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BACK OF THE BOOK The Day The Buzz Died The restaurants and hotels are empty. The stockmarket is comatose. Life seems on hold. From shanty town to skyscraper, an uncomfortable hush settles on the city of dreams, Mumbai. By Abir Pal
A funny thing happened. The buzz is gone. Suma knows it. "Mat puchiye saab, ek dam mandi hain (don't ask, everything is dead),'' he sighs, spitting out his wad of paan. On a typically hot afternoon, the 20-year-old's stall of IPO application forms is narcose, like the air in the city. He's the only IPO-form vendor in the quiet of the street that once had a fish-market like air to it. Suma displays application forms for fixed deposit schemes, corporate bonds, mutual funds, government saving schemes. Everything, except the once ubiquitous IPO form. Behind him, the torpidity flows up the narrow stretch of that path of gold they call Dalal Street. "I just sit here and wait for the next issue," laments Suma, who must now get by with Rs 1,000 a month, about a fifth of what he used to earn until last year. Like a fog, the leadenness has spread through the city, obscuring its vision and dreams. Welcome to post-stock crash, post-tech crash, post-terrorist crash Mumbai. Restaurants are deserted, there are long lines of waiting cabs, luxury hotel rooms are going abegging, flights to and from the city are only 60 per cent full, and night clubs have all but done away with cover charges on weekdays-they're lucky if they get customers. Today, commuters still gush forth like storm water from Churchgate station every morning, but the spring in their steps is gone. Jobs are being slashed, the real-estate market is stagnant, people are sluggish, uncertain and unwilling to spend. And the tourists and the travellers have deserted Mumbai, even the richest of them.
In vice president Sanjiv Malhotra's elegant wood-paneled office, leafing through the latest Cigar Aficionado and Wine Spectator, any economic slowdown seems far far away. But the numbers tell a different tale. Room occupancy at the 1,000-room Oberoi has gone down from 80 per cent to around 60 per cent. Non-resident revenues, events, corporate dos, IPO meets have all but disappeared. "It's to a large extent psychological: when your notional wealth or net worth takes a battering, spending is bound to get affected," says Malhotra, straightening his Salvatore Ferragamo tie. Ravi Dubey, senior vice president at the other large south Mumbai hotel, the iconic Taj Mahal, is at home nursing a nasty case of flu. ''Yes, there's a definite lull in business and it couldn't have come at a worse time-right at the start of the October-March peak season,'' he says on the phone. Average occupancy at the Taj Mahal Bombay has dropped 15 per cent and food and beverage revenues have been hit bad. Dubey won't reveal numbers. While the industry is abuzz with news of hotels being forced to slash rates, both Dubey and Malhotra deny any aggressive price cutting. ''Of course, rates are always negotiable for corporates and regular customers, and even upgrades are routinely given for regulars, but these have nothing to do with the slowdown,'' says Dubey. However, ring up the Taj and you'll be instantly offered an Rs 8,800 city view room at Rs 6,440. And at Oberoi Towers, a standard Rs 8,800 room is today available at a mere Rs 6,850. It gets worse down the food chain. ''It's never happened before-it's the first time in the last 30 years that revenues have been so hard hit,'' says Arjun Ramani, 62, the affable General Manager of West End Hotel, sitting in the 53-year-old hotel's breezy but largely deserted lobby. Ramani, a hotel-industry veteran, pulls out a leather-bound ledger. The highlighted numbers jump out: yearly room revenues are down from Rs 5.09 crore to Rs 4.99 crore, restaurant revenues from Rs 2.01 crore to Rs 1.67 crore. Beside him in the huge black leather settee, managing director Sunder N. Awatramani says he's wondering how to woo back clients. Occupancy at the 80-roomer has slipped to 57 per cent. Foreign tourists, for whom the old-world charms of the West End were a big draw, have virtually disappeared. Even regular business travellers seem to be restricting themselves to short, sporadic visits. This is the same city where a year ago you would be