Humans of Bombay is serving us cringe-worthy inspiration porn, not real stories

The desi blog should take a cue from the original city blog Humans of New York, which brings stories of real sufferings that are relatable.

Representational image | A man reads a newspaper near Nariman Point in Mumbai | Photo: Brent Lewin | Bloomberg

Humans of Bombay are making the same mistake a lot of Mumbaikars do — of glorifying and romanticising the very real human suffering at the heart of India’s maximum city.

It hurts to say this but the blog that probably started as a wannabe Humans of New York, has failed even at imitation. It has to be more than just a dewy-eyed PR platform for the city.

There’s more to Mumbai than upper-class stories of sufferings with happy endings. The city deserves a more authentic representation.

In Mumbai, there’s romance in the hustle, and freedom to be whoever you want to be. A city we’re enamoured with even though it never stops acting tough on its residents. I’ve met many people who hate Mumbai but refuse to leave it. They will abuse the city from their balcony-less tiny apartments, but wouldn’t go anywhere else either. I guess this is what they mean when they say the city “grows on you”.

What is there to say about Mumbai that has not already been said? Or rather what must not have been told by Humans of Bombay.

Let me attempt.

It’s not as dreamy as it sounds. Mumbai is harsh, expensive, humid and way too crowded.

Like every city, Mumbai too has its high-rises and slums, ghettos and pubs. In fact Mumbai has a pub named Ghetto. But Humans of Bombay often restricts its camera focus on the high-rises. More often than not, the stories it tells are also of people belonging to a certain class.

The ever-present positive spin

Even the most hardened optimists will agree ‘happily ever afters’ don’t exist, except in the tales of Humans of Bombay. There’s clear intention to see the silver lining in every story. Most start with a “growing up” struggle and end in the “achievement” of their protagonists. The battle is always won, peace is always made. I don’t understand whether the photo blog is documenting Mumbai or serving us inspiration porn.

Nobody denies that Humans of Bombay shares real stories of real suffering with intimate details of a person’s life. But a happy ending each time wakes up the cynic in me.

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“When I was 9, I dressed up for a dance at school. I was so excited & thought I looked great. But when my uncle saw me, he said, ‘kuch khilaate nahi ho ise?’ I’ve always been seen as a ‘bag of bones’ who could get ‘blown away by the wind at any point’. The funny part is, people thought saying these things wasn’t insulting. Apparently insults about being ‘too thin’ don’t count as body shaming. Unfortunately, the mentality is that thin people can take shit about their bodies–we’re thin anyway, so what problems would we have? I never understood why, because the comments hurt me & made me so self-conscious. As I grew older, the other girls matured & developed breasts & big hips–comparing bodies became a thing. My own friends would call me flat-chested ‘for fun’, but it was hard to take it lightly. I started getting overly conscious about the clothes I wore & avoided wearing anything tight like jeans or dresses. Anything to stop people from calling me ‘chicken legs’ & telling me, ‘I’ll be invisible in no time’. I avoided bright clothes too–I hated getting any kind of attention & refused to take photos. To be honest, even wearing baggy clothes didn’t help. I was ‘swimming in them’. Then 4 years ago, I created my Instagram account. Before that, I never received compliments on the way I looked- so maybe by creating it I was expecting some sort of validation. Still, posting photos of myself was so scary. I was terrified that people would say mean things. But to my surprise, people complimented me & called me beautiful! Deep inside, I always knew there was nothing wrong with me. Still, I think somewhere I needed that little boost. And so what if I needed that validation to remind myself that I’m great the way I am? The compliments made me more confident & soon, I started posting pictures in all kinds of outfits–bright clothes, baggy clothes–anything that I wanted! People still tell me to eat & stop ‘starving myself’. I usually ask them not to worry about me starving & instead focus on their own lives. And finally, I’m at a point where I no longer wait for validation–I just go for it, wear whatever I want, eat whatever I want & be whatever the hell I want!”

A post shared by Humans of Bombay (@officialhumansofbombay) on Apr 30, 2020 at 5:22am PDT

Have those running the page never come across anyone who has a continuing struggle, or someone who doesn’t see the silver lining in their story? Why must every narrative be sugar-coated with the promise of a better tomorrow?

This is precisely where Humans of New York gets it right.

New York, too, is one of the most romanticised cities in the world, but Humans of New York founder Brandon Stanton also brings stories of real human suffering. Stories that seem palatable and surprisingly relatable.

