Skip to main content

Mumbai: Maximum City


Book Review

Title: Maximum City: Bombay Lost & Found
Author: Suketu Mehta
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2004

Every city has a fascinating history that lies beneath its imposing concrete edifices.  It is the history written on invisible pages by people who will never appear in the actual history books, people like gangsters and prostitutes.  And the person on the street too.  Suketu Mehta’s magnum opus unravels that invisible history of Mumbai in a gripping narrative that reads almost like a novel.

The book is divided into three parts.  Part 1, titled ‘Power’, constitutes almost half of the book and is about the people who actually wield the power in the city.  The book speaks about the Mumbai of 1990s and hence this part begins with the riots that assailed the city soon after the Babri Masjid demolition in Dec 1992.  The Muslims in Mumbai reacted against the Babri Kasjid demolition and Bal Thackeray’s Shiv Sena was quick to exploit the situation for political gains.  In Jan 1993, Thackeray’s goons systematically massacred the Muslims in the city.  Thackeray soon found his match in the Muslim mafia dons who detonated ten bombs one after the other in March.  The Hindu-Muslim divide became total.  Now, religion determined “how often you will bathe, where you will shit” because the water supply to the Muslim areas was curtailed and the toilets became unusable.

Life thrives even if you cut off basic amenities.  Life will find its own ways of moving on.  But crime becomes an integral part of such existence.  Mumbai became a city of increasing crimes.  The communal divide forced the Muslim youth to find occupations in the underworld which was dominated by Muslims.  Mehta gives us a detailed description of the Mumbai underworld.  We meet the gangsters belonging to Dawood Ibrahim and Chotta Rajan as well as of the lesser ones like Arun Gawli and Chotta Shakeel.  The writer shows us that a gangster is essentially a narcissist with a deadly mix of egotism and self-hatred.  At the same time, we also learn that the politicians are bigger criminals than the gangsters.  “We fight among ourselves, but these people (the politicians) are ruining the whole world,” says Chotta Shakeel.  It is quite true too because the gangsters never attack innocent people (except indirectly in bomb blasts or similar situations) while the politicians pervert the people’s psyche. 

Suketu Mehta
The book shows how the police are either helpless or are in cahoots with the gangsters.  The police also employ the same strategies of the gangsters and make use of encounter killings to eliminate certain people.  “The police, the newspapers, and the courts all keep up the fiction of the encounter killing,” says Mehta.  The encounter drama is an open secret.

Titled ‘Pleasure,’ Part 2 presents the dance bars and red streets of the city.  We are given detailed life stories of Monalisa, a bar dancer, and Honey who is actually a man but dances as a woman in a bar.  This section gives us enlightening peeps into Bollywood and its inevitable connections with both the underworld and the red street.

The last part deals with immigrants.  People from all over the country gravitate towards Mumbai. Once again we get some moving details about certain individuals who tried to make their life in the maximum city.  What I found most fascinating in this section, however, is the story of a Gujarati diamond dealer who suddenly gave up his lucrative business and took to religion.  He, along with all his family members, renounced the family’s fabulous wealth in order to become Jain monks.  Mumbai is paap ni bhoomi, land of sins, according to him.  He had committed his share of sins already, a fat share, in fact. 

The book is a masterpiece.  Very few writers would do the kind of research that Suketu Mehta did.  He spent more than two years with the gangsters and dance girls, with the immigrants and other strugglers, before writing the book.  He met people who matter too, people like Bal Thackeray, police officers, Amitabh Bachchan, and a host of others.  Mehta is never judgmental.  He tries to put every person into perspective; we see each one of them from various angles and feel pity rather than contempt or hatred.  We understand them better.  We understand why some people are what they are.  And that’s precisely the greatness of the book. 

A warning for the weak-hearted: you may find the book highly disturbing in many places.



Comments

  1. sounds very interesting I am googling the author and the book.
    whats the genre and is it on flipkart?-- ParwatiSingari

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I bought it from Flipkart. Easily available elsewhere too.

      Delete
  2. I've read this wonderful book and your review does it justice!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Replies
    1. More enlightening than interesting, more disturbing than pacifying, more welcome than the kind of pulp that is being sold these days.

      Delete
  4. That's an impressive amount of research. Has to be an interesting read.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Reality strikes hard. And your review gives a rightful insight.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Anything to do Mumbai strikes a cord. Have added this to my reading list. Great review.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You won't be disappointed, I assure you. And thanks.

