Women. Eyes. Mumbai.

It's always the eyes, you know. Even before the lady starts speaking, her eyes do. Darting, measuring, scanning, assuring and finally giving. This is from a few months back. I meet her, a lawyer friend, in the Starbucks outside Mumbai domestic airport at Santa Cruz. I have a car waiting to take me to a place called Khanapur. Yes, that's a name. Go on, believe it. We meet at the door. I order whatever we decide upon and since Starbucks takes utmost pleasure in hollering out the name wrong, I even provide a short name to the barista before sitting down. And then the eyes start off. Finally, it's all done. I take a deep breath and we start our conversation. Since, the scrutiny is over, conversation is easy and slowly monopolized by her. I just have to sit back and contribute a tosser here and there. A laugh, a nod and a retort is fine enough for the flow to continue. Women find it comfortable to to talk about their routine. Yes, I have gathered this over time and over experiences. In this case, she chats on about her office and her recent moves professionally. There's barely any mention of anything else. In fact, they are more chatty about work and routine than men ever are. Men finish their talk about with a grunt and a "going on" phrase. End of story. Then, they either get to the point or talk Cricket or Football. She then relates the travails she has with a particular office thing that's lately happening. That too, takes some time. The clock ticks away. We finally get to the point somewhere near the fag end of the whole conversation. The coffee is sipped and over with. The eyes are back to screening me over the glass and the straw. We part. Assurances are done with. Future calls and meetings are promised. In the car, towards Navi Mumbai and beyond, there's a lingering thought. Mumbai is a very distinct city that way. Here's a woman, a complete professional, putting in the hours and getting paid top dollar. There's barely any mention of home and hearth. She is battling her way to the boardroom and seniority in every fair way she knows. But there's the innate womanliness of a middle class Marathi community. The idiom isn't destroyed. The faking hasn't happened. Nothing has coloured the women like it has coloured the men. In this town. I remember a vignette from far back. The train has stopped at Mumbai Central. I am near the window. All ready and packed to deboard at CST the final stop. I spot a lady who is all hassled coming in by local train from wherever. She goes into the waiting room. A minute later she's out again. Lipstick done up. Hair redone very fashionably. A new dress. Mangalsutra hidden away for the day. High heels now. She confidently walks off the platform. That transformation, daily, for women across the town. And yet there are children, a spouse and probably even aging parents they have to get back to, in the evening. Ooh! that confidence!! That confidence and those eyes. No wonder, men are a poor second in Mumbai.