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“I’ve had eleven years to put it into words and it’s still challenging. Here was someone that loved me and wanted to be with me. My family liked him. We shared the same friend group. All the things that went toward building a life together made sense. But I just knew in my gut that we weren’t for forever, and it was going to get more painful and messy as time went on. We hadn’t sent out the wedding invitations yet. But I’d already picked out a dress. And that’s when I started having doubts. Every Friday we’d have the same conversation. The pressure of the week would be behind us, and we’d be staring down the barrel of a weekend– all that time together. And I’d tell him I wasn’t sure. Then he’d always say: ‘We’ll work this out, we’ll fix this, please stay.’ And I’d back down. It was like an elastic band snapping us back together. I’d tell myself that there’s no such thing as perfect. And he’ll be a great father. And that I would manage to find happiness. I’d logic my way back into it over and over. But at night, when he came to bed, I’d never completely relax. I could never ease into normal. And that’s how I knew. Because my mind can get in the way. But my body very rarely lies.”

A post shared by Humans of New York (@humansofny) on Feb 24, 2020 at 3:03pm PST

If I keep a Humans of Bombay coffee table book in my living room, I’d want to flip through its pages to see Mumbai there. A Mumbai that’s honest, a Mumbai you I love and embrace with all its flaws, where the cacophonies are mixed with music. Anything less than that is dishonest.

PR machinery?

While one can raise eyebrows over the many brand PR exercises taking place on the blog every day, it’s difficult to condemn it. That’s the fodder on which the blog runs after all. What’s unacceptable is giving endless space to a political leader to tell his story and serving as a political platform at the peak of his campaign.

 

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(1/5) “My family of 8 lived in a 40×12 feet house–it was small, but enough for us. Our days began at 5 AM when my mother would provide traditional forms of curing & healing to newborns & small children. All night, my brother & I would keep the ‘chula’ going for her to use. She didn’t have the fortune of getting an education, but God was kind & she had a special way of curing ailments. Mothers would line up outside our home because she was known for her healing touch. Then, I would open my father’s tea stall at the railway station, clean up & go to school. As soon as school ended, I would rush back to help him, but what I really looked forward to was meeting people from all over India. I would serve them tea & listen to their stories–that’s how I learnt to speak Hindi. I would hear some traders speak about ‘Bambai’ & wonder, ‘Will I ever get to see the city of dreams?’ I was always curious–I’d go to the library & read everything I could get my hands on. I was 8 when I attended my first RSS meeting & 9 when I was a part of an effort to better the lives of others–I set up a food stall with my friends to help the victims of floods in parts of Gujarat. I wanted to do more, but knew we had little means. Still, even at that age, I believed that God has made us all alike. It didn’t matter what circumstances I was born into, I could be something more. So when you ask me what my struggles were, I’ll tell you that I had none. I came from nothing, knew no luxury & hadn’t seen a ‘better’ life, so in my small world…I was happy. If the way was ever difficult, I made my own way. I had a great need to look sharp & groomed. So even though we couldn’t afford an iron, I would heat coal, use an old ‘lota’, wrap a cloth around it & press my clothes–the effect was the same, then why complain? This was the beginning of everything that I am today & I didn’t even know it at the time. So if you ask the 8 year old Narendra Modi, running around serving chai & cleaning his father’s tea stall, whether he even dared to dream about becoming the Prime Minister of India, his answer would be no. Never. It was too far to even think about.” #TheModiStory

A post shared by Humans of Bombay (@officialhumansofbombay) on Jan 5, 2019 at 2:32am PST

The page drew a lot of flak in February 2019 when it published the story of Prime Minister Narendra Modi in five parts.

One could hold even Humans of New York guilty for doing the same. However, there’s a basic difference.

Instead of blabbering about Hillary Clinton’s entire life through a series, the Humans of New York post briefly talked about her experience at Harvard, a real story of challenges she faced as a young woman where she answers some of the criticism she’s subjected to. Humans of Bombay gave Modi a free hand to do a Mann Ki Baat: Millennial edition.

While Brandon Stanton leaves the narration of the story in the hands of the story teller, the desi photo blog gives the narrative a spin that suits its tonality, which at times makes the content appear cringe-worthy.

Feel-good story-telling has a shelf life and Humans of Bombay, it seems, has exploited it for a bit too long. Going back to stories that uncover the ugly realities of the city would not be less beautiful.

Views are personal.