Bombay Meri Jaan

Celebrating a city like none other

Photographs by Namas Bhojani

This is the best-selling image of Bombay. Just a shade shady, but brimming with opportunity; the hunting ground of struggling poets, carpetbaggers and fringe freeloaders.

In reality, Bombay isn't very different. It is fiction come true. The cabbies are helpful. The cocaine is reliable. The raves are ace. The weather is seductively sultry. And someone has the right combination to rake in the sweepstakes. For a price he will sell you the combination or make you partner in crime. This is a city of hustlers as much as it is home of the brave. Wherever you look, you can't escape what author Frank Simoes called the immediacy of high powered urban living. The cinematic splendour, the Kodachrome. gloss, are --surprise! -- real. This is the Party Zone. This is where the Corporate Thing grows. Here, Crime Pays. As they say in the '90s. It's a Happening Place. Cheers to that! And make mine a large measure of Bombay Punch.

I know that sounds like hooch in a bowl of ice and fruit, something ghastly and groggy that was created in the Dark Ages to combat plague. I have tried to convince friends and colleagues that Bombay Punch is not a Third World cure of depression and anxiety. Rather, it is an exquisite and appropriate way to celebrate the flamboyant spirit of the city. Few seem convinced. Let's see if you are: mix 2 pints sherry, 2 pints brandy, a quarter pint maraschino, a quarter pint orange Curacao, 8 pints champagne, 4 pints mineral water and pour into a punch bowl.

Don't treat the recipe with undue reverence. You could, depending on whim or circumstance, substitute any or all of the ingredients with more champagne. I can assure you that Bombay Punch wasn't concocted by a pub-addled mind. If you follow the instructions, the result should be adequate for 30 servings; go ahead, party.

Not that anyone here is desperately seeking an excuse to party. Almost anything you happen to be doing could be turned into a good reason to collect friends, influence them with food and wine and go berserk. Let's assume that you happen to be a fashion designer who is informally showing a collection of evening wear inspired by the teaching of Don Juan. A sprinkling of society women, which Marwari housewives and a healthy dash of famous and eligible bachelors would be kept occupied by free-flowing tequila as waifish models vaguely recreate scenes from Tirso de Molina's Love Rogue.

If you recollect the extraordinary character of Molina's Don Juan -- especially as he enters the bedroom of the Duchess Isabella, impersonating her fiance -- it is easy to confuse the evening's proceedings for raunchy entertainment. Things could get a little out of hand. And often they do -- at wine and cheese openings of art exhibitions, the launch of a new restaurant, a new magazine, a new year, a new product and especially a new face in the movies.

When I travel to other parts of the country, I wonder about Bombay. Is it real? Or did I just imagine it? Some years ago, a skilled and well-known hair stylist arrived from London to work his artistry on a true - blue Indian princess. When the lady, a certified Maharani, tried to walk into the Taj Mahal hotel with her newfound curls, the turbaned darban used his prurient gaze to size her up. In his wisdom, her coiffure was too brazen for the elegant hotel. He stopped her at the entrance. It is an aspect of the city that few miss on arrival -- everyone has their own standard of sophistication, a free-falling index of moral values, and a quirky idea of when to break traffic regulations.

You might imagine that some concerned soul would object. No way. Try reading Marquis de Sade aloud -- in French -- on the streets. People will stop and perhaps nod at every punctuation. This is not an outrageous suggestion meant to prove a point. It has happened with German novelist Gunter Grass. During a reading of his work, Grass switched from English to German; the elite audience continued to listen intently. On the other hand a Maharani could be quizzed by someone as innocuous as a darban.

Confused? Try random theory for an answer. Everything in Bombay works along the lines of Heisenberg's Principle of Uncertainty. It doesn't matter who you are. No one really cares. Unless you are in the gossip columns or have a film star draped around your arm, and then only just.

Excerpted from Bombay: A Contemporary Account of Mumbai Namas Bhojani, Arun Katiyar, HarperCollins, 1996, Rs 2,500/ US $ 70, with the publisher's permission. Readers who wish to buy the book may contact Ashwini Bhatia, HarperCollins India, 7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi 110002, tel # 011-3278586, 011-3272161, fax # 011-3277294.