lucky to land a table at lunchtime. Bankers wouldn't think twice about blowing up thousands on cognacs and Cubans. Coffee shops were full of yuppies feting the latest dotcom deal and swanky new malls were bursting with determined shoppers. The Sensex was up, jobs were aplenty and there was optimism in the air. In the teeming trains, it seemed commuters could only talk about the hottest stocks on Dalal Street, their new flat, and the great future ahead. Gaylord in Churchgate, with its swaying potted palms and cool marble top tables, was one of those places where brokers and corporate honchos schmoozed about what would be. It was once difficult to get in without prior reservations. Today, general manager Noel D'Souza urges you to take your pick of table. "Even a year back we were serving one and a half times the cover. Today, we're lucky if all our table get filled". Revenues are down by at least 20 per cent. "That extra drink, the appetiser-these have been the biggest casualties; not to mention the complete disappearance of the corporate yuppie who often splurged on lavish cocktail lunches," says D'Souza. On the street outside, M.G. Dhillon. 50, is comatose in his stationary air-conditioned, blue Cool Cab. After 30 years of ferrying people, he thought he would limit himself to foreign tourists for a guided tour of the city. That fetches him an easy Rs 600-800. But his monthly income has dropped by a third to Rs 6,000 and really, he'll pretty much go where you want him to. And while demand has stagnated, supply has gone through the roof. Today there are 850 Cool Cabs alone; not to mention the number of regular taxis that have doubled to 54,000 in the last six years. Kamal Kedia, Managing director, RNK Car Rentals has the same grouse-poor demand. He's standing outside his Prabhadevi office watching one his 350 strong fleet- which includes BMWs, Mercedes Benzs, even a six-door Volvo limousine-being serviced. Kedia, who started out 30 years ago with five cars today has offices in four cities catering to leading hotels, corporates and government agencies. Two years back he notched up a yearly turnover of Rs 7 crore. This year with occupancy plunging 60 per cent, he says he'll be happy to cross Rs 6.5 crore. It makes no difference that it's the festive season. At the Heera Panna market for foreign goods in Haji Ali, there are few takers for the flat screen TVs, DVDs, colognes and Ferrero Rocher chocolates. While throngs still move from shop to shop, the "conversion" rate is rather low, the shop keepers lament. If there's one thing that's flourishing, it's the temple donation box. Average monthly incomes at the colossal Siddhivinayak Ganapati Temple have risen to Rs 62.20 lakh, from last year's Rs 59.81 lakh. The temple trust's total investments currently stand at a whopping Rs 36 crores, maybe more. Can the buzz live again? That-Mumbai's people seem to agree-is up to God.
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Buzz. The
definition is a pleasant intoxication or vibration, depending on whether
you use it as a noun or a verb. Every entrepreneur, salaryman and woman,
performer, stockbroker, financial analyst and paanwallah knows the buzz.
It is an energy that pulses through Mumbai, urging them onward in their
quest for prosperity. It's in the humid air, it crawls into the blood of
its people. The buzz defines Mumbai as a city of vigour, a city of oomph.
At
my suburban mumbai gym you'd see some of these hunks strutting
around self-consciously: extraordinarily huge biceps, massive pecs
with deep cleavages and upper back muscles that restrict normal arm
movements while walking. Every gym has these Arnold Schwarzenegger
clones. They're usually in cutaway tank-tops, or better still, bare
chested, flexing their biceps or flaring their chests near the
water-cooler, in front of the mirrors or in the sauna. Heap big
body-builders these. But almost invariably, their legs are a total
giveaway. Thin and spindly, in complete contrast to the
well-developed upper bodies, they bear embarrassed testimony to how
most people tend to neglect lower body exercises. Next perhaps only
to boring abdominal crunches, exercises for the legs are the most
commonly overlooked ones. Want proof? Ask 10 gym regulars whether
they've ever done squats. You'll be surprised how many say no.