      Delete
  7. Thanks for sharing such a great information..Its really nice and informative.


    Gold Price in Vijayawada Today

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pranita a perverted genius

Bulldozer begins its work at Sawan Pranita was a perverted genius. She had Machiavelli’s brain, Octavian’s relentlessness, and Levin’s intellectual calibre. She could have worked wonders if she wanted. She could have created a beautiful world around her. She had the potential. Yet she chose to be a ruthless exterminator. She came to Sawan Public School just to kill it. A religious cult called Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] had taken over the school from its owner who had never visited the school for over 20 years. This owner, a prominent entrepreneur with a gargantuan ego, had come to the conclusion that the morality of the school’s staff was deviating from the wavelengths determined by him. Moreover, his one foot was inching towards the grave. I was also told that there were some domestic noises which were grating against his patriarchal sensibilities. One holy solution for all these was to hand over the school and its enormous campus (nearly 20 acres of land on the outskirts

Machiavelli the Reverend

Let us go today , you and I, through certain miasmic streets. Nothing will be quite clear along our way because this journey is through some delusions and illusions. You will meet people wearing holy robes and talking about morality and virtues. Some of them will claim to be god’s men and some will make taller claims. Some of them are just amorphous. Invisible. But omnipotent. You can feel their power around you. On you. Oppressing you. Stifling you. Reverend Machiavelli is one such oppressive power. You will meet Franz Kafka somewhere along the way. Joseph K’s ghost will pass by. Remember Joseph K who was arrested one fine morning for a crime that nobody knew anything about? Neither Joseph nor the men who arrest him know why Joseph K is arrested. The power that keeps Joseph K under arrest is invisible. He cannot get answers to his valid questions from the visible agents of that power. He cannot explain himself to that power. Finally, he is taken to a quarry outside the town wher

Levin the good shepherd

AI-generated image The lost sheep and its redeemer form a pet motif in Christianity. Jesus portrayed himself as a good shepherd many times. He said that the good shepherd will leave his 99 sheep in order to bring the lost sheep back to the fold. When he finds the lost sheep, the shepherd is happier about that one sheep than about the 99, Jesus claimed. He was speaking metaphorically. The lost sheep is the sinner in Jesus’ parable. Sin is a departure from the ‘right’ way. Angels raise a toast in heaven whenever a sinner returns to the ‘right’ path [Luke 15:10]. A lot of Catholic priests I know carry some sort of a Redeemer complex in their souls. They love the sinner so much that they cannot rest until they make the angels of God run for their cups of joy. I have also been fortunate to have one such priest-friend whom I shall call Levin in this post. He has befriended me right from the year 1976 when I was a blundering adolescent and he was just one year older than me. He possesse

Kailasnath the Paradox

AI-generated illustration It wasn’t easy to discern whether he was a friend or merely an amused onlooker. He was my colleague at the college, though from another department. When my life had entered a slippery slope because of certain unresolved psychological problems, he didn’t choose to shun me as most others did. However, when he did condescend to join me in the college canteen sipping tea and smoking a cigarette, I wasn’t ever sure whether he was befriending me or mocking me. Kailasnath was a bundle of paradoxes. He appeared to be an alpha male, so self-assured and lord of all that he surveyed. Yet if you cared to observe deeply, you would find too many chinks in his armour. Beneath all those domineering words and gestures lay ample signs of frailty. The tall, elegantly slim and precisely erect stature would draw anyone’s attention quickly. Kailasnath was always attractively dressed though never unduly stylish. Everything about him exuded an air of chic confidence. But the wa

Nakulan the Outcast

Nakulan was one of the many tenants of Hevendrea . A professor in the botany department of the North Eastern Hill University, he was a very lovable person. Some sense of inferiority complex that came from his caste status made him scoff the very idea of his lovability. He lived with his wife and three children in one of Heavendrea’s many cottages. When he wanted to have a drink, he would walk over to my hut. We sipped our whiskies and discussed Shillong’s intriguing politics or something of the sort while my cassette player crooned gently in the background. Nakulan was more than ten years my senior by age. He taught a subject which had never aroused my interest at any stage of my life. It made no difference to me whether a leaf was pinnately compound or palmately compound. You don’t need to know about anther and stigma in order to understand a flower. My friend Levin would have ascribed my lack of interest in Nakulan’s subject to my egomania. I always thought that Nakulan lived