The Lion of Colaba

I first met Khan, The Lion, when he yelled "Stop, you can't do that!"   We were on the Sassoon Docks in southern Mumbai, India.  In the early sunrise, the pastel pinks, blues and greens of the painted fishing boats deftly maneuvering for space along the quay looked fantastic. I had decided to take a picture.  Alas, photography is illegal there, and Khan was vigilant.  He was a big man in body and voice. When he tells you to stop what you are doing, you listen politely.    After returning my offending camera to its case, the tension eased. His inquisitiveness led to a conversation ending with his offer to give me a tour of the docks.   He was a fisherman. For over 20 years, he had worked there.  He showed me his boat, and introduced me to his crew. He laughed at my concern over the ice chipper, where a teenage boy heaved ice blocks half his size onto vicious mechanical teeth.  We canvassed the docks, with him answering all my questions. When his duties required his return to work, we agreed to meet up later.  That evening, he gave me a tour of his neighborhood.  Leading me through the back alleyways of Colaba, he talked about how the area was changing, stories from his youth, his troubles with work, and his problems with his family. I shared the same themes from my own life.  He showed me his home, a metal cot which hung from a nail on a roadside wall when unused. When needed, he would unhook it and lay it beneath the street light across from the communal bathroom.  We sat there together, as he introduced me to his family and neighbors. Some were "sneaky" fellows, but he assured me I shouldn't fear anyone, as his nickname was The Lion, so named for his size and fighting ability. He told me the residents in that soon to be relocated neighborhood were mostly street sweepers, toilet cleaners, and what he called “Alcatraz.“ He asked if neighborhoods were like this in the USA. I said no, and that our segregation was based on paychecks, not professions. This amused the Lion.