Seven professions that define Mumbai

Think Mumbai and you think of chaos on the streets and people with dreams, of Bollywood, big money and dressed-up celebrities. As a tribute to some of these Bambaiyya types, here’s a look at seven typically Mumbai professions. And yes, we’ve left out the dabbawalla on purpose

Socialite
Air-kissing for a living

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Only in Mumbai is 'Page 3 personality' a designation. Only in the city of celluloid dreams can you be famous just for being famous. Or make a living off just
showing up.

As they air-kiss their way from sponsored party to sponsored party, carrying the right bags and wearing, all too often, clothes that are just all so wrong, Mumbai's socialites do occasionally stumble upon other attention-yielding possibilities and begin writing books (sex, celebrities, food), campaigning for causes (dogs, vegetarianism, marathons) and squabbling with one another (he kissed me, she kissed him, we're just friends).

But the true socialite is one who stays true to the non-cause, eventually perfecting the art of emerging in sunglasses to mutter 'Daahling' in shaded restobars while dressed in white, a cocktail in one hand and a Birkin in the other.

For the rest, it's a lifetime of trying to get the parties right, experimenting with reality TV and selling 'designer' jewellery bought on surreptitious trips to Bangkok as they pray that the next successful actor they meet will end this uncertainty and give them a starring role or a wedding ring already.

Real-estate Agent
Smooth-talking. Daring. Indispensable

That's probably why Mumbai's real-estate agents are such smooth talkers, able to convince you to take a loan double the size you had intended, entice you with homes larger than you had dreamed of, promise you exactly the kind of neighbour you want - down to the caste, community or food preference - and never flinch when you dissolve into tears because, you know, it's just all too much and all you wanted was a single room where you could fit your grandmother's dressing table.

That's also probably why Mumbai's real-estate agents speak so many languages, literally and figuratively, going from hushed whispers about flats that are "a good deal, for just Rs 1 crore in prime area, limited stock" to back-slapping jokes about water cuts in Mira Road.

And before you know it, this odd man, who you really didn't like at first, is helping you move, explaining the fine print, arguing on your behalf - and you can't imagine life without him.

Film Agent
You may say he's a dreamer, but he's not the only one

He has Kareena and Priyanka on speed dial, or so he says. He can get you the role of your dreams ("no casting couch"), put you right behind the star in the dance scenes and guarantee an interview with Ekta Kapoor…

The promises he makes and the dreams he fuels are all in a day's work for the Bollywood agent, that vital link between the

desperate inmates of Lokhandwala's cafés and the assistant director who just wants pretty faces in the crowd.

The truth is much bleaker than the pictures he draws, but he will never admit it. You may be sitting outside a shabby TV studio at 2 in the morning, hungry and tired after seven hours spent waiting for the cameras to roll, and he will come along full of compliments, congratulating you on your good luck and warning you not to forget about him when your face is on all the hoardings at Juhu.

You know this is never going to happen. He knows this is never going to happen. But as he yells at a chai boy for neglecting to serve the next Kareena Kapoor, you're glad he's around nonetheless.

Entrepreneur
Money from nothing

You can sell pretty much anything in Mumbai. There are people who will pay good money for a pendant that holds a real plant, toilet paper with Kathakali masks on it and hand-painted tennis shoes. This is a city where pretty much anyone with free time and (what they think is) a good idea can ditch their day job and turn entrepreneur.

But the true-blue tradition of Mumbai entrepreneurship is rather less chic, involving jobless men and women who opened their fridges one morning, saw a few lemons and decided to make lemonade. Sometimes literally. They sell refreshing drinks or crunchy snacks, clothes, CDs and books off rickety stools, near railway stations or in tiny cubbyhole shops in crumbling shopping centres.

As they scramble to survive, they customise and reinvent furiously, offering you 'Schezwan' noodles in your vada pav or your favourite film downloaded directly onto your USB drive.

They don't call it entrepreneurship. They call it Shaanpatta.

Stock broker
Riding the roller coaster, every day

This is a man who will fall off his chair with a stopped heart as the numbers on his screen go from peaceable green to flashing red, be back on his feet before closing time and, with some quick thinking, often be celebrating his good luck at the end of the week.

It is so stressful being a stock broker that the official work day is only six-and-a-half hours long, five days a week. Even so, the men and women behind the trading have shared afflictions that include high blood pressure, heart trouble and weak stomachs - all the result of their daily rollercoaster ride on India's capital markets.

While the rest of us may measure history in riots, wars and family events, their versions are populated by record highs and lows, scams and slumps. They all remember the day the Harshad Mehta scam broke, ending dreams and destroying lives; the day the dot com bubble began to burst; the day Lehman Brothers began to cast its pall of gloom all the way across the oceans.

Nowadays, there is not much work, they will laughingly tell you. And then a blip on the screen will catch everyone's attention and it's back to the heart-thumping, name-calling, swear-word-inducing adrenaline rush.

Bus conductor
Brusque. Gruff. Effective

Chala, chala. Pudhe chala. (Move, move. Move forward.)" It's a cry that crystallises all that Mumbai stands for - the ceaseless surge to something better, the never-ending march onward, forward…

On a BEST bus, though, it is less metaphorical and much more literal, accompanied as it is by the sharp rap of metal on metal. And you'd better heed the call instantly or you face the wrath of that formidable presence, the bus conductor, who will glare down any passenger daring to stand their ground with an incredulous, "Pudhe chala!?!", which roughly translates as, "You better get the f*** out of my way because I've been on my feet for eight hours straight and I really don't have time for any bullshit."

Obediently, you shuffle forward in single file, making room for newer entrants.

He may be gruff and growly, but, rain or relentless shine, this man will get you where you want to go. He will guide his big, red bus through murky waters and will keep the peace on tinderbox summer days with a loud "Gondhal nahi pahije," which roughly translates as "Don't make me come back there."

No matter where you are, who you are or what time it is, everyone knows the drill: Know your destination, keep your change ready and don't cause any trouble.

Diamond merchant
A conveyor belt for all that glitters

They handle all of India's glittering diamond exports, worth an estimated Rs 70,000 crore, but they meet in the open, exchanging gems with the help of a secret code of murmurs and squiggles.

They have trusted lieutenants who walk about the streets unnoticed, their suitcases and jacket pockets lined with glittering gems. As they channel stones from Russia and Antwerp, cutting, processing and polishing, their headquarters are equally contrary - one, a crumbling building in a nondescript area of south Mumbai, packed with Ali Baba-esque riches; the other a gleaming building in the posh business district of Bandra-Kurla Complex that remains largely deserted for reasons that allegedly include the inauspicious alignment of the offices, sheer force of habit and a reluctance to pay out any more than absolutely necessary for a roof under which to conduct their lucrative business.

Nonetheless, these merchants are one of a kind, the nation's only diamond gateway to the rest of the world.