11th Floor

Mumbai... The city of dreams, hopes and aspirations... Mumbai, a city that has forever been synonymous with movies, mafia and the rains... It was in this city where I landed one fine, rainy June morning..
I had not come here to act in movies not even to be a model. It was my job that brought me to this big bad city. My first impression of the city was that it stank and it leaked. Somehow, I managed to get to my office and there I was given the keys to my new home(?).
The auto driver took me to the place which was to be my new home from now on. I am a Delhiite. Delhi has row houses, accompanied by a front lawn and a terrace. I have grown up playing on my lawn, flying kites on my terrace, sleeping on the terrace during the power cuts in summers and studying in the lawn during my board exams.
Anyways, coming back on track, here I was standing at the bottom of what looked like a sky scraper. I was astonished, amazed and flabbergasted. I had seen sky scrapers before but they were all offices and commercial complexes and malls. I somehow managed to haul my luggage into the lift and pressed the button for the 11th floor. The lift was small and dingy and I have claustrophobia, to me it seemed to take ages to reach 11 floors. Once there, I retrieved my luggage from the lift and entered the flat. It was a spacious place, a 3 BHK as they say in Mumbai, the hall had a beautiful view of the Powai lake and the flat seemed large and comfortable. I settled myself in a corner room with a huge window and what looked like a small balcony, but it wasn't a balcony I realised later but simply a small parapet.
I was sad and depressed and the only thought to cheer me up was that this building might have a terrace where perhaps I could go and stretch my legs. I climbed three more floors only find myself facing a large, iron door which was bolted and locked. I asked the security (yes, they arent called gatekeepers here) if I could go up and he looked at me suspiciously and said NO!! I was crestflallen, that night as I sat on the window sill, I could see the traffic on the highway. I missed my terrace, the open sky and the constellations that i could see in the night, I missed everything that made my evenings special. It didnt take me long to adjust though, I would spend most of the day, in office and came home to sleep. What did bug me me was that my neighbours didn't even know I existed. No one really cared... back home I remember vividly that there was an aunty who used to stay in the house opposite mine, she used to keep a watch on everyone, she would take note of all who came and knocked on our door and probably gave a daily report to all who would care to listen we. But here, no one cared.
I adjusted with my room-mates, a bunch of six girls with high pitched voices who indulged in partying each time we could spare some time from our busy schedules. I guess this is part and parcel of Mumbai life, and life goes on.
I have no personal interaction with anyone in my building, they are just faceless names hidden behind closed doors, unconcerned about the happenings around them.
Life on the 11th floor is not that bad, I still miss my terrace and my lawn but yes, I do enjoy the feeling of being on top of the world, looking down and watching life go by and I know when it is time to return to Delhi, I shall miss the view of the world from my 11th floor window.