here in Mumbai. There are sidewalks in my neighborhood, but they are not guaranteed or consistent throughout the city. In most places, the expectation is that both pedestrians and motorists will be aware of one another while occupying the same street. Green space is by and large considered a private concern, so you depend on your apartment complex to fill that need and should not expect it to be met while you are out in public. I've started to improve my comfort with this arrangement, but I've had to accept that the pleasure of a meandering walk around my neighborhood is one I'll have to forego while I'm here. Mumbai is not made for les flâneurs. Any pedestrian must be vigilant at all times, and not allow his mind to wander too far, lest inattentiveness lead to calamity.
India certainly seems to have a love affair with motored vehicles. Auto-rickshaws and Suzuki cabs are on every street and at every turn. They roam as freely as a crowd of people at an open air music festival and negotiate space in much the same way. They speak to one another in their own unique language of horns and gestures. It is anarchy in the affectionate sense of the word. No rules imposed from on high. Everything up for negotiation. Each moment open to creativity and the possibility of invention, regardless of what has happened before or what will happen after.[1] No two drives between fixed points are ever the same.
The effect of all this, however, is that I rarely feel any sense of stillness or ease when I am between my point of departure and my point of arrival. The space in between is always frenetic and surprising.
There are other aspects of being out in public that challenge my personal sensibilities. These are subjective in all the usual ways: cultural, personal, and historical.
There's the obvious discomfort of being a visible minority everywhere I go. I've experienced this before living in Morocco, and while visiting Africa and other parts of Asia. I'm forced to admit that it has felt the most acute in India. I suspect this is in part due to the sheer density of Mumbai as a city. Washington, DC has an estimated population density of 11,280 residents per square mile, whereas Mumbai's density is estimated to be closer to 53,000 residents per square mile.[2] Every time I step outside, I'm likely to cross paths with at least 5 times as many human beings as I'm used to. Since there aren't very many other residents with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes walking around, sweating through their t-shirts, that's usually about 5 times as many eyes locked on to me.[3]
Additionally, as an American, when I walk into a shop of any kind, I've discovered that I'm bringing with me a whole set of cultural assumptions about how the interaction will proceed. Almost all of these assumptions are contradicted in India. I've taken to naming the phenomenon "high touch" customer service. The gist of it being, every interaction and transaction will be bring you into frequent and insistent contact with multiple people. Browsing at stores is possible, but any store you are in will have employees dedicated to standing by specific shelves to watch you shop, make suggestions, or answer any questions you have. You never have to swivel your head and look for a store employee, there is always one right at your elbow. You get the impression that every discrete function of a shop has been atomized and assigned to an employee. If you want fruit or vegetables, you select them, but you do not bag or weigh them yourself. You bring them to the scale at the end of the aisle where two employees are standing at the ready. They will weigh and label your items for you. If you want to buy mustard and reach for the imported one your familiar with, someone will materialize in short order to point out that the domestic brand is similar in quality and quite a bit cheaper. Any transaction you undertake will require you to interact with at least 3 to 4 people at a minimum.[4]
As a result, you may be tempted to forego stepping outside and instead take advantage of the popular and dependable throng of delivery & on-demand service apps. It's incredibly easy, without proactively making plans, to never leave your apartment and have everything arrive at your doorstep within an hour of you deciding you need it. If, however, there are any hiccups with or uncertainties about the transaction, the "high touch" cultural reflex kicks in and you will need to respond to calls and WhatsApp messages from every part of the supply chain (restaurant, delivery, front desk, &c.). All them working hard to make sure the thing arrives to you as you intend.
All this to say, I'm feeling a bit homesick this week. I've appreciated the time to sit inside and focus on my writing, but when the urge to break up my daily routine comes — when I feel the craving to just go outside and experience the city — I've found that the itch is never quite scratched to my satisfaction.
I know that these feelings ebb and flow, and I'm not going to wallow in them too much. I'm cataloging them here primarily to log my own process of learning about and adapting to a new city. Of course, I hope it goes without saying that the above represents my very contingent experience of this city at this point in time, and I hope it doesn't come across as disingenuous or dismissive of my host country.
again I find myself returning to the idea of improvisation as the guiding spirit of the city
My sources for these numbers are Wikipedia: Washington, DC & Wikipedia: Mumbai. It's worth mentioning that while I'm using the Wikipedia numbers here because it's a source I'm inclined to trust, there are other sites referencing other data sources that put Mumbai's density even higher at approximately 77,000/sq mile.
It's also common for obvious outsiders (read: pasty white tourists like myself) to be asked for selfies by complete strangers. I've experienced this once so far. Even when done in good faith it can feel like a gross invasion of your personal space and privacy.
This rule does not hold for smaller shops, where you will be in a confined space and only need to talk to 1 to 2 people, not counting the helpful employee who saw you coming and opened the door for you on your